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DEA Special Agent Nancy Chambers waited with her operators for the Cortez Cartel based in Bolivia to make their move. Intel had been gathered from several informants and surveillance that a huge shipment of cocaine was landing at the Port of Miami. Her Special Response Team of fifteen members with support from the Coast Guard was poised to engage with the cartel and take them down.
When the nondescript tractor-trailer truck powered toward the entrance to the Port of Miami tunnel, a direct-access conduit to ferry trucks from the port and keep the traffic out of downtown, she stepped out of cover and stood to the side of the big rig. She held up her hand along with her warrant to search the truck.
The driver panicked and gunned the engine, and Nancy dived to safety as it rushed past with gusts of hot wind and stinging dirt.
Men shouted and automatic gunfire ripped across the area. She turned to see more than one of her guys down and a large force of cartel enforcers moving in. She got to her feet and ran for cover behind a container. Several law enforcement vehicles had tried to block the truck, but it had smashed through the line, leaving crushed metal and bodies in its wake.
One of her guys was already calling in medical aid, but they couldn’t allow anyone near until the threat was neutralized.
“Dade, do you have a shot?” she asked through her mic to one of her elite snipers who was poised for just this event.
“Affirmative.”
That truck wasn’t going anywhere as the port had erected concrete barriers to the tunnel in case the driver wouldn’t cooperate. She watched as the truck driver saw his predicament and started to brake hard.
“Take it,” she ordered.
Seconds later, the truck swerved and crashed into one of the concrete barriers and came to an abrupt stop.
“Move in,” she called as the back doors to the truck opened and several armed men fired at them. It was a terrible and bloody takedown, but once the smoke cleared, Nancy and her team along with the Coast Guard and local law enforcement had several members in custody. But the DEA had paid a terrible price. Five of her men gone, three in critical condition, and several wounded.
Later on, back at division, her boss took her aside and said, “We’ve gotten indictments on the key members of the cartel for murder and trafficking. You and your team are heading to Bolivia, with the permission of the government, to clear out that nest of vipers.”
When she arrived home, her husband was just putting some steaks on the grill. She kissed him and held him for a minute longer than she usually did.
“Bad day?” he asked.
She nodded as her five-year-old daughter came charging across the back lawn with their German Shepard, Bandit. She wrapped her small arms around her mom’s legs and Nancy smiled. She would have to leave them soon to do her job, but right now, it didn’t get better than this.
* * *
SEAL HQ,Banja Luka, Bosnia/Herzegovina
“I guess GQ filled you in?” Preacher asked as they entered the HQ. Still reeling from Karasu’s disappearance, Preacher forcibly turned his mind from her to their former boss, even though the repercussions of Karasu’s actions lay heavy on his heart. His boss’s expression was set and concerned. Of course, Striker was personal to both of them, and he wasn’t sure about Ice, but Preacher felt it down to his soul.
They had both been on that rogue op and were still operating, still in the Navy, still working their tridents. Ice had been promoted to team leader and his and Striker’s actions had saved Preacher’s life. He could only imagine what 2-Stroke was feeling. He and Striker had been estranged before the rescue, but they had bonded and reconciled only to have his brother disappear again for reasons only he knew at this point.
Iceman exhaled and nodded. “GQ said he was in bad shape.” In Ice’s pale blue eyes was the same regret and guilt that he saw when he looked in the mirror.
“He is, Chris.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. Preacher had made a mistake in not checking up on Striker more often. He’d made an effort and thought his teammate was doing well. He saw him at 2-Stroke and Chry’s wedding and he looked well then. But reality must have caught up to him, or seeing his teammates and the team he once commanded may have done him in. The loss for Striker must be overwhelming. “We need to do something.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Go back and talk him into going home. If that doesn’t work, call Neo and get him on a plane. We can’t leave Dean like that.”
“I agree.” It was clear that Ice was also overcome by emotion. He reached out and pulled Preacher into a hard hug, then set his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll get him help first thing in the morning.”
Morning was long in coming after a night of fitful rest. Preacher got up before dawn and did his PT, unable to sleep. The sooner they got to Striker, the better for him. Not to mention, he had to get his own shit together. Between Karasu and his former boss, he was distracted and unfocused.
He headed to their mess hall and saw all the guys were there along with Iceman. He got his breakfast and settled down at the table. He could tell by the solemn looks on everyone’s faces that Ice had filled them in.
“We’ve got his back. Let’s go get him some help,” Boomer said, his voice gruff. “He deserves so much more than what he got.”
“I will bring Bones. The boss always loved and responded to him.”
Iceman rose. “Lead the way, Preacher,” he said. “Let’s go get our brother.” Eager to do something constructive for Striker, Preacher got up and dumped his tray, then nodded.
They filed into a black van and Preacher directed them to the residence. Once Kodiak parked, they exited and went into the building. Preacher climbed the stairs and walked toward the apartment door, but before they got there, Mrs. Kovic came into the hall and stopped them. Her face marked with deep lines of sorrow, she brushed at tears on her cheek.
