Still, Dak knew the team hunting him would figure out where they’d gone and make their way down to the street. If they were smart, and he had to assume they were, the killers would cordon off the area, probably claiming they were with local authorities searching for another explosive device.
It's what he would do.
Will made it to the top of the first floor.
"One more step and you can jump," Dak urged.
"One step? You serious?"
"Fine, two steps. Come on, man. We gotta go."
Will kept moving, albeit much more deliberately than Dak would have liked.
After four steps, he reluctantly released the cables and dropped to the ground. The wires slapped against the side of the wall as Will's feet struck earth with a thump. The landing didn't hurt him as much as it had Dak, at least from what Dak could tell.
"You good?" Dak asked.
Will nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. I can't believe—"
"I know. Rappelling down an apartment building. Crazy. But we're not out of this yet. Let's get out of here and we'll reminisce later."
Eleven
Nazaré
Colonel Cameron Tucker watched everything on the eight monitors in front of him in a remote location just outside of Lisbon.
Two months after the debacle with Dak Harper in Iraq, the colonel was reassigned. While his superiors told him, it could have happened to anyone, and that the new job had nothing to do with his failure to bring in the rogue Harper, it was just lip service.
He'd been placed in charge of a head-hunting unit with the specific purpose of tracking down AWOL soldiers like Harper, and Tucker would be lying if he said he didn't spend most of his time and resources trying to locate the man who'd betrayed his team in Iraq. More than a year had passed since then, and with every passing day his impatience pooled near the brim of his cup of iniquity. He'd become grumpy, easily agitated, going from a man most of his soldiers looked up to and admired, to a figure who barked orders like some kind of authoritarian dictator.
Tucker was self aware enough to realize the changes he'd experienced, and he didn't care. The longer this manhunt dragged on, the more pressure mounted on him. The higher-ups demanded results, and after so many months of coming up empty, he felt more and more like he was on borrowed time.
He kept his eyes glued to the team leader's body cam, watching as the man maneuvered through the apartment building's lobby and up into the stairwell. As ordered, two men were stationed near the elevators with one more at each of the two main exits. Based on multiple layouts of the building, Tucker was confident they'd secured every possible way out.
Every way except one.
Tucker's team entered the floor where Harper's friend, Will Collins, had an apartment. Tucker knew of Collins, but only by reputation. He couldn't find much on him now, which in Tucker's mind meant the guy was up to something illegal. If he had to guess, he'd say running guns to militants, rebels, or even ambitious drug lords. Nazare was a strange location for something like that, though, and he wondered what the logistics nightmare must look like from the small fishing village.
Those distracting thoughts had taken very little of Tucker's focus during the recon effort. One of his former operators, Bo Taylor, had given Tucker everything he needed to put his team in place. Dak Harper would fall right into their net, and the colonel envisioned accolades from his peers. They would honor his perseverance and innovation in getting the job done.
But he hadn't gotten the job done.
Colonel Tucker watched with dismay as his team entered the corridor, then breached the door into Will Collins' apartment. Tucker's men swept the entire place, searched every room. They ripped blankets off beds, cushions from the sofa and chairs, scoured the kitchen, and even checked the cabinets despite the fact that neither Harper nor Collins were small enough to fit inside.
The apartment was empty, and Tucker felt a sudden wave of anxiety flood his body. His chest tightened and his breath shortened. He shifted his view to the other screens, monitoring the exits where his men stood guard. They hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched since taking up their stations.
Where was Dak Harper?
The answer to his unspoken question came to him within seconds. "Check the roof," Tucker ordered into the comms link. "Swanson, get to the roof. If you get eyes on the target, take him down."
A sharp "Yes, sir" barked through the earpiece.
Tucker's placement of Swanson in a vacant, top level apartment in the building next door provided the team with a sniper in case Harper managed to escape to the street. While Swanson was equipped with a military-grade rifle, it wasn't the usual sniper version he preferred. Still, it would be more than enough to take down the rogue operator and his friend.
While Swanson hurried up the stairs to the roof, the team left the apartment and rushed back to the stairwell, leaving one man standing guard in case Harper and his accomplice thought they could hide out in one of the other apartments until it was safe to leave.
As the men ascended the stairs, Tucker's eyes remained fixed on Swanson's screen. His body cam bounced and shook as he ascended the stairs. The screen brightened momentarily when Swanson opened the door. When the lens adjusted, a foot shot out of nowhere just as the gunman was lining up the shot to take out Collins, who'd landed on the rooftop and rolled to a stop about twenty feet away.
The blow from the boot knocked the rifle loose in Swanson's hand. Then a familiar face appeared on the screen.
Tucker watched in rapt horror as Dak Harper disarmed the soldier, disposed
