The chopper rumbled as they flew low over the land, hills giving way to vast fields glowing blue in the moonlight. Luke stared at his reflection in the window, wiping his face as if it was wet. He’d gotten a little sleep and was physically better than he had been, but emotionally he was dark and distant.

It was a combination he was used to, the feelings of hopelessness and power twisted around each other like rope, strong and capable but heavily frayed. This was the way he’d grown accustomed to living, first in the SEALs and later in his cabin, a pitiful kind of existence that made you wonder if you had any value left at all.

He never should have hoped for something different.

What the hell did you think was going to happen? She would learn the truth and wrap those sweet arms around your wretched ass, offering comfort? Did you think she would love you?

His eyes shifted to the cockpit, Summer and Sloan visible from behind. She shouldn’t be here, didn’t belong, and though she was staying in the chopper and not parachuting to the ground, he hated that she was here at all and longed for the moment their paths would diverge into different futures.

He clenched his teeth and his hands dropped to his lap, the nylon jumpsuit and thermal layer more vestiges of war. Another skin. More pieces of his history he couldn’t seem to shed.

You don’t need to shed it now. You’re staying at HERO Force.

Yes, he would stay. He would help people and forget about himself. Stop asking for redemption. Stop believing in second chances. He didn’t have to feel, didn’t have to think. All he had to do was use his skills and tune out everything that used to matter.

Moto spoke over the intercom. “The missile silo has three sections: the main entrance, the command module, and the silo itself where the missile was housed. Each section is separated by tunnels and a series of blast doors.” He held a laptop, data from the chopper’s heat sensor now visible to him. “Dogs, at least two. We have a vehicle with a warm engine, no other heat signatures.”

“They’re too far underground,” said Luke. Goddamn missile silo. Out of all the places in the world, the enemy was holed up underground in a vast complex that had only a single way in or out. HERO Force would be little more than targets on their way inside, having no possibility of the element of surprise.

T-ball passed out tranquilizer darts and guns. “Aim for the central mass, just like you’re shooting for the kill. The tranquilizer will take a few seconds to work, possibly as many as ten, though four to five is more likely. Don’t wait until they have your jugular in their teeth before you fire your dart.”

Luke checked his ammo. Three darts in each weapon. He tucked the gun into his tactical vest along with his sidearm and several knives. Each of the men was equipped with a gas mask, smoke bombs, night-vision goggles, and even tear gas for this journey below ground, in addition to their regular weaponry.

“Approaching the drop zone,” called Razorback. Luke stood, adjusting his jumpsuit and pulling on his harness before standing in line behind Moto for their jump. He could feel Summer’s eyes upon him but he didn’t turn to face her, knowing the hatred he would see there and unwilling to let go of his focus on the task at hand.

They had their work cut out for them down there.

He kept his resolve as, one by one, the men jumped from the plane, the wind rushing past his body as he fell through the air. The drop zone was some three hundred yards from the perimeter of the property, which would give them a chance to regroup before facing the dogs and God knows what else.

There’d been a time when skydiving had felt like the epitome of being alive, but countless jumps in dangerous situations had changed the way Luke thought about falling to the earth under a silk canopy. It was a means to an end, an unexpected approach, a way to become invisible—and as he pulled his chute and glided on the air, his only thought was of the mission that awaited him on the ground.

The most important mission of all.

Summer’s father’s life hung in the balance of a scale Luke had already battered, like a child smashing the sensitive instrument with a hammer. And while nothing could bring Edward back, Luke was all too aware this was his only chance to make it right.

She’ll never forgive you.

It didn’t matter what he did. No heroics could make her look at him like she had before she knew the truth. He shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t torture himself with what he couldn’t have, but the loss of her was too fresh for him to feel anything but broken.

He hit the ground hard on his feet, running to a stop as his chute collapsed and fluttered to the ground behind him. The others were already there and they worked quickly, stuffing parachutes in packs and readying themselves for the next leg of the mission.

Razorback held a pair of night-vision binoculars to his eyes. “Fence around the property has insulated posts. Appears to be electrified. No sign of the dogs yet.”

Luke pulled his tranquilizer gun from his tactical vest.

“Let’s move,” said Razorback.

The men jogged to the fence, Moto picking a long blade of grass and touching the far end to the fence to see if a current was running through it. “That sucker is hot.”

The fence posts were four feet tall, and Luke formed a step with his hands, giving each man a foothold to reach the top of the post with their second step and allowing them to jump over. Razorback and Moto were both inside when the dogs came charging.

They never made it to them, both animals collapsing on the ground, sedated. “Nice job,” said Luke, bracing the next man’s foot as he spoke. “Take my pack.” He took it off, throwing it over the fence to Razorback.

“You going to do a plié?” asked Moto.

“A plié is a squat, asshole. I was thinking more of a running leap with a full rotation and a curtsey at the end.”

“Need a hand?”

“Nah. I’ve got frog legs, remember?” He backed up several steps before running for the post, placing one hand atop it, and hurtling his body over the side in one smooth movement before strapping his pack back on.

“I don’t see any guards,” said Razorback. “Of course, if they were good ones, I wouldn’t see them at all.”

Luke scoffed. “If they were really good, we’d be dead.” He pulled out his Glock 18. On its own it wasn’t much, but Moto had an M4 that was sure to come in handy, because the shit was about to hit the fan.

The men stayed low, moving among brush, trees, and large rocks. When they were fifty feet from the external structure of the silo, the terrain changed to overgrown grass. A single streetlamp stood beside the tiny brick building, illuminating a graffitied gray door.

The men reached it without incident, the night eerily quiet around them. For people who didn’t want company, they didn’t seem to have anyone watching for intruders.

