“No plan,” Duane scratched at his chin.

“Nope,” Fred Smith offered cheerfully.

It was classic Delta, without being classic Delta.

“Usually you at least give us a damned target,” Chad’s growl filled the small, highly secure conference room at the Yakima Research Station with a dangerous sound.

The Unit was typically provided with very specific tasks, but not specific methodologies. The how was their specialty, achieving the impossible. But this time they weren’t being told what they were supposed to be achieving in the first place.

Smith finally spoke up, perhaps to avoid destruction-by-Chad. “We have spent a week introducing you to all of the intelligence we have on Venezuela’s current regime. It’s a vicious dictatorship only marginally cloaked in due process. The judiciary is a puppet of the state and the parliament—dominated by the opposition party—risk their very lives every time they show up for work. It’s so bad that even members of the hyper-loyal military and police are protesting, though only a very few.”

“Sure,” Chad put in. “We heard about the guy who flew over the Supreme Court building and dropped a couple of hand grenades on them.”

“Right,” Duane agreed. “He should have dropped some five hundred pound bombs on the Palacio de Miraflores if he wanted to make a real impression. Smack in the courtyard while the President and First Lady were in residence.”

“At least,” Sofia put in, but her response sounded more force of habit than from really paying any attention.

Smith shook his head. “The President of our country has ordered that there is to be no direct action against the official government of Venezuela, which includes the President. The US can’t be seen as staging a coup.”

“No matter how awful the man is?” Melissa offered one of her rare questions.

“No matter how awful we think he is,” Smith agreed. “If you—”

“The government,” Sofia spoke slowly, as if she hadn’t heard anything else going on. “Is only propped up partially by the military. It is really underpinned by SEBIN.”

“Yes,” Smith tapped the closed files on the table that they had memorized inside and out. “Their secret police has its fingers everywhere.”

“So, let’s take them down!” Carla thumped a fist on the table.

“No obvious direct action,” Smith repeated.

“They’re not the government. They’re the secret police.”

Duane watched Sofia and waited. This was what she did. He had known he was within minutes of losing her at the vineyard. She would walk away and run her estate and protect her grandmother and sister. They might get together a time or two, but they’d drift apart as he fought new battles in new places.

What had surprised him at the time was how much that idea had hurt. Another shocker had been his pleasure at the simple solution that had presented itself. No, that Sofia had conjured up out of thin air with Consuela’s help as if it was the most natural thing ever—something the two sisters had created between them.

“Make it up as we go?” he asked. “It worked once.”

Everyone looked at him curiously. All he or Sofia had told the team was that their helicopter broke and they’d been delayed waiting for an FAA-certified repair tech to get the part and show up at Sofia’s home. The estate’s marketing machine had kicked into gear, minimizing the news and keeping Sofia and Consuela’s names out of it completely. The two attempted murder trials, if Camila and Emilio were too stupid to just plead guilty, would make the news at some later time.

Sofia started nodding. “First we need to get their quietly.”

“The boat!” Richie jumped in immediately. “Let’s go grab the boat. Guys, we gotta see what it can do, don’t we? I mean it’s an AB 100. We just gotta.”

“That ain’t real quiet,” Chad was laughing. Clearly he wanted it too.

“Sure it is,” Duane wouldn’t mind a boat ride. “Because it looks like it belongs to a rich idiot, not a Delta team.”

The women started asking what boat, and Richie and Chad began filling them in about the super-yacht abandoned in the Portobelo, Panama boat house.

Only Duane was watching Fred Smith who was smiling happily. Of course he’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d showed it to them. This moment was his first reason for showing it to them. The GoldenEye was the perfect way to infiltrate the country—the arrival of wealthy and powerful business people.

“You with us all the way, Smith?” Duane asked quietly while Richie was busy lecturing everyone else about the nineteen-hundred horsepower of each of the three MAN engines versus hull design factors in designing super-yachts capable of exceeding a fifty-knot speed.

“Me?” Smith sounded shocked. “Oh, I’ll keep you company back to Panama, but I’m just an analyst desk jockey.”

“What about her?” He indicated Sofia with a quick swing of his eyes that wouldn’t draw anyone else’s attention.

“That’s up to her,” Smith said quietly with a worried expression. “I hate to send her out into the field again, but—” His shrug was very expressive.

