“Because the rest of the rules are different.” Bianco stuck his thumbs in his eyes. “Hell, if I’d known this whole game design thing was this complicated, I’d never have started.”
“Bull.” Glenn snorted. “You love this crap.”
Bianco just groaned. When his phone rang a moment later, he grabbed for it almost as if it was a lifeline. Anything but staring at those legal pads and giving himself a headache trying to figure this out.
“Vinnie, it’s Joe.” Flanagan’s voice actually triggered a wave of relief.
Bianco sat up straighter. “We got a job?”
“We’ve got a job. It’s complicated, but we’ll explain at the briefing. Usual place, three days.”
“I’ll be there.” Bianco glanced over at Glenn, who was frowning a little, and briefly considered bringing his friend in. They could probably use another shooter.
But no. Glenn’s scars went deeper than what the naked eye could see. Unlike a lot of vets who were one hundred percent disabled, according to the VA, Glenn was in no shape to go running around in the weeds with a rifle. Not anymore. He’d sustained some serious wounds in Marjah, and still needed to go to the VA hospital regularly. Bringing him along wouldn’t be doing him or the rest of the Blackhearts any favors.
Especially since he’d feel honor-bound to try to hang if Bianco even brought it up. He knew Tom well enough to be sure of that.
“We’ll see you in a couple days, then.” Flanagan hadn’t heard Bianco’s brief inner monologue. Bianco shook himself a little.
“Roger that.” Flanagan hung up first. Bianco shoved the phone back in his pocket, and then, with a sinking feeling, realized that if the meetup was in three days, he still had time to work on this.
***
“Hank!” Brannigan looked around the cabin as he got out of his truck. It had been a few months since the younger Brannigan had come to live with his dad, helping out around the place. Sure enough, he was splitting firewood in the back. “Come inside for a minute.”
He led the way into the small cabin, which he had built for himself and Rebecca before cancer had claimed her. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to this conversation.
Hank came in behind him, wiping his boots off and dusting his hands. He’d worked up a good sweat—he must have been at it for a bit. The young man was almost the spitting image of his father, if shorter and slighter of build, his hair still dark and cut short. Brannigan waved him to a seat at the table, then took the other.
“I’m guessing we’ve got another job.” Hank sounded eager. Somewhat more eager than Brannigan might have expected. Or liked.
“We’ve got another job. At least, the Blackhearts have another job.” Brannigan steepled his hands in front of him, leaning on the table. “The question is, are you going to come or not?”
Hank frowned. “I thought I did okay in Azerbaijan.”
Brannigan nodded gravely. “You did. That’s not the issue.” He sighed. “Son, I need you to be damned good and sure this is what you want to do. Because this mission’s not just combat dangerous. If it goes sideways, the US government might just come down on all our heads.” Better to get all the cards out on the table.
But Hank just spread his hands. “I watched them scapegoat you for East Africa. I saw just how quick the knives come out when I was a Company Commander. That doesn’t worry me. It’s always been a risk. If it happens, we’ll deal with it.”
That wasn’t exactly the answer Brannigan had wanted to hear. He realized that while he was proud of his son’s warrior spirit, a part of him really didn’t want him coming out and risking his neck with the rest of them. Hank was all he had left since Rebecca had died. “You’re sure? You might have gotten through your first mission, but they don’t get any less hairy.”
Hank shrugged. “I’m not that used to being the low man on the totem pole anymore, but I can deal.” He sighed and squinted up at his father for a moment. “I know why you’re asking, Dad. But yeah, I do want to come. I can’t think of anything else I’d do.”
“That’s a poor reason to carry a gun for money.” But Brannigan sighed. As much as he didn’t know that he wanted the merc life for his son, Hank was a grown man, and a warrior. He could make these decisions for himself. “All right. But we’re going to have to watch our backs.”
“What else is new?”
Chapter 4
Brannigan put the phone down. That had been his second try to get through to Gomez, without an answer.
If it had been anyone but Mario Gomez, he would have just figured that the other man had decided that he’d had enough and was leaving the Blackhearts. Gomez was generally a man of few words, anyway. He was even more taciturn than Flanagan.
But Gomez was also a stone-cold killer, and about as unlikely to just walk away as he was to suddenly join the Peace Corps. Something else was going on.
He’d just turned to call the next man on the list when the phone rang.
Brannigan glared at the phone, tilting his head to see who was calling. He’d never been eager to get a cell phone in the first place, but the fact that the Blackhearts were spread all over the country meant that it was kind of necessary. And if either Van Zandt or Hector Chavez needed to contact him, then it made it easier to keep things low-key.
He still hated the damned thing. Even though the number of people who had this number was extremely small.
He recognized the incoming number. He’d
