Chapter 3

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.

***

The MSD men waited in the briefing room for Martin and his RSO team to join them. Happy to be in an air-conditioned facility—deep in the bowels of the embassy, Gage powered up the basic cellphone and tossed the packaging at the trash can.

“Ya missed, bro.” Gannon grinned and threw his empty box in the same direction. “New guy cleans up the mess.”

Kohen shrugged and stood. Local comms were crucial in the field. MSD agents couldn’t miss a beat when it came to enabling varying and reliable devices. After the briefing, they’d check weapons and their kit, which always remained at the embassy unless in use.

“So, what’s the deal?” Kohen tidied up their mess. “We’re playing babysitter for ‘Chanel Five?’”

“Chantal. Her name is Chantal, and we’ll get the lowdown in ten.” Gage eyed the newer agent, not liking his condescending tone or the nickname.

The medic lowered his voice. “I hear she follows her mama around like a lamb… hangs with the locals… gets to travel for free.”

“And if the Anaconda hears you disrespecting her daughter, she’ll nail your balls to the wall.” Gannon popped a stick of gum in his mouth.

Ambassador Durant was known in diplomatic circles as the Anaconda—for a good reason. Rumored to latch onto an adversary and squeeze them into submission, whether through diplomacy or sheer willpower, Connie Durant never gave up. Gage admired her tenacity and fairness in the field and looked forward to meeting her. Over the years, she’d earned great respect, and he’d heard she was up for the Regional Director role.

Martin entered, followed by what Gage assumed was either the Deputy RSO or an ARSO—an Assistant Regional Security Officer. The men stood and shook hands as Martin made introductions, and the rest of his staff filed into the briefing space. Finally, Martin kicked off the meeting. The initial intel, centered around Pearl Bandara and her daughter, proved to be sobering, and Gage leaned forward. “Where are they now?”

“Back in the States. The human rights commission has launched an investigation, and the overwhelming evidence of her ex-husband’s past atrocities is in safe hands. Except Rajin Bandara has disappeared and has a vast network which is promoting his propaganda and dissent.”

“Vast as in?” Gage asked.

“As in communities that will fight for him—why do you think we can’t find the bastard. He’s charming, persuasive, and focused on building his Robin Hood persona. Vast as in a suspected private army of thousands. His cohorts claim that he is hiding because the Americans are spreading lies and fabricating the evidence, and he’s ‘afraid for his life.’ We’ve underestimated his loyal following, which now includes radicals willing to go to war to protect their benevolent leader. They’ve made threats against the ambassador.”

Gannon waved a pen. “Ambassador Durant has her own MSD team in place—Team Three—they arrived a few days ago.”

“Correct.” Martin picked up a remote control as the projector flickered to life. “But her daughter, Chantal Durant, is a concern. They’ve named Chantal as a target. She’s of particular focus due to her relationship with Pearl.”

“In what way?” Gage rubbed his fingers along his forehead as he zeroed in on the details of his mission.

“They’re good friends and have worked together in Colombo at the Confianca Recovery Center. Chantal is a chiropractor who volunteers her services and works with the disabled—war victims and the likes. Pearl Bandara is—was—a prime investor in the center.”

“How does this relate to Miss Durant’s safety?” Gage asked.

“Pearl contacted Chantal for help the night she ‘disappeared.’ It’s become clear that Rajin wants to find his daughter and ‘traitorous’ ex-wife and knows about Chantal’s involvement in helping Pearl. On two occasions, shady characters have swung by the recovery center looking for Chantal.”

“Why doesn’t she remain at the embassy until this dies down? Or she could fly back to the States?” Jason steepled his hands before cracking his knuckles.

“It’s complicated. She won’t leave the ambassador’s side. They’re both involved in raising funds for mine clearance and amputees. Chantal refuses to back down or accept help.”

“Don’t you have a local police escort?”

“Yes. Except we’re not sure if the local guards are trustworthy, and implying that they aren’t or removing the detail, could cause political repercussions. We’ve already swapped out her local detail. Rajin is—was—the Minister of Law and Order and owns the police—has police chiefs and officers on his payroll.”

The communicated intel had Gage worrying his bottom lip. They’d be tiptoeing through a mafia minefield in a perfect storm. He didn’t want to fuck with local law enforcement, but if they interfered with Chantal Durant—his assigned principal...

His head began to pound, and Gage asked the million-dollar question. “What happened to warrant an MSD detail for the daughter?”

Martin pressed the remote, and a choppy video appeared, which looked to be from a cellphone in a market.

“This was filmed by a British tourist in the vicinity. Two days ago, during her lunch break, Chantal, along with a fellow volunteer, visited a local market. The local officers assigned to her protective detail conveniently disappeared as two men accosted the girls. We’ve had the guards fired and investigated. Both women fought back. Chantal and her friend both know the basics of self-defense.”

Gage watched as a hooded man tried to strong-arm the ambassador’s daughter. The bruiser twisted Chantal’s arm as she kicked at his knee. She hit the mark. The second man appeared to shove her blonde friend away, who punched out with what seemed to be a brutal uppercut—Gage couldn’t tell as the shaky image bobbed from side to side. Their attackers lost time and locals leaped to the women’s defense. Both bastards broke past the crowd and made a run for it.