Yeah. Duane would hate it too, but he’d wager their odds of success would increase drastically with Sofia along.

Also, he’d wager that there wasn’t a chance of stopping her.

Sofia decided that the boat tucked away in Portobelo, Panama was everything the boys had advertised it to be. It was the middle of the night and no one wanted to turn on the boathouse’s interior lights for fear of attracting attention. And even in the dim glow of the flashlights it was amazing.

The boat roared with testosterone, even sitting dark and vacant inside the aging boathouse. It was a boy toy that no macho Venezuelan would be able to look away from. Arriving in Caracas—the capital city—aboard this vicious-looking beast, not a single man would ever remember how many were aboard much less what they looked like.

Sofia felt like some rich, jetsetter, party girl from the moment she stepped aboard. The low dock was level with the swim deck, which had a garage that held a Zodiac inflatable boat and a pair of jet skis. Across the middle of the garage door GoldenEye had been emblazoned in what might actually be gold laid into the Philippine mahogany.

Up a flight of stairs, the aft deck was a great expanse of teak with a cushioned area big enough for ten people to lounge in the sun, and an outdoor glass dining table for an equal number. The interior carpeting was a thick, charcoal gray that invited a girl to take off her shoes and wiggle her toes in its lush depths. The inside was as sleek and macho as the outside. Chrome, granite, indirect lighting, leather…definitely a boy toy.

Someone risked turning on the boat’s interior lights, soft and low. A great sectional couch curved in a large U-shape and faced the rear view and a monster big-screen television set close by the aft door. Forward of that was a formal dining table and a two-seat command station clearly intended to humble the uninitiated. It also made the boys completely geek out.

She decided she’d wait until they were safely away before exploring any further and did her best to stay out of the way.

All of them, even Duane, was swept up by the excitement of it. In minutes, it was clear that she and Carla were completely superfluous. They retreated to the vast lounge sofas to watch the show.

Richie, Duane, and Chad were all over the boat. Checking everything out, including the wiring, and getting ready to quietly steal it.

“What’s with her?” Sofia asked. Melissa was right in there with the boys.

“She’s a boat gal, too. She and Richie are the best sailors we have, pilots too if we ever need to fly something. Can add you to that list with your helicopter skills. None of us have that beyond basic survival in case we ever need to steal one.”

“I’m just a civilian rotorcraft pilot, not military.”

Carla shrugged, “More than the rest of us have. Kyle is also a good sailor and anything the others do Duane and Chad certainly have to try. Me? I grew up in Colorado. When it comes to boats, I’m smart enough to stay the hell out of their way.”

There was a low roar as the engines rumbled to life. In moments, lines had been released, Smith swung open the doors to the boathouse and waved from the dock. They back out beneath the stars and into the tropical night. There was a smooth assuredness to the action that made her suspect Richie and Melissa really did know what they were doing.

At barely a stroll, they eased through the sleeping harbor. Out the large side windows, Sofia watched the few lights on in the town glide by. She couldn’t see any changes. No signs of anyone awake to witness their departure.

For twenty minutes they crawled, dodging among the anchored boats, slipping past buoys and channel markers. They reached the open sea with no sudden searchlights or chase boats.

Then Richie opened up the throttles and the boat roared to life. It was a very civilized roar, well muted on a luxury yacht, but the sense of power was undeniable.

Sofia did her best to shove aside the obvious parallels with Duane Jenkins.

The boat lifted its nose slightly and flew ahead.

“Let’s explore,” Carla tugged on her hand.

At the front of the expansive main cabin, “It’s called a salon,” Melissa informed them as she hustled by on some inscrutable task, were the pilot’s seats. There was nothing to be seen out the sweeping window in front of Kyle and Richie except the darkness. However, the big display screens probably were telling them more than their eyes could, even in broad daylight. To the left, a door led outside. To the right a stairway led down.

She and Carla started their down-below tour at the front of the boat. Two side-by-side cabins each with twin bunkbeds, obviously for the crew or kids.

Next was a galley kitchen done completely in brushed steel.

“Shit! I’ve never had a kitchen this nice,” Carla began poking through the cupboards which were filled with canned and dry goods. The refrigerator was empty, but the freezer was packed solid. “Mahi-mahi,” she held up one package. “Chicken breasts,” another. “Score! Wagyu beef tenderloins.”

