He looked out the window and watched as tree-covered foothills drifted by. The airfield was far enough inland from the city that there weren’t any houses or much infrastructure to look at—just mountainsides and dense vegetation. Not quite jungle, but certainly not manicured, either.
He turned his attention away from the windows and scanned his team. Edric sat still, splitting his attention between the driver and the left-hand window. Lyle tapped his left foot, chewing a wad of gum and pushing his glasses back up his nose every few seconds, his laptop bag and a duffel bag full of God-only-knew-what-kind of electronic gear riding at his feet.
Kevin sat in front of Lyle, his back tense, his gaze darting from one object to the next through the window. The space beneath Kevin’s left arm where his handgun usually rode was conspicuously empty, and Kevin kept fidgeting in his seat. Wolfgang leaned forward and studied a little closer, noticing dark sweat stains beneath Kevin’s arms growing a little larger by the minute.
Wolfgang leaned back, then whispered to Megan: “Is Kev okay?”
Kevin was something of a rival for Wolfgang. Stubborn, obstinate, and a little meatheaded, Kevin also happened to be Megan’s half-brother, a fact Wolfgang only recently discovered. What he first interpreted as rival romantic interest in Megan turned out to be the somewhat brutish protective instincts of a little brother. Wolfgang’s initial irritation with this primitive behavior was subdued when he learned that Kevin had also been best friends with James, Megan’s boyfriend and Charlie Team’s fifth member prior to a mission in Damascus where James was killed. Wolfgang ended up taking James’s place on Charlie Team, and he assumed that Kevin probably felt the pang of James’s loss every time he saw Wolfgang, adding to the tension between them.
Megan watched her brother with calm eyes, but Wolfgang saw the concern edging into them. She said nothing for a while, then looked out her window and spoke in a voice barely loud enough for Wolfgang to hear. “There’s something you should know about Kevin.”
Wolfgang leaned closer. “What?”
“Prior to working for SPIRE, he was a soldier.”
Wolfgang wasn’t surprised. Kevin looked like a soldier—tall and broad with a stiff back and a squared-off haircut that only a soldier would submit himself to.
“What kind of soldier?”
“U.S. Army Ranger.”
Wolfgang blinked. It didn’t surprise him that Kevin served, but he hadn’t expected him to be former spec ops. “Really?”
“Don’t let him fool you with his childishness,” she said. “Kevin is, or was, a hell of a soldier. He served one and a half tours in Afghanistan.”
Wolfgang raised an eyebrow.
One and a half. Why only a half?
Megan shrugged. “We all have our backstories, Wolf. Kevin never told me what happened over there, but he returned home early, and he was medically discharged from the Army shortly thereafter.”
“He was injured?”
Megan hesitated, studying her brother. “Not visibly.”
Wolfgang thought about all the times he’d been sarcastic and condescending with Kevin. All the times he’d underestimated him and been irritated by him. Kevin could be a real pain in the ass, but had he known about Afghanistan . . .
“Don’t tell him I told you,” Megan said. “There’s a point to what I’m saying.”
“Which is?”
“When shit goes down, you can trust him to get you out. He may be a pain in the ass, but Kevin is a trained fighter. Edric will probably put him in operational control, and you need to submit to that. He’ll keep us alive.”
Wolfgang studied Kevin, noting a bead of sweat running down his neck and further staining his T-shirt. He watched Kevin’s right hand twitch on his knee and suddenly wondered: If he has issues, how did he make the team? He chewed on the question for a minute, then decided it didn’t matter. If Megan would vouch for Kevin’s expertise in the face of open combat—something it seemed they were cruising right into—then that was good enough for him.
The SUV lurched over a pothole, and Wolfgang looked back outside as they topped a hill. Rio came into view all at once, spilling out beneath them from the feet of the mountains all the way to the edge of the ocean. Wolfgang gasped, shielding his hand against the sun as he swept over the massive city. Mile after mile of buildings were packed together around tall skyscrapers next to the bay, spilling out into condos next to the beach and smaller houses on the outskirts. It was unlike any city he’d ever visited, at once crowded and immense. As waning daylight shone over the ocean and brought the city to life, he saw cars surging back and forth along packed highways and narrow streets, while ant-like pedestrians filled the sidewalks.
Wolfgang turned back to the foothills. A moment later, he made out the Redeemer Statue standing at the top of Corcovado Mountain with its arms spread wide over the city. Sunlight radiated over the figure, and Wolfgang felt a strange warmth in his chest as he stared at the distant face of Christ. He’d seen pictures of the statue before, and he’d never really thought of visiting it as a bucket-list item, but now that he saw The Redeemer perched high on the mountain, basking in the sunlight, the awe and grace of the moment were overwhelming.
His gaze drifted down the statue to the mountainside below, and then he saw the favelas. Clinging to the hillsides in jumbled tangles of packed shacks, painted in multicolor and hanging on to the side of the mountain as if they were glued there, the shantytowns stretched for miles. He couldn’t make out details of construction, or even individual structures from this distance, but the mood of the slum communities was already clear: crowded, makeshift, impoverished.
The Tahoe turned and wound