“Have they been identified or caught?” Lucius asked.

Gage glanced over at the MSD agent who asked the question. Lucius Jones was the quietest member on Team Five. A tall black man built like Hercules. His talent—aside from being a deadly agent in the field—was language and dialect. All the team members spoke a variety of languages, which was par for the course as a DSS or MSD agent, but Lucius had a real knack for learning quickly in the field and won over the locals on most assignments.

“Not yet. Facial recognition on the little we have isn’t working, but we’ll persist.”

Someone knocked on the door, and a young woman entered, followed by the ambassador. The team jerked to their feet as the ambassador greeted the room and introduced her assistant and her Chief of Staff. Gage knew that Ambassador Durant’s embassy team rivaled some of the best on the planet. Connie Durant replaced section chiefs with foreign service veterans. Slowly pulling some of the best talent from various embassies around the world took skill.

The ambassador took a seat, adjusting her black jacket as everyone resettled. Gage noticed that she favored her left side ever so slightly, and he thought back to what he knew of her history. Before he could continue his musings, she pinned him with a direct glare.

“Mr. Hendrix. I specifically requested Team Five, as I’ve heard good things about your actions in the field. I’ve also heard that you occasionally take risks, and so far, they’ve paid off. Tell me that I’m making the right decision when it comes to my daughter’s safety.”

“Yes, Madam Ambassador. We’ll do everything we can to protect Chantal Durant. But my advice is that she should be heading across the globe to the States until this blows over.”

The ambassador smiled. “The Durants are built of sterner stuff, and I admire Chantal’s determination and commitment to the cause. I’ve spoken with her, and she will remain by my side while we negotiate these troubled waters. The Bandara investigation is a temporary situation. Once the authorities capture Rajin and he answers for his crimes, life will return to normal.”

“Madam—”

“We’re dealing with a cornered coward, and the political repercussions of his actions are containable. Chantal’s new local protection detail will remain in place and work alongside your team. If they step out of line, you’re running the show.”

“Will she be a cooperative principal?”

“Chantal will listen. At the moment, she’s angry and scared for Pearl and her child. They worked closely together for almost a year.”

Gage flipped through the intel on an iPad. “In two weeks, there’s a two-day trip scheduled to Hatton. That’s hill country, right? Amongst the tea plantations?”

“Yes. There will be a delegation from the U.S. Department of State’s Office of Weapons Removal and Abatement. We’ve planned the exo-kinetic and mine clearance symposium. That’s non-negotiable. Chantal has worked in tandem with our embassy to bring awareness to both projects.”

“Which are?” Gannon asked.

“Working with amputees and participating in de-mining efforts. There are still regions in Sri Lanka covered in landmines. And these hidden dangers injure civilians every year. Along with Martin’s department, Team Five will prep for the event. I won’t stop working with communities and performing as ambassador unless I have no other choice.”

Gage closed the open e-file. “We’ll start with surveillance. I want to follow your daughter and her assigned local team and note their patterns. Usually, this takes a couple of weeks. I’ll probably need three days, which gives a starting point in identifying weak areas and individuals in her first layer of protection, while at the same time, keeping an eye on Miss Durant.”

“Should I let Chantal know that we’re watching her detail?”

“No.” Martin cut in. “Miss Durant will be added to the loop when Gage’s team has made their assessment. The Colombo police bodyguards are decently trained, and I handpicked them myself and added an additional detail.”

They continued with the briefing, breaking down the logistics and expectations. Martin handed over a file on Chantal Durant.

Gage tuned out the room chatter as he flipped through the thin file, pausing on a couple of photographs of Chantal. Placing the driver’s license aside, he picked up the second photo of her dressed in a summer dress. She sat in a hammock chair and smiled at the camera. Her straight brown hair cut into a bob cut, sat an inch above her shoulders, and added to an understated beauty. Deep dimples creased her cheeks. Despite her upturned mouth, her large brown eyes held a darkness that Gage had rarely seen on a civilian’s face. There was something in the way she sat—a discomfort and uncertainty which seemed out of place in the beach setting.

Gage looked up and met the ambassador’s direct gaze.

“She’s the spitting image of her father.” Her lips twisted, and she glanced at the photo in his hand.

Aside from high cheekbones and her chin, Chantal looked nothing like her mother.

“We’ll keep her safe.”

The ambassador nodded. The meeting turned to the Local Guard Program and local resources. When the meeting finally wrapped, the men headed out to grab lunch. The heated air bounced off the street, and Gage’s neck immediately dampened with perspiration.

“I hope the mother/daughter dynamic isn’t going to complicate this mission.”

Gage turned to Lucius, surprised that he’d picked up on the same anomalies. “I need more intel—a rundown on our principal. I’ll speak to Martin.” Gage stayed away from complexity—both in life and on the job. And had a feeling that they may have stumbled across Pandora’s Box.