Ethan lay curled up in a wooden crate beneath a whole lot of MREs (country captain chicken flavor, his least favorite) and tried to strike a balance between staying absolutely still, so he wouldn’t knock them all over and alert the enemy that he’d smuggled himself into their plane, and moving just enough so he wouldn’t get cramps, which would definitely alert the enemy that he’d smuggled himself into their plane when he tried to get out of the crate and promptly fell on his face. The hardest part was not coughing. Probably he wouldn’t be heard over the noise of the engine, but he couldn’t risk it.

Rather than risk being spotted trying to follow a minimum of four enemy agents, he’d tried to circle around in the opposite direction and get back to his men before they did. He’d succeeded in not being spotted, but failed to beat them there. Ethan had watched from a distance while the four enemies who’d gone searching for him had met up with the four who’d stayed to guard Merlin, Pete, and Ransom.

Any hope he’d had of ambushing them and rescuing his teammates died then and there: eight against one was bad odds to begin with, and hopeless when the eight were armed and he wasn’t. Especially since his teammates were still unconscious and could easily be used as hostages to force his cooperation.

On the other hand, only two enemies were with the small, unmarked plane that waited nearby, and they were both hanging out in the cockpit. Ethan considered his options, then decided that his best chance at rescuing his men—and his only chance at getting to the bottom of it all—was to find their base. He’d ducked inside the cargo bay, made a quick weapons check and found none, and buried himself in the only real hiding space, which was a half-full crate of MREs. He hoped no one would get hungry enough to come grab one.

He’d also hoped that his teammates would be stashed in the cargo bay, but no such luck. Ethan hadn’t dared to peek out, but while he’d felt the thump of feet and heard muffled voices, no one seemed to have entered the cargo bay at all.

It felt like they’d been flying forever before his ears popped, signaling the descent. He waited, barely breathing, as he heard the enemies disembark. Once again, to his frustration, he could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words. And then both voices and footsteps faded, and silence fell.

Ethan forced himself to count to a thousand before he so much as moved. Then he extricated himself from the crate, taking care not to send MREs cascading to the floor. The cargo bay was dark and still. He tiptoed to the door and listened with his ear to it. Nothing. He opened it.

Darkness met his eyes, and he drew in a breath of warm, humid air. He blinked, trying to see by the light of the moon. He was on a small airfield outside a base designed to blend in with the surrounding jungle. The plane he was in had been painted dark green, with no identification markings. Ethan bet the entire place would be perfectly camouflaged from above, invisible unless you knew what to look for.

He dropped down and pushed the door closed behind him. Urgency warred with caution in his mind as he approached the hidden base, keeping to the shadows. As he grew closer, he saw that it was patrolled by guards. If he walked up, he’d be captured immediately. He needed to come up with a plan.

A wave of dizziness swept over him, making him stagger. He’d hoped that “resting” in the MRE crate would help him recover, but he felt worse instead of better. His lungs felt heavy and sodden, his hands were shaking, his head and side throbbed, and his legs threatened to give out from under him. He was in no condition to launch a one-man raid on this place.

Ethan returned to the plane, grabbed a few MREs, and headed out into the jungle. The moss-covered earth was springy, and his feet left no tracks. He wasn’t sure what country he was in, but he was familiar with this sort of terrain. A brief search uncovered a reasonable hiding place, a shallow cave in a hillside with its entrance hidden behind a curtain of vines.

He crawled in, cooked the MRE with its heating element, and ate it, trying not to think about joking with Destiny about the Five Fingers of Death. That thought led to him having to try not to think about their visit to Aunt Lizzie’s Back Porch, and then to trying not to think about their one-and-only, peach cobbler-flavored, across-the-table kiss.

No matter what happens to me, at least Destiny’s safe at home.

Comforted by that thought, he fell asleep.