Sofia took it, dropped it in the sink and turned on the warm water tap to trickle over it. “These will be thawed enough to cook in an hour.”

“I’ve never had a fifty dollar-a-pound steak before,” Carla dug out some snacks and sodas, placed them on a silver serving tray and carried them upstairs. She dusted her hands together when she returned, “There, that will keep them busy while we prowl some more.” Carla popped the lid on a Pringles can, handed Sofia a couple inches of chips, and headed down the aisle scattering a trail of crumbs to follow.

There were three more suites—one king bed and two queen size—before they hit the master suite.

“Oh, yes!” Carla said appreciatively when she peeked through a door of the main suite. “Sorry, Sofia. You can have the suite with the king size bed. I saw this one first and I’m taking it. You gotta see this.”

Sofia peeked into the master bath. It was worthy of her family’s estate house. There was no tub, but the level of luxury was incredible. Toilet, bidet, and a stand-up shower big enough for an orgy. The bedroom itself had a comfortable desk, closet, dresser, and the inevitable large-screen television.

“Six bedroom, five baths—this boat is bigger than anywhere I’ve ever lived.” Propping up a couple pillows, Carla stretched out on the bed and continued working her way through the Pringles.

Sofia sat in the chair and took the steady hum of the engines as a good sign. The boat was well enough built that it wouldn’t be hard to sleep even though the engines must be directly below them and running fast.

“So, are you going to tell me or do I need to go find a gold-plated crowbar?”

Sofia knew the question was inevitable, but she didn’t know which answer she should give.

“I saw the news article—ever so carefully edited. I connected that to your helicopter ‘breakdown,’ though I doubt if anyone else did.”

Oh, that answer. She’d been thinking about Duane.

“I did,” Melissa came in, lay down on the bed, and accepted the short stack of Pringles that Carla offered her. “Did they really try to kill you?”

“Me and my grandmother. Duane would have just been collateral damage.”

“Isn’t family just fucking precious?” Carla sounded bitter.

Melissa started to shake her head in disagreement, but Carla cut her off before she could speak.

“Don’t listen to her. Melissa’s parents are far too normal and pleasant. You should have seen them at her and Richie’s wedding. We ended on this little Bahamian island—where the concierge was terrified of you the entire time for reasons you still haven’t explained, girlfriend,” Carla’s tone was accusatory, but she didn’t slow down for an answer, “—and everyone wanted to adopt them before it was over. My mom died in the service and my dad is a worthless shit I haven’t spoken to in years, but even I wanted to adopt them.”

“Mine weren’t like that,” Sofia wondered what that would be like. Melissa seemed so…normal. White blonde, sleek, and pleasant. It took an effort every time to remember that she was also a Unit operator with a long list of “mission accomplished” entries in her file. She’d also been awarded several unadvertised medals for valor, including a Distinguished Flying Cross—a very unlikely award for a Unit operator. Richie also had one of those in his file. Neither had any explanation on this side of the need-to-know security wall.

“Okay, okay,” Melissa snatched the Pringles can away from Carla. “My parents are totally sweet. Give me a freaking break!”

“Yep! Totally Canadian.” Carla gave Sofia a wicked grin for having elicited such a reaction out of their soft-spoken teammate.

“So, Sofia, was Duane totally awesome?” Melissa handed her the Pringles can as if passing the baton of the conversation.

Sofia opened her mouth and closed it again. Instead she took out some more chips.

“Come on,” Carla prompted. “It’s obvious you’ve had sex. He can’t stop watching you and when he does, he gets all sorts of slack-brained. That’s not like Duane at all. He’s always on point, like a hunting dog or something. Please tell me it was amazing.”

“Why should I tell you that?”

“Hey, we’re married women. We have to get our thrills somewhere.”

Melissa nodded in agreement.

Sofia wasn’t buying it. “You are both married to warriors from the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta.”

“We are,” they sighed happily in unison, making each other laugh.

“Doesn’t let you off the hook,” Carla continued while Melissa kept looking goofy happy. “Now give.”

“There’s good. There’s incredible. Then there’s better than that. Somewhere past that there is Duane Jenkins.”

