The blue International bus bounced and creaked as it roared across the airfield. Daniel Thames relaxed against his seat. He was home. He was part of the 48^th Rescue Squadron, 563rd Rescue Group, based on Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona. He’d been gone for two months, attending a hush-hush evaluation. For what, he still didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Anything was better than what he was doing before he’d been invited to participate. He used to take enormous pride in what he did, but now he was simply waiting for his tour to be up. Being selected for this—whatever this was—would give him a change of scenery for the next three years. And, perhaps, give him some peace.

“Hey, Pajamas! Is it true the Air Force has the finest looking bitches in the services?”

Daniel smiled. He’d picked up the nickname Pajamas during the two-month evaluation at Fort Benning, Georgia. He was part of the PJs, short for Para jumper—also known as Rescue Rangers or Air Commandos—but his title was officially designated as Pararescue. He and others that wore the coveted maroon beret dove deep into the shit to rescue downed pilots, following their motto of These Things We Do, That Others May Live. He took his role seriously. Or thought he had.

He twisted in his seat and smiled at Derrick. Derrick Long was a Navy SEAL. He’d also made the cut. He had a quick, scathing wit that could sometimes get under the skin, but he was a good guy. The three other men on the bus were good guys as well. With two SEALs and an Army Ranger, they gave him plenty of hell about being Air Force, but they also gave each other hell for not being Navy or Army.

“Compared to what you’ve got in the Army and Navy, goats would be fine-looking bitches.”

Derrick looked at him a moment, his face stern as he held his fist up in front of him, then quickly turned a tiny imaginary crank beside his hand, his face gradually breaking into a surprised look as his middle finger slowly rose.

“Hey! Maybe you can hook us up. We’ll show these airwomen what a real man looks like,” Richard Tesley, the other SEAL, suggested.

“Pfft,” Dan spluttered. “Anyone who would find a Squid attractive would get washed out in basic.”

“More for me, then,” Thomas Gregg responded with an evil grin.

Dan turned his attention to the Ranger. “A knuckle dragger? They’d never be able to pass the entrance exam.”

The SEALs laughed as Thom gave Dan the finger. “They’re probably a bunch of frigid bitches anyway,” he said with a grin.

“Not at all. They merely have taste.” Dan smiled. He could dish it out as well as take it.

“So, they like the nerdy, professor type?” Thom asked. “That’s only because they haven’t been fucked by a real man before.”

“Maybe,” Dan allowed, his lips twitching as he fought back his smile. “Sure, I’ll set you up. It’ll be up to you to talk to them, though. Think you can handle words with more than two syllables?”

The other three men laughed. The traditional rivalry between the services was alive and well, but each of them knew any of the others would be right there in the thick of it with them when the chips were down.

The bus rocked to a stop in front of the visitors’ quarters. He had a house on base, but he would make sure his ‘guests’ were settled in before he went home.

“Here you are, gentlemen!” the airman driving the bus said cheerfully as he opened the door. He nodded at the woman standing at the curb. “The airman will take care of you.”

The four men gathered their duffels and stepped off the bus. They weren’t in uniform, so the young airman waiting at the curb didn’t salute them.

“Gentlemen, I’m Airmen Fug. I’m here to get you settled in.”

Airmen Fug—she pronounced it Foog—appeared to be right out of basic and had only one stripe on her sleeves. She was wearing crisp blues and filled out her blouse nicely. Dan smiled as his companions sized the airman up. He took charge.

“Airman, Petty Officers First Class Long and Tesley, U.S. Navy.” He could see the panic in the woman’s eyes. “That’s the equivalent to an E-5, a Tech Sergeant. This is Army Sergeant Thomas Gregg. He’s an E-4.”

The woman snapped off a crisp salute. She wasn’t required to salute since they weren’t in uniform, but she probably did it as a sign of respect. “Welcome to Davis-Monthan.”

He smiled. She didn’t say gentlemen, a title unofficially reserved for officers. Airman Fug was going to go far. The three men crisply saluted in return.

“That dope is one of yours. Sergeant Daniel Thames, U.S. Air Force,” Rich said with a nod at Dan.