Ethan woke to a shaft of dappled, greenish sunlight. He lay still, listening, but heard nothing but the chattering of monkeys and screeches of tropical birds. He stretched out, wincing, and again evaluated his condition. He felt less on the verge of collapse than he had the day before, and he was certainly capable of operating with a headache and broken ribs. But he could feel a slight rasp in his breathing, and though he couldn’t be entirely sure, he thought he felt warmer than could be accounted for by the tropical heat.

If I’m coming down with something, I have to move fast before it gets worse, he told himself.

He might not be a one-man strike-force just yet, but he felt up to doing some reconnaissance. Depending on what he discovered, he’d either sneak in and break out his team, or sneak in, find a radio, and call for help.

He peered out of the cave, taking care to keep unseen within the vine curtain. To his dismay, the area around the base was bustling with enemies. A second unmarked plane was coming in for a landing, and a medical team and a security team were waiting for it. When it landed, a man was removed on a stretcher. Ethan was too far away to see anything but that he was lying still and there was a whole lot of blood on his clothes. The medical team jumped on him, there was a brief flurry of action, and then the stretcher-bearers literally ran him inside.

Ethan had no idea who the man was, but a whole lot of unpleasant possibilities came into his head about why he was there and how he’d been wounded. Apex had screwed up the ambush, and he’d had a chance to fight back? He’d been wounded in combat, and Apex had taken advantage of the commotion to snatch him when he was helpless?

Apex had captured Shane by ambushing his team when they’d been in the middle of a firefight and he’d been distracted by trying to save the life of his buddy Justin, who’d been hit and was bleeding out. Destiny had told Ethan about it; Shane still didn’t like to talk about it. Justin wasn’t the only one who’d been left with scars.

I hope you make it, Ethan thought to the man he’d seen so briefly. If you do, I’ll get you out of there. I swear it.

Then, to his surprise, more people got off the plane. They were a pair of big men holding a struggling woman. She was yelling so loudly that Ethan could hear the sound, though he couldn’t understand the words. One of the men put his hand over her mouth.

Ethan tensed to run out, then forced himself to stay still. He’d be taken prisoner immediately, and then how could he help her? As he watched, she apparently bit the hand (Ethan heard an anguished yell, and the hand yanked itself away), stomped on a foot, and made a break for it—toward the base, not away.

That’s weird, Ethan thought.

Her attempt was brave but hopeless. She was instantly jumped by the security team and dragged inside.

I’ll get you out too, Ethan silently vowed to her.

Which meant that he now had five people to rescue, not three. Much as he longed to break in and free everyone instantly, that wasn’t realistic. In fact, getting in the base at all didn’t seem very realistic. Still, he had to try.

Ethan settled back down. He hated to keep the prisoners waiting for an entire day, but he had to make his attempt at night or he’d have no chance at all. With a badly wounded man to deal with, hopefully Apex would be too distracted to do anything irrevocable to anyone any time soon.

He ate another country captain chicken MRE, plowing through it with the reminder that he needed all the strength he could get. Then, exhausted, he dozed off.

He awoke with a start and a jolt of adrenaline, hearing the soft footfalls of someone making a stealthy approach. They were coming closer. He snatched up a rock and crouched, ready to brain the first person to try to crawl into his hideaway.

The footsteps stopped.

“Come out with your hands over your head!” yelled a gruff male voice. Ethan recognized it as that of one of the Apex agents who had searched for him.

He kept silent, rock at the ready. Let them come to him.

“This is your last chance!” shouted the agent.

Ethan didn’t move or speak. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not having gone farther away, or found a better hiding place, or one with a second exit, or—

A familiar metal object was tossed into the cave: a flashbang grenade. Ethan dropped the rock and dove for it, intending to throw it back at them.

It went off in his hand.

The brilliant flash of light blinded him, and the bang left him deaf. He fell to his knees, dizzy and reeling. He’d seen the effect of stun grenades before, and knew that the shock wave disturbed the fluid in the inner ears, giving people vertigo. But he’d never had one go off that close to him before. Though he knew why everything seemed to be whirling and pitching around him, he couldn’t do anything about it but grit his teeth and wait for it to wear off. He couldn’t fight; he couldn’t even stand up.

