Chapter Three

Three months later.

Colombo, Sri Lanka.

Gage Hendrix headed across the soft sand with his friend and teammate, Jason Webb. They carried food and paper cups from the nearby street stall and slowed as they reached the rest of his MSD team. The sun hadn’t yet topped the horizon, and aside from a few fishermen, the beach lay quiet. 

“Wakey, wakey. Eggs and Bakey.” Gage kicked the prone body stretched out on the dunes. “We leave you for five minutes, and you’re already snoozing.”

Gannon sat up and yawned, running a hand through shaggy blond hair. “Fucking jet lag is already kicking my ass. I’m not a Spazmanian Devil, like you.” He glanced at the watch on his muscled wrist as Jason walked to the other men at the shoreline. “And you were gone for twenty minutes, bro.”

Gage passed his Deputy Team Leader a cup. “Stop whining like a girl. You’re on a beach in Sri Lanka, and we’re staying at a sweet-ass hotel.” Gage thought back to their previous deployment. “We could be back in Lagos in those prefab barracks.”

“Hell to the no.” Gannon took a sip and grimaced. “This is tea.”

“Sri Lankan tea, which is good stuff. You had enough coffee on the plane.”

“You can never have enough coffee.”

Gage handed him an egg hopper and grinned at the raised brows. 

“What is this?” Gannon asked.

“Hoppers are savory crepes made with rice and coconut milk—like a taco. And they drop a soft boiled egg in the middle.” Gage dug into his breakfast.

“Is it spicy?”

“No, dude. C’mon.” Gage wiped his chin with a napkin. 

“I hear everything is spicy on this island. You know I don’t do chilies or curries.”

Yeah—Gage knew. He’d served with Gannon for many years. They’d both first worked as U.S. Marine Division Recon operators before retiring and joining Homeland Security. Now, they operated as specially trained Diplomatic Security Special Agents in an elite tactical unit, known as the Mobile Security Division, or MSD.

Looking down at his best mate, Gage smiled. They were similar in personality and yet physically different. Gage rubbed at his dark, short hair. He hated dealing with thick, wavy hair in this damp heat—it was a lot to handle while focusing on the job. Less time in front of the mirror meant more time in the field. Gannon, on the other hand, encouraged his shaggy growth which made him look like bloody Conan, the Adventurer. Both men were tall bastards, but Gannon was built like an ox and had gained even more meat in the last month. Gage, on the other hand, preferred to pack on leaner muscle and was known for speed and agility in the field. 

“Eat up, bud. We should already be heading to the embassy. It’s going to be a long-ass day. We have that briefing at nine.” Gage sat beside his large friend, settling in the sand, and watched the rest of the team shoot the shit down the beach. 

“The new medic is a knife guy—from Vegas.” Gannon directed his nod at the bearded operator who wolfed down his breakfast, ignoring the waves dampening his boots. 

“You’re from Vegas.”

“The hell I am! Carson City ain’t Sin City.” Gannon looked briefly offended before switching his attention back to the new guy. “Earlier, he waved a custom Benchmade knife around like it was a machete. He has 550 rope cord in his pocket, which he’s been slicing up. Let’s ignore the serial killer vibe. What’s his name again?”

“Kohen Block.” Gage watched the man’s every move. They’d met the new agent on Sri Lankan soil after their previous medic resigned to take care of an ailing father. “And I’m pretty sure he has a collection of machetes and multi-tools stashed away. I hear he throws knives.”

“I prefer a firearm. You can’t ‘Block’ a bullet or bring a knife to a gunfight.” Gannon stood. “Aside from your sweet-ass Ka-Bar.” He pointed at Gage’s vintage combat knife clipped to his belt. “Now that’s a knife.” 

“Hands off my blade. I’ll kick your heavy ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gannon cupped his mouth and yelled at the medic. “Hey! Blockhead? Do you love on your big guns as you do on your pointy sticks?” 

Everyone laughed, and the bearded agent looked pissed. Gannon had a big mouth—like Gage. Thanks to their wild ways, they were both known as troublemakers in diplomatic circles, but they also got the job done.

Rising, Gage signaled to the team. “Let’s rollout. The sun is up, and we have shit to do.”

Over the roar of the surf, Gage heard someone yell his name. The team turned and faced a fit, older man walking towards them from the Royal Marine Inn. 

“I pull up at your hotel… and the first thing I see is my security guys playing lifeguards on the beach. Where’s your fancy bathing suit, boy?” 

“Ah, shit,” Gage swore softly and headed Martin’s way. It had been a year since he’d seen the man who’d been like an uncle to him—more of a father for nineteen years. Back in the day, Martin had been dating Gage’s aunt, and he’d taken the twelve-year-old kid under his wing after Gage’s father had committed suicide. Gage owed Martin his life. His loyalty. His love. For now, he’d settle on not fucking up their first deployment together. In the four years that Gage had worked DSS and MSD, Gage and Martin never worked the same deployment in the same country. Until now.

“We were about to head your way.” Gage walked ahead to greet the only person—aside from his teammates—who mattered in his world. 

The men hugged, and Martin smiled as he punched Gage in the arm. “Good to see you, son. I hear you’re still rabble-rousing.” 

Gage shrugged. “I take after the old man.”

Martin dropped his smile and squeezed Gage’s shoulder. “Never. You’re a great team leader with a stellar reputation.”

“He’s the golden boy!” Jason stepped up beside them and Gage shook his head at the MSD nickname which he’d earned, due to his lightly colored amber eyes.

“Thanks to Gage, we haven’t had a training mission yet.” The general rule of thumb in the world of MSD was that if a team leader had a good reputation, his team got better assignments. A weak team leader meant they’d be stuck with training missions, which were no fun. 

Martin smiled proudly at Gage. “How have you been? Are we doing Christmas this year?”

“Depends where we are.”

Gage’s MSD deployments and the long assignments that Martin served weren’t conducive to family life. 

To say that Gage loved his job was an understatement. Team Five—his six-man team of Special Agents worked in high-threat environments, serving to protect members of the U.S. Federal Government and their families. Fighting terrorism on foreign soil, protecting consulates and embassies, and evacuating U.S. citizens were par for the course for a well-run MSD Team. His highly trained, heavily armed agents focused on dignitary protection and security operations. They specialized in hostage situations, civil wars, political coups and securement after terrorist attacks.

“I hear this might be a complicated mission.”

“Sensitive politics in an unstable pre-election environment.” Martin sobered. “Let’s head to the embassy, and I’ll brief your team.” 

Gage took one last look at the rising sun—a red ball on a misty gray horizon. A storm brewed to the north, and he shook off an ill sense of sudden foreboding as he headed for their transport.