From the outside Ivan knew he looked his usual icy collected self. He wore the same clothes as his men; combat fatigues meant to blend into a jungle environment since Jaya’s captor had led them to Thailand during rainy season. He sat in the back of the military aircraft he’d purchased for bigger operations, leaning forward, arms bent loose across his knees. Though he appeared calm, even speaking to Keane about logistics, on the inside he was a boiling cauldron of fear, fury and smouldering rage. He intended to bury Father’s operation until it was nothing but a pile of rocks.

“We can land the plane in Bangkok and drive in, it’ll take maybe three to four hours to get to her location,” Keane said pointing at a location on the map. “The region is dense. I suspect the going’ll be slow once we’re on the ground and in the mud.”

Ivan shook his head and stabbed the map with his middle finger. “Here. She’ll be half hour out, max.”

Keane growled his displeasure. “We can’t land this fuckin’ thing in the middle of a jungle, boss. Bad idea.”

Ivan turned icy eyes on his second. “Didn’t say anything about landing. And I’m not asking your opinion.”

Keane frowned and then, when he realized what the boss was saying, turned an interesting shade of green. “Awe, fuck off. Fucking hate jungle jumps.”

Ivan grunted. “Assholes got onto my roof that way. Figure we can return the favour.”

“Sure,” Keane snarled, swallowing audibly and reaching for the parachute over his head. “Hey,” he shouted down the plane toward the pilot, “when was the last time these things were safety inspected?” No one answered, but everyone around them began putting on their parachutes and checking each other’s harnesses. Keane pulled his on and latched the harness around his chest and stomach. He glared at Ivan. “Fuck you.”

Ivan followed suit, ignoring his irate second-in-command. Once he was strapped in, he twisted around to glance out the window. He pointed. “See that, we’ll meet on the west edge of that town. Organize the men.”

Keane nodded and stood, reaching for a strap over his head to steady himself. “Oi, listen up!” he shouted down the length of the plane. Two dozen heads swivelled toward him. He explained their plan in short, succinct sentences. Moments later, the co-pilot was opening the door and they were preparing for the jump. One at a time his men jumped from the plane without hesitation. He wasn’t surprised, most of them were ex-paramilitary or guerilla. They were all trained for this. Keane turned to glare at Ivan before tucking his arms across his chest and stepping out the door. Ivan nodded at the co-pilot and took his turn, following his man through the door.

He’d jumped many times in his life, both while training with his men and when the need to parachute into certain countries to make a deal arose. He always enjoyed the rush of a good freefall. The feeling of air and space flying past him, caressing his hair and face, cooling his skin. It was like the wide-open solitude of the sky matched the permanent iciness of his heart. But today he felt none of that, just a desperate need to put boots on the ground, get to his woman and ensure her safety. Then beat some damn sense into her for putting them both in this goddamned situation. A situation she could have prevented if she’d been honest with him.

He looked to his right and then his left. Parachutes were opening all around him and men were drifting gently toward the trees below. He could tell his guys were aiming for the small clearings in between and hoped they were accurate, he needed them largely unhurt for the operation. He knew he should open his own chute, prepare for landing. But the overwhelming desire to land fast, get to the village and plan the assault was replacing his need for safety. He waited, glancing at his watch and counting down until he knew he was reaching critical velocity. He felt, rather than saw, Keane’s anxiety. The Irishman was shouting, but he was too far away for Ivan to hear.

Ivan deployed his chute and braced for landing, bending his knees for the impact. He hit the ground seconds later, much harder than he would have if he’d stayed in the sky longer. He allowed his body to collapse and rolled, tangling in the parachute as he went. “Motherfucker!” he snarled as his shoulder jarred against a rock. As soon as he stopped moving he was back on his feet. A quick inventory proved that he was fine except for a few bruises.

Rather than waste time pulling his parachute in, he pulled his blade from its sheath and severed the lines, detaching himself from the billowing fabric. He dropped it and walked away, heading swiftly for the village. He got to the meeting point within minutes, the first to arrive. Men began jogging up to him moments later, hunkering down, waiting for their next order. They’d been working for Ivan for long enough that, even without job specifics, they knew exactly what to expect from him.

Keane strode toward Ivan, a look of savage disgust on his face. Ivan understood when he caught a whiff of the guy’s breath. Apparently the Irishman really hadn’t enjoyed his jump or his landing; maybe both.

“Report,” Ivan demanded. “Is everyone here?”

“Quinn broke his right arm landing in a tree,” Keane said right away and then did a quick head count. “Everyone’s here.”

