Page 2 of Missile Strike

Tabril turned abruptly and disappeared into a side alley.

A quiet curse slipped under Danny’s breath as he walked past, taking the scene in with a single practiced glance. Fuchsia bracts of bougainvillea shaded outdoor cafe tables where several people gathered, the hum of conversation and the clinking of plates echoing off stucco walls.

Good. He could follow Tabril without giving himself away.

He did a one-eighty and went left. To anyone casually observing, he was just another American tourist, but someone with Tabril’s training undoubtedly would recognize in Danny what the average tourist wouldn’t.

A warrior in sheep’s clothing.

“Cover the exit,” he muttered to Caleb. His teammate would head down a parallel street and loiter near the end of the alley to pick up Tabril’s trail.

A few more steps of distance kept Danny out of the Hezbollah operative’s direct line of sight. Wherever Tabril was going, he was a man on a mission. And if FBI Assistant Director Caldwell’s intelligence source was right, that mission involved US Senator Graham Strickland and his family.

A family Danny knew personally.

The senator represented his home state of North Carolina now, but he’d spent years stationed in Danny’s hometown of San Diego as an F/A-18 fighter pilot.

“We need pictures,” Nathan piped up. “Positive ID of a threat before we pull the plug on the Stricklands’ vacation.”

Danny quirked a brow, not that his teammates could see it. “An Iranian-backed operative shows up on the same Greek island as the former defense secretary who ordered a missile strike on the senior commander of Iran’s Revolutionary Guard Corps? That’s not enough reason to scoop up the Stricklands and hightail it back to the good old U.S. of A?”

“Lucas wants to know if Tabril’s getting help from any groups in Greece, and, as that’s a bit sensitive, they don’t want the Greek government knowing.,” Nathan replied. “Which is why we were sent in. Low profile. Not US military or government. We slip in, surveil, and if necessary, extract the Stricklands before the bad guys can strike.”

“I’m not sure how low-profile Danny is in that shirt,” Caleb chimed in.

Danny injected a note of amazement into his voice. “Listen to you. You go and get married and suddenly you have a sense of humor.”

Caleb didn’t say much, and his expression usually gave little away. But since he’d met his wife and reconnected with his Navajo mother’s side of the family, he’d loosened up.

Love and contentment apparently did that to a guy.

Not that Danny knew anything about that.

He dismissed the twinge that briefly tightened his chest. There was nothing wrong with the life he led. Stability would be downright boring.

Tabril came to a sudden halt, his posture tensing as his gaze swept in a full circle.

Danny quickly sidestepped under the awning of a boutique clothing store. Either something had alerted the Hezbollah operative, or he was about to do something he didn’t want anyone else noticing. With another furtive glance in both directions, Tabril climbed a set of whitewashed steps to the second floor of a nearby building and knocked on the blue door.

A military-aged male, a couple of inches taller than Tabril, but with a similar build and coloring, emerged. The man’s gaze swept the alley with a predator’s patience.

Clearly not a tourist.

Both men descended the stairs.

Angling his phone as subtly as possible, Danny snapped a quick burst of photos before the new arrival’s head swiveled in his direction.

Their eyes met briefly. A bored expression settled over Danny’s face, as if he didn’t give a flying fuck about some local in his line of sight.

One look. That was enough. A quick tap sent the photos to Nathan. “Whoever this dude is, he’s not a good guy.”

They had their answer a few minutes later when Nathan’s voice came back over the comm, all humor leached from his tone. “His name is Mahdi Hariri. Lebanese with dual citizenship in Germany. Rumored to have ties to Hezbollah’s Unit 910, responsible for terrorist activities outside of Lebanon’s borders.”

“I’ve got eyes on them.” Caleb picked up the tail. Ten minutes later, he reported that the two men had ducked into a small cafe.

“Danny, I’m dropping Emily off to join you as cover,” Nathan said. “She has a voice recorder clipped to her handbag. Try to get a seat close to the tangos and see if you can record their conversation. Caleb, wait outside. Follow them when they leave.”

“Awesome, I get the hot chick.” Danny barely held back a full-throated laugh when Nathan growled. “Of course, I’m afraid of her, so there’s that.”