But looks could be deceiving.

No sooner did he have the thought than the door burst open, gunfire breaking the silence like a loud clap of thunder on a sunny day. There were two men and Luke fired his weapon just as Moto fired his, the men going down quickly. “This is too easy,” said Luke.

Moto wiped his mouth. “Do you think they’re waiting for us?”

“Yeah.” Luke blew out air. He gestured toward the steel door. “On my six.”

Luke stood at the top of the concrete stairway, the stench of water and mold heavy on the dank air. Through his goggles he could see the graffiti extended on either side of the stairway, which seemed to disappear into standing water at the bottom. He held his weapon in front of him as he moved down the stairs, plunging his foot knee deep in the muck.

He rounded a corner, the water extending for another fifteen feet before a second set of steps emerged from its depths. He sloshed through it and up, Moto right behind him, Razorback and T-ball pulling up the rear. The sound of the water sloshing echoed in the cavernous space, and Luke couldn’t help but wonder just how far the noise carried.

Someplace, this tunnel ended and another world began. It was unnerving. A narrow corridor opened into a small empty room littered with beer cans, garbage, and condom wrappers. Definitely a hangout for teenagers over the years.

According to the records Moto discovered, the missile silo had once belonged to the government but had long since been abandoned. It was sold to a private buyer in the 1980s, and just recently sold again to AGL Aerospace.

It was the perfect hiding place for an enormous machine capable of producing dangerous weapons. This was private property, and it allowed Walsh the freedom to manufacture what he wanted without the prying eyes he might experience above ground.

He’s like a goddamn mole.

He thought of Summer beneath Walsh, thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did. She was just a scientist struggling to innovate, to create materials that would take aerospace design further than it had gone before. She didn’t deserve any of this.

He shook his head to clear it. That woman hadn’t deserved a lot of the blows she’d experienced in life, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix any of it.

He crossed the room and exited into another concrete corridor that ended at a second steel door. This one was locked. A large steering-wheel type of mechanism was centered in the middle of it, and Luke tried to open the door but had no luck. He pulled at the wheel, using all his weight, but it wouldn’t budge.

He stepped back while the other men tried to open it. It wouldn’t move, and there was only one way to open a steel door that didn’t want to be opened.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Razorback.

Explosives.

They were in his pack. He was rarely without them, like an old man who no longer drove a car but always had his driver’s license in his wallet. Luke swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “The metal needs some persuading.”

Moto chuckled. “Yeah, like with C4.”

Luke looked from floor to ceiling. “I don’t think we have to worry about the force of the explosion causing these walls to cave in. It’s built to withstand a goddamn rocket launch.”

Moto eyed him warily. He hadn’t been on the recent mission where Luke had frozen up, unable to detonate a charge, but no doubt he’d heard about it. “Either we knock it down or we walk away, Wiseman.”

“Summer’s father needs our help,” said Luke. Sweat dripped from his brow beneath his brain bucket and he swiped at it, images of that fateful day in Afghanistan and Buckeye’s death racing through his mind.

I should have found another way.

I should have given him more time.

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true, hadn’t been possible, just like there was only one way to break through this door—and it was a door that needed to be broken down, no matter whether he wanted to do it or not.

Moto held out his hand. “Tell me how to do it. I’ll set the charges.”

He could face his fears or he could live without these skills that could help people like Summer’s father. “No.” Luke shook his head slowly, a calmness washing over him. “I’ll do it.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the block of C4, his hand trembling as he carefully wired it up and placed it strategically around the steel door hinges and latch.

His determination was grim and in direct contrast to his shaking fingers. There would be no backing away this time, no refusal of this call. Summer’s father needed their help, and Summer needed him.

He would do anything for her. He cared more for her than he cared for his past. He finished setting the charges. “Gas masks on. Make sure you’re ready.”

“Roger that,” said the men in unison.

Luke counted down from five and pressed the detonator, the fierce explosion of light and sound seemingly amplified by the small space. The blast went through Luke like the rumble of judgment day itself, his feet firmly planted on the ground as the blast wave shook his body.

“Go, go, go!” said Moto.

Luke took off through the opening, disoriented by the smoke and the unknown layout of the missile silo. No one was shooting at them. No one was even in sight, and the dread that had been coiling in his stomach lunged forward like a snake.

The air cleared as he circled a metal spiral staircase down, the smell of the bomb dissipating as a new odor moved into its place. It was metallic and charged, like the moment before a lightning strike, the pervasive dampness an undercurrent to it all.

His feet hit the ground in a control room of sorts, mid-century computer equipment lining one wall like a scene from an old sci-fi movie. Moto moved beside him, weapon at the ready as they searched for the next gateway into the center of the silo.

Luke pushed through another metal door, finding a stairwell with concrete steps and no handrails. “Over here,” he called, the others quickly following behind. The concrete was falling apart in chunks, pieces of steps and the wall itself, crumbling around them.

Down, down, down.

One final door. It was locked.

“Looks like you’re going to have to do it again,” said Moto.

Luke was already reaching for the charges. “I’m on it. Get ready to shoot.”

A flash of light singed his eyes a split second before an explosion rocked the space, his mind momentarily confused by the blast erupting before he’d set the charges. Then he was falling, ash and concrete and darkness mixing with a frightening rumble and the keen edge of understanding. It wasn’t his explosives that had gone off. It was someone else’s, and Moto, T-ball, Razorback, and he were directly in the blast zone.

Time inched forward, Luke squeezing his eyes shut as debris pelted his skin, keenly aware of the concrete and steel that waited beneath his falling body to catch him.

I am a dead man.