“Can he shoot left-handed?” Ivan asked.

“Yes, sir.” A man stood up.

Ivan glanced at him. He was holding his arm stiffly at his side, but he looked tough enough. He should be, Ivan only hired the best of the worst. Quinn appeared ready and able to join the strike team. “Stay on the periphery, lay down cover fire. Don’t engage directly unless you’re ordered to. If you’re lying to me about your ability to shoot left, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn acknowledged quickly.

Ivan laid out the plan for his men, allowing Keane to interrupt occasionally with logistical suggestions. Though Ivan had decades of field experience and was a deadly opponent, Keane was a true man of war. His ability to wage all out battle was what made him the only man worthy to stand at Ivan’s side and why Ivan tolerated him, despite his toe-over-the-line approach to his boss. Finally, Ivan looked up from the map he’d been tracing with his finger.

“Any questions?” The battle-hardened men just looked at him. His plan was simple. Go in, get the girl with as few casualties as possible. And once she was out, burn the place to the ground with everyone in it. “Let’s move out.”

The trek through the forests of Thailand was hot, humid and deeply uncomfortable. Ivan set a gruelling fast pace that would put them in Father’s encampment in less than twenty minutes. Keane should be thanking him for forcing them to jump into the middle of the jungle rather than travel bumpy, muddy roads for hours and then go by foot.

When they arrived close to Father’s base camp, Ivan’s men scattered at his silent order, taking position according to his instructions. He and Keane had developed their strategy based on real time satellite images sent to him every twenty minutes during their three-hour, twenty-two-minute flight from Indonesia to Thailand. There were several men scattered throughout the jungle guarding the encampment. Ivan’s people would take them down one at a time. No doubt they were expecting his arrival, were expecting an assault, but they could have no clue how swift or skilled his men were. They were about to find out.

Once they were in the camp, they would attempt to do as little damage as possible until they reached Jaya’s position. The last message he got from his secretary, five minutes ago, indicated that she was being held in a house at the centre of the tiny village, according to her locator chip.

Trusting that his men had done their job without complication, he walked boldly into the encampment without pause, Keane at his side. Two men came running toward them. They looked around Jaya’s age, maybe a little older. Keane made quick work of them, putting a single bullet in each man, headshots. Ivan turned to glare at his man.

Keane shrugged. “They’re probably under orders not to kill you. Fuck if I’m gonna die in this stinking mudhole.”

“I should drop you back in the desert where I found you,” Ivan said coolly, shaking his head as they made their way toward the hut where Jaya was supposedly being kept. He was surprised she wasn’t out in the open, where it would be easier for Father to plan an ambush.

“Better than jumping out of airplanes into this fucking bullshit,” Keane grumbling, lifting his semi-automatic and waving it at a man who stepped out of one of the small houses. The man looked startled but dropped his weapon a few feet away from his boots and then followed it to the ground, his arms over his head. The move might save his life.

Ivan’s men began descending on the village from their jungle positions, moving in one at a time, covering each other. They took the village with militaristic ease, working together like a well-oiled machine, each cog doing its job with precision. Father’s men were young, and while they tried valiantly to protect their home, they couldn’t match the skill and brutality of Ivan’s force. According to orders, Ivan’s people took the village with as few casualties as possible, quietly moving in, striking with swift ease, making it clear that Father’s men either complied or died. Most laid down their arms and gave up.

Ivan grabbed a man near the point where Jaya was being held and, gripping him by the hair and twisting viciously, asked, “Where is Jaya?”

“Who?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear. The stench of urine indicated his bladder had released. The dead body of his comrade at their feet probably didn’t help his confidence.

Ivan unsheathed his knife and held it to the man’s throat. It was a wicked looking blade with deep serrations along the sharp edge. His eyes took on the death chill that usually convinced those that knew him it was time to take a long walk in the opposite direction. “Where is the girl? The hacker?”

He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Ivan’s patience was beginning to ebb. He was considering disposing of this nuisance and moving onto fresh prey when the guy finally lifted a shaking hand and pointed at a home, slightly nicer than the one’s surrounding it. Ivan nodded, lifted the guy, turned him and slammed the knife into his belly, gutting him. The man screamed, a chilling sound. Ivan hoped his enemy heard and knew he was coming.

“How come you get to kill them and I can’t?” Keane asked, nudging the dying man with his foot. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

Ivan ignored him and bent to wipe his knife. Resheathing it, he stood and strode toward the house containing Jaya, intent only on collecting his woman. When he got to the door he turned and looked at Keane.

“Got your back,” the Irishman grunted.