Ethan was only vaguely aware of being pulled out of the cave, then dragged through the jungle. His ears were ringing like a fire alarm was going off in his head, and bright afterimages flashed every time he blinked.

By the time the dizziness wore off enough for him to become aware of his surroundings, he was halfway across the airfield. He stayed limp, hoping they’d think he was still incapacitated, while he took in the situation.

It was still day; he must have been found soon after he’d hidden. Or maybe he’d been so exhausted that he’d slept through the night and into the day. Not knowing which it was made him feel even more disoriented.

He was held by two big guards, who were accompanied by four more. More guards had gathered by the entrance to the base, which he was being dragged to. Once he was inside, he’d undoubtedly be locked up.

Right now, he was being hauled past the plane he’d smuggled himself into. He wished like hell he knew how to fly. He’d been offered flying lessons once, but—

He broke off that painful line of thought. No point dwelling on what was past and gone. He had to take the one chance he had, which was to try to escape on foot, now.

Ethan kicked out, slamming his foot into the side of the kneecap of one of the men holding him. The guard went down with a yell of pain. The grip of the other guard loosened as he reacted in surprise. Ethan punched him in the solar plexus, dropping him to the ground, then bolted for the jungle.

He made it halfway across the airfield before the guards caught up with him. Ethan went down under the weight of them, his face slamming into the concrete. The guards dragged him upright, then slammed him against the nearest plane. This time a guard held his feet. He struggled, but in vain. He was far outnumbered and still feeling the effects of the flashbang, in addition to his other injuries. Pain stabbed through his head, and he subsided, feeling dizzy and sick.

A tall man stepped in front of him, rubbing his chin. Glancing at the name on his uniform, he said, “Ethan McNeil.”

Ethan recognized the voice. It was Ayers, the man who’d seemed to be in charge of the agents who’d captured his fire team. “We thought we’d lost you. Thanks for coming all the way here. Now we have the complete team, just like we’d intended in the first place.”

“I’ve already radioed for air support,” Ethan said. “You’d better start running now if you want to have any chance of getting away.”

Ayers smiled. “Good try. But if you’d radioed anyone, we’d have detected it. Now, how did you get here?”

Ethan didn’t reply.

“Kritsick!” Ayers snapped his fingers at the man beside him. “Hurt him.”

Kritsick punched Ethan in the mouth. Pain exploded through his head, and he felt his lip split. Warm blood trickled down his chin.

You’ll have to do better than that, Ethan thought.

Getting punched in the face was no fun, but it wasn’t as if he’d never been knocked around before. In fact, that hadn’t even hurt more than his head already hurt from the concussion. He was tempted to say so, but decided keeping his mouth shut was the better part of valor.

“Not like that,” Ayers said, sounding exasperated. “You think a Recon Marine can’t take a punch?”

Ethan saw something in his captor’s eyes that unnerved him. It wasn’t sadism; Ayers didn’t seem to be getting any particular enjoyment out of the situation. It was a total lack of feeling. This was a man who might do absolutely anything to anyone without flinching or caring at all, so long as it got him what he wanted.

Still, presumably they wanted Ethan for the same reason they’d captured the rest of his team: to force him to work for them. They couldn’t damage him too much, or he’d be useless to them. But that thought didn’t reassure him. There was plenty of damage that could be done that wasn’t physical and wouldn’t impair his usefulness. You only had to take one look at Shane to know that.

Ayers leaned in close. As if he’d read Ethan’s mind, he said, “We can break you without damaging your ultimate effectiveness. There’s so much that can be done with very simple means. Water, electricity, loud noises. Or no noise, no light, nothing. Just you, alone in a dark silent cell, with no way to even tell how much time is passing. Everyone has a breaking point. We have your teammates, you know. How would you like to watch while I try to figure out theirs?”