Duane froze in the hallway outside the master suite. The heavy carpeting had masked his approach.

“Details. We want details.” Carla and Melissa in chorus.

The question was, did he really want to hear details?

Go in?

Beat a hasty, and very silent, retreat?

“Okay already!” Sofia protested.

The silence was deep, just the muted thrum of the engines and the slap of the waves on the hull as it sliced through them.

“There’s a lake I used to go to as a girl. It’s actually on the backside of the neighbor’s property. I’d go there whenever I needed to get away. Nana showed me how to get there. I never took anyone. No one. I don’t think even my little sister knows about it. It’s not easy to find and there’s only one decent path.”

“You took him there?”

“I took him there.”

Duane waited along with the two other women.

“Well?” Unsurprisingly, Carla had the least patience.

“It was like letting him see something inside me that no one ever has.”

Shit! Duane had completely missed that. It had been a pretty lake on a beautiful day in the company of a hot woman. He’d missed every goddamn clue. He wanted to smack himself.

“And…” Carla egging her on.

“I—”

“Hey, buddy!” Chad slapped him on the shoulder hard enough that the downward force was the only reason Duane didn’t jump out of his boots. He’d come up from behind without Duane hearing.

There was a squawk of female surprise from the master suite.

“What you listening to so intently, bro?” Chad asked cheerfully before Duane could stop him. Chad, of course, knew exactly what he was doing—being a total ass.

Carla vaulted off the bed and came to the door. The sad shake of her head before she slammed the door in his face told him how much shit he’d just stepped in.

“We need to rustle up some grub,” Chad yanked on Duane’s arm hard enough to almost tumble him to the carpet.

“You’re no help at all, you know that don’t you?”

“Fuckin’ A, Bubba. Don’t want to see my main man going down ’cause of some cute chickee. Damn cute. I’ll give you that much, bro. But you got it like a disease that seriously needs a cure.”

Duane considered going back and knocking. To apologize for eavesdropping or something, but he didn’t see any way that was going to go well with all three women together. Safer to follow Chad.

They found the thawing steaks. Duane put together a pasta sauce with jarred pesto, sundried tomatoes, and frozen vegetables. Chad showed his culinary finesse by getting Tater Tots in the oven and finding some ketchup.

The women finally emerged as the meal was getting close to done. Whatever had transpired earned him a scowl from Melissa, an eye roll with a cheeky smile from Carla, and a deeply unhappy blush with averted eyes from Sofia. The steaks were too close to done and he didn’t dare leave them in Chad’s care to chase after her as she scooted up the stairs.

When he and Chad delivered the finished dishes upstairs, Sofia was nowhere to be seen.

Carla took pity on him and pointed him toward the ladder at the stern of the boat that led up to the flying bridge.

He grabbed two plates, a couple of sodas, took a deep breath, and headed up. With both hands filled, he nearly lost their dinners overboard several times as Richie kept them racing ahead over the Caribbean Sea out of Panamanian waters, through Colombian, and on towards Caracas.

Once he reached the upper deck, he ran into another problem, specifically the table. And he ran into it hard. There were no external lights on the boat. And the interior lighting below, which was too dim to show through the tinted windows, didn’t help him either. He couldn’t see a damned thing except the stars and the phosphorescent sea churned into a bright green strip by their wake. His hands were full, which didn’t matter—his flashlight was down below anyway.

“Sofia?”

“I am considering not answering you,” Sofia could just make Duane out as a silhouette blocking her view of the startling green light in their wake.

“Really? What have you decided? I have food.” She could see him moving closer, bumping along the edge of the table in the direction of her voice. She’d used her flashlight to sit on the far side of the table, then shut it off to watch the night. Her inclination to assist Duane by turning it back on was minimal.

“I don’t know yet. Are you worth the trouble?”

“That’s a tough one,” he stepped past the end of the table and right by her. “I know someone you could ask. Would that help?”

“I think I’ve had enough advice for one day.” Carla and Melissa had certainly had plenty. She could no longer see Duane, which meant he could probably now see her, at least a little bit.

In moments, she heard two plates set on the table along with a rattle of silverware and then the solid thunk of a can of soda that must have been quite cold for him in his pockets. She reached a hand out and found it. Sure enough, the metal was cool on one side and cold on the other. A chair scraped back and she assumed that he was now sitting across from her.

