Page 46 of Broken Oath

Then he was going to find the people who had put them in those coffins.

3

ROOK

Rain tapped against the windshield.

Soft.

Steady.

Relentless.

Rook sat in the back seat of a black SUV parked on a wooded hill overlooking Arlington National Cemetery.

The hood of his jacket concealed most of his face.

Dark glasses hid the bruising around his eyes.

Not that anyone was looking for him.

Officially, Commander James Callahan and two members of his team remained missing and presumed dead somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan.

The government hadn’t recovered their bodies.

It had simply stopped searching.

Below the hill, rows of black umbrellas surrounded six flag-draped caskets.

Six.

Rook’s chest tightened.

The cemetery looked too peaceful for what it held.

Beside him, Sniper stared through the rain-streaked glass.

Silent.

For once.

Fathom sat in the front passenger seat with his head turned toward the funeral.

None of them had spoken during the drive.

What words existed for this?

What could any of them say that wouldn’t sound hollow?

The windshield wipers swept back and forth.

Back and forth.

Pushing away rain that never seemed to end.

Military pallbearers lifted the first casket.

Adam “Hammer” Collins.