Ethan’s blood ran cold at the thought. He didn’t particularly get along with them, but the thought of watching them being tortured made him feel sick. Trying for a bravado he didn’t feel, he said, “Fuck those assholes. Do whatever you like to them. I don’t care.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Ayers rubbed his chin. “We could find out.”

Some treacherous part of him said, Just tell him you hid in the cargo bay. What does it matter?

Another part forced him to keep his mouth shut. He’d been trained for exactly this kind of situation. Once you started talking, you didn’t stop. The best thing to do was to delay that moment as long as possible.

The two men stared into each other’s eyes, neither backing down. Finally, Ayers broke eye contact, shaking his head in disappointment. “Fine. We’ll start with one of the simple means. Lay him on his back.”

The guards forced Ethan down and pinned him to the ground. The concrete was hot against his back, the sky a sheet of blue-white glare. They were holding his head in place, so he closed his eyelids, all but a crack, against the sun.

Ayers knelt down beside him, fishing in his pocket. Despite Ethan’s resolve, fear cramped his belly. He knew Ayers wanted him to wonder what he’d pull out, but that didn’t make him stop wondering.

“What are you waiting for?” Ayers inquired, pausing in his search. “Sooner or later, you’ll talk. Might as well be sooner. No one’s going to swoop down and save you.”

I know, Ethan thought.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Ayers take out a pocket knife. Ethan took a deep breath, held fast to his resolve, and kept his gaze fixed on the sky. It was cloudless, featureless except for a black dot. He’d focus on that, no matter what Ayers did to him, and distract himself by trying to figure out what it was. Might be a hawk… No, it was too big for that. A hawk wouldn’t be visible that far up in the sky. A vulture, maybe.

Sharp pain stabbed through Ethan’s hand, jolting him all the way up and down his spine. He forced himself not to flinch. The black dot. It was getting bigger. The vulture must have spotted something. Another stab of pain. His jaw was clenched so tight, it hurt.

The black dot was even bigger now. It wasn’t a bird at all. It was a small plane, coming in fast. A two-person plane, like Destiny occasionally rented to fly for fun. She’d taken him up for a spin once, and he’d had to sit on his hands to stop himself from leaning over and kissing her. She’d offered to teach him to fly, and he’d meant to take her up on the offer, but he’d deployed before he could get the chance.

The plane came close enough to hear the faint roar of its engine.

Ayers looked up, and unfeigned shock spread over his face. “That’s not one of ours!”

A wild hope made Ethan’s heart leap. Seizing the opportunity, he said, “I told you I radioed for help.”

He had the satisfaction of seeing a flash of panic in Ayers’s cold eyes. “Vega, Jeffries, get the prisoner inside and lock him up! Park, sound the alarm! Kritsick, get me an RPG! I’ll shoot that thing out of the sky!”

Two of the guards yanked Ethan up. He fought as hard as he could, kicking, head-butting, foot-stomping. Another two guards were forced to join the fray just to hold him in place.

The plane was a black silhouette against the brilliant desert sky, but he could see now that it had a single pilot. Ayers drew a pistol and took careful aim. With a burst of strength, Ethan got one arm loose and lashed out, knocking the gun from Ayers’s hand. The shot went wild.

Another gunshot sounded, and one of the guards holding Ethan collapsed. As the grip of the other guards loosened in shock, Ethan broke free, snatched the gun from the downed guard’s holster, and fired at Ayers. Kritsick lunged for him as he did so, grabbing for his gun. Ethan knocked the man aside, but his hand was jostled and he missed the shot. The bullet ricocheted off the concrete.

The plane was coming in for a landing. Ethan bolted toward it.

“Ethan! Hurry!” The pilot’s voice was hard to hear over the roar of the engine, but he recognized it nonetheless.

It can’t be…

But it was. As Ethan reached the plane, he looked up, incredulous, into Destiny’s warm brown eyes.