Fug fired off another crisp salute and Dan returned it. “If you’ll follow me,” she said, leading the men inside. “Sergeant Long, this is your room.” She opened a door and stepped aside. Derrick stepped in as Fug moved across the hall and opened another door. “Sergeant Tesley, your room.” She repeated the procedure for Gregg, then opened the last door for Dan.

“I won’t be staying here, Airman. I’m stationed here and have a house.”

Fug shut the door. “Yes, Sergeant. Can I give you a ride?”

He heard the other three men burst into laughter, and she blushed furiously but said nothing. “That’s all right, Fug. I can make my way. Take good care of our guests.”

She nodded with an abrupt jerk of her head. “Very good care, Sergeant.”

He raised his voice slightly. “Show her the respect she’s due. This isn’t the fucking Navy or Army.”

The three men stepped into the hall. “At ease, Airman,” Derrick said, and Fug settled into a parade rest. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he added seriously.

“My pleasure. Call on me if you need anything.” She paused then cracked a tiny smile. “Anything at all.”

Dan shook his head. Fug obviously knew how to handle herself. He knew none of the men would do anything out of line, but before the training was over, he was pretty sure Fug would offer at least one of the men a ride, and it wouldn’t be in a car.

“Our first meeting is at fifteen hundred. Do you know where these men need to be?” Dan asked.

“Yes, Sergeant. I’ve been briefed. I’ll have them there on time.”

“Very good. Carry on,” he said before he picked up his duffle.

“Thank you,” Dan said as he stepped out of the hummer in front of one of the large buildings spotted around the desert. They were meeting in the boneyard, the huge expanse of desert inside Davis-Monthan where military aircraft came to die. Why they were meeting way out there was a mystery to him when they had plenty of classroom and office space in the main part of the base.

He walked into the cream-colored metal building. It was one of several similar buildings scattered around in the boneyard used for various purposes during the disassembly or restoration of the airframes stored there. The building had been emptied, leaving a vast, open area several hundred feet on a side. He frowned in confusion.

“What the fuck, Dan?” Rich asked. “Any idea what the hell is going on?”

“None.”

Derrick glanced at his watch. “We’ve been here fifteen minutes and haven’t seen a soul. It’s almost fifteen-hundred now. Are we supposed to just stand around with our dicks in our hands?”

Dan shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I say give it an hour, then we can go have a beer if nobody shows up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Thom agreed. “Maybe the Airman Fug”—he mispronounced it so it sounded like fuck— “would like to join us.”

Dan smiled. “Be nice. Remember, she can make your stay as comfortable or as miserable as she wants.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting some comfort from—” Derrick began but cut off when the entrance door opened.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” a woman said as she entered.

Dan watched as she approached, a folder in her right hand. She was dressed in a tight, dark blue dress that showed off her curves beautifully. She wasn’t wearing heels but still stood at least five-eight, and her deep red hair was pulled back in a severe braid. She might look like a model, but she moved with constrained power and grace, like a jungle cat, her stride feminine but purposeful.

“Anyone else seeing this?” Derrick whispered as the woman approached.

“Thank you for joining me today. I’m Natasha Sampson, with the NSA. Let me congratulate you on being selected.”

“NSA? The National Security Administration? That NSA? Selected for what, exactly?” Thom asked.

“Correct. Before I go any further, I will remind each of you that what I’m about to tell you is confidential. You are bound by the agreements you signed at Fort Benning. Understood?”

The four men nodded.

“We are forming a team that will specialize in covert rescue and extraction. You’re the first four members and will form the first of several teams. We will evaluate you and adjust the training as necessary. You’re the prototype on which all other teams will be based.”

“And you’re with the NSA?”

“That’s right.”

Thom’s eyes squinted slightly. “The NSA doesn’t use human assets.”

She smiled. “Officially, we still don’t. You, gentlemen, don’t exist. Officially, you’re still with your units, going about your daily lives. This is to give everyone—the CIA, DIA, and the State Department—plausible deniability. The only place you will show up is in your various branches of the military.”

“Ms. Sampson—” Dan began.

“Call me Tasha. We’re going to be working closely together for the next six months.”

“Tasha, I’m not sure I understand what’s going on. The military already has extraction teams.”

She flashed another quick smile. “But no covert teams. I know you have a lot of questions. Some I can answer, many I can’t. But know that you will be doing the work that needs to be done but can’t be done through normal channels.”