“It’s amazing how little breeze there is up here. We’re running at about fifty knots. Almost sixty miles an hour.” As if that was anything she wanted to hear about.

She’d already figured out that the boat was designed to divert the air over the passengers’ heads. She’d confirmed that by raising her hand in the air while still standing. She’d been able to feel the edge of the world blowing past, so nearby.

It felt as if she was teetering on the edge and would soon be falling off.

But to where?

What lay beyond places on the chart marked “Here there be dragons?”

“It was quite peaceful up here.”

“Ouch!” But he made no move to stand and depart—at least not that she heard.

“Duane?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Unsure what to say next, she reached out until she found her fork and plate. But eating steak in the dark was ridiculous, and mostly impossible. She fished out her flashlight, flicked it to a red-lens night mode and turned it on at the dimmest setting. She set it down so that it lit their plates but little else. The meal looked delicious.

“Silent treatment, huh? Means I was right. I was going to suggest that you ask yourself, but then I thought that was a foolish answer fraught with unknown dangers.”

“Because I might advise myself not to speak to you?”

“Exactly!” He pointed his knife at her for a moment to confirm her point before cutting into his steak.

She did the same. It was awfully good. A man who could cook. “I liked cooking with you back in Oregon.”

“I enjoyed that too. A lot. I’m not nearly as good a cook as you, but it was fun.”

And he was clearing enjoying himself in not telling her who she should be talking to, but she refused to fall into his trap and ask.

She could just make out his hands cutting another piece of steak and raising the fork into the darkness.

“Fine!” Sofia threw her own cutlery down on the plate and crossed her arms. “Who should I be asking for this ever-so important advice?”

His soda disappeared into the darkness for a moment, then returned to the light. “Me, of course!”

“You?” She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m supposed to ask you to advise me on whether or not I should be speaking with the likes of you?”

“Sure! Does the lady have any better suggestions?”

She didn’t. “Okay, do your worst.” She started eating again because the steak was too good to not keep eating as a demonstration of pique.

“Personally, if I were you, I’d never speak to me again.”

“Why not?” Not what she’d been expecting, but then Duane so rarely was.

“Well, setting aside the recent spate of rudeness and the fact that I’m a bit oblivious where you’re concerned, I think you’re just too damn good for a jerk like me. Trust me, Sofia, walk away while you still can.”

“Okay,” she agreed easily and kept eating.

“Good!” Duane didn’t seem to be daunted for a moment by his own advice or her acceptance of it. “I’m glad we got that settled.”

“I have a hypothetical question,” she waved a Tater Tot in his general direction.

“Fire away!”

“If I were to speak to you, what would you be saying to me?”

“That you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met and that the day you go back to The Activity will be the worst day of my life. Ever. Way worse than the day I told Dad to go fuck himself and joined the Army. If I was to actually say anything.”

“Just that?”

“Just that.”

Sofia was impressed that she’d been able to keep her tone as light as his, because she was having a terrible time breathing. All the air on the fly bridge had been sucked away by the racing air layer above them until she felt lightheaded, even faint.

“Sofia?” Duane’s tone was completely different. Soft, serious for the first time since his arrival.

“Yes?” Her attempt to keep her own voice airy and unconcerned caught in her throat.

“I meant every word of it,” his deep voice was barely louder that the boat’s.

“Which? The part where you tried to make my bones melt into a happy puddle,” and completely succeeded. “Or the part where you said I should never speak to you again?”

There was a long silence. Long enough for her to set down her silverware and push aside the mostly finished plate. She leaned forward, but still barely heard his reply when he spoke.

“Both.” It was soft and filled with a pain that he wasn’t explaining.

She turned off the flashlight, stepped carefully around the table. Her fingers found his shoulder, down his arm, to his hand. Tugging him lightly to his feet, she guided him to the plush sunbathing sofas that her earlier investigation had revealed. By the connection of their fingertips, she guided him onto the sofa with her.

He hesitated, but she pulled him down.

“Now I have some advice for you,” she whispered in his ear once they were lying in each other’s arms. “Show me more about the melting my bones into a happy puddle part.”

And, without a single word, he did.

She was glad no one came looking for them, because Duane was very, very thorough in making love to her by the light of the warm, tropical stars.