The four men looked at each other.

“Assassinations?” Rich asked.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “The U.S. isn’t in the assassination business.” She paused as if she was thinking. “What I can tell you is you are going into places where the United States isn’t always welcome, places where we don’t have assets on the ground. You will be going in to extract people, people who need our help.”

“We won’t be killing people?” Derrick asked.

“I can tell you that you will never be sent in with instructions to kill someone. We don’t do that.” Her lips twisted to the side as she clearly pondered her words before speaking. “Some casualties may be unavoidable in the execution of the mission, but I’m here to teach you how to minimize that. Your job is to get in, do the job, and get out without anyone knowing you were there.”

“Isn’t this the CIA’s gig?” Dan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was getting the feeling they were being fed a line of bullshit.

“Despite what the movies would have you believe, the CIA mostly collects information. They go in and spread a lot of money around to buy information or influence events in favor of the U.S. That’s not your function. You will be tasked with extracting targets we have no other way of getting out.”

“Targets? Kidnapping?” When Tasha said nothing, Dan nodded. “That’s what I thought.” The stench of bullshit was getting stronger.

“This is fucked up,” Rich muttered.

“If you’re not comfortable with the duties, this is your out. You will return to your units and nothing will be said. You’ll be simply another recruit who didn’t make it.” She glanced from man to man, her gaze firm and unwavering. “But know this, it’s a dangerous fucking world. The bad guys are getting bolder and are better equipped. Imagine if this team had been in place and the U.S. could have put hands on Osama Bin Laden before the planes had flown into the World Trade Center. We simply made him…disappear…and nobody knew where he went or what happened to him. We might have been able to get enough information from him to shut down his entire network and save countless lives.” Again she held their gaze, as if daring them to question the truth of her statements. “Remember when Dustin Groden was taken? He was the analyst working at the American Embassy in the DRC—The Democratic Republic of Cabera. He was snatched right off the street in Kooteran last year and accused of espionage. The DRC was useless, and he was killed on live television. He was a good man. He had a wife, and two kids who are now fatherless. This team might have saved him.”

She paused one more time and held each of their eyes. “We’re not the bad guys. We’re not going out to kill people. We have bombs for that. We’re trying to save lives. American lives. We’re going to save people that have no other chance of survival.”

The four men looked at each other. “I’m in,” Rich said. Thom and Derrick quickly followed then everyone looked at Dan, waiting for his answer. He paused as he thought it over. This wasn’t what he wanted. It was the same shit he was trying to get away from, but he didn’t want to let the team down. He would have support this time, people to keep him from being stupid.

“Yeah. I’m in,” Dan said softly.

Tasha smiled. “I have some paperwork for each of you to sign. It transfers you from your various units and basically says if you so much as whisper into a lover’s ear what you do, you will see nothing but four concrete walls for the rest of your life. You know the drill. This is the blackest of black ops. If the world knows you exist, you’re useless.”

“What’s your role in all of this?” Thom asked, his hands clasped behind his back as if he was at parade rest, but his voice was firm.

Dan forced himself not to smile. Thom was being polite and respectful, but it was clear he expected answers.

“I’m your trainer.” She smiled when the four men looked at each other. “We assume you already know how to kill. I’m going to teach you how to blend in, not be seen, and get the job done without killing everyone around you. Remember, this is covert. You’re used to blowing shit up—well, all but you, Dan—but you need to forget all that. If you’re blowing a bunch of shit up, you’re doing it wrong. Stealth is the name of the game. I’ll teach you that fieldcraft.”

Derrick grinned. “So, we’re going to be like Bond but without blowing shit up? Where’s the fun in that?”

She grinned. “You can think of it that way but without all the fancy gadgets. That stuff only exists in the movies.”

“What about bedding the women? I wouldn’t mind meeting Pussy Galore or Octopussy,” Derrick grinned. “Of course, I’ve already got that covered. I mean, I barely made it here.”

“Oh?” Tasha asked, a grin tugging at her lips. “Why’s that?”

“Severe sexual exhaustion,” he said, holding her gaze with his own.

She nodded in sympathy. “That’s okay. You can sign with your other hand.”

The men’s laughter rang loud in the empty building.