of his big brother in one word: “Good.”
Kane called for his team, who were spread across the cocaine field, lying low.
They worked for no one, it seemed. Duke didn’t know how Kane got his money, or how he paid his team, but the men were dedicated, and Duke had money deposited in his bank account on the first of every month for the eight months he’d been part of Kane’s mercenary squad. When Duke left the Marines, at the age of twenty-four, after his tour in Afghanistan fighting the Taliban before they were publicly declared the enemy, Kane had called him. “I have a position for you.”
Of course Duke took it. He’d joined the Marines to follow in both his father’s and Kane’s giant footsteps, thinking he knew where those footsteps led.
Kane was only two years older than him, but he seemed far more worldly, more scarred … decades wiser.
“Kodiak.” Kane’s command meant something to his team, but Duke didn’t know what the hell he meant.
Kane motioned for Duke to follow him. “Stick with me.”
“You didn’t tell me the plan.”
“You aren’t ready.”
That irritated Duke. After three years in the Marines, he had the stamina and readiness of anyone on Kane’s team. He was as good a shot, as strong as any of them, and he was committed. They were actively battling the drug dealers, the smugglers, the bastards growing deadly and addictive crops that were distributed throughout America, killing the innocent and the stupid. Tearing apart families, destroying minds and bodies and futures.
Like Molly, their sister.
“Kane-”
“Follow me. Be alert.”
Duke had no choice, but this wasn’t the first time Kane had treated him like a child since he’d relocated to Central America to be part of this team. This wasn’t what he’d signed on for, and he’d just as soon reenlist or go home to Sacramento and become a cop. He followed Kane through the field. It was full dark, hours before the sunrise; humidity had fallen but the ground retained the warmth of the previous summer day.
All he knew was that they were going to burn the fields. The coca plants would go up in flames, costing the drug lords millions of dollars in raw material. The tracking device Duke had made with their limited supplies was to better monitor the perimeter guards.
The plan-even without Duke’s firsthand knowledge-seemed to go off without a hitch. Kane and Duke set charges, and when they reached the opposite end of the field, the six other team members met them within seconds. Perfectly executed.
Duke had never seen his brother looking so intense. Kane was wholly focused on the job, as if his body had become his mind, every movement with specific purpose, every command with power.
“Ignite,” Kane ordered.
Webs lit the four fuses. Each burned virtually smokeless down the rows at regular intervals. Overkill, based on the explosives they’d tamped into each charge, but when Duke questioned the plan, Kane had simply said, “Insurance.”
The men dispersed in pairs without comment, and Duke followed Kane. The only thing he’d been told was if they separated to meet at a specific longitude and latitude outside Lancetilla. And not to move north.
Within two minutes, the first charge exploded. Duke was knocked to the ground-he knew they’d put too much black powder in the charge. “Move,” Kane said, pulling him up.
Shouts. Voices. Pitch black. How Kane knew where they were going, Duke didn’t know. He couldn’t see the others, couldn’t hear them, but he sensed them … they weren’t far. Just beyond sight, and trained enough not to make a sound.
Gunfire rang out.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Webs,” Kane whispered, and crossed himself.
Duke never had figured out how Kane knew Webs was dead, but he’d never rendezvoused with them six hours later, and Kane never spoke of it.
The explosions continued, and Duke’s ears rang. Kane kept a hard pace, and Duke followed without breaking stride. This he could do. This was being a Marine.
The click of a rifle had Duke falling flat to the ground, a second before Kane. Somehow, that pleased him, that his instincts were just as good as his brother’s.
They lay there. Duke focused on the sounds. The fire in the field. The distant shouts-barely audible. The beating of his heart. Slower. Slower. Slower.
The call of a bird.
The scratching of a cricket.
The footfall of a man.
The glint of a rifle aimed at Kane’s position only feet away caught Duke’s eye. He fired at the threat. One shot, hitting between the eyes exactly as Duke pictured, though he couldn’t see more than a hint of shadow and light. The flash of his muzzle lit the enemy before him.
A child.
A child with a gun.
Duke stared at the young body as it collapsed into the dirt. Kane jumped up, grabbed the gun from the dead boy’s hands without glancing at the face, and said, “Move.”
The boy wasn’t any older than their little brother Sean. A boy. A child sent into the woods to pursue the best soldiers America had trained. Who would send a child to war? Who would send a boy out alone to die?
Duke didn’t move; he couldn’t. Intellectually, he knew he’d killed an enemy, an enemy who would have shot Kane in the back without thought. But the enemy was a child, and Duke had killed him without hesitation.
Kane pulled Duke up from the earth. Duke was a full inch taller than his brother, but he felt a foot smaller.
“Soldier!”
Duke closed his eyes.
Kane slapped him.
Duke responded with violence, but Kane caught Duke’s fist with his palm, twisted, and brought Duke to his knees.
Without comment, Kane popped the cartridge from the boy’s weapon and pressed the end into Duke’s hand. It was warm. The pungent scent of gunpowder whiffed into his nostrils.
“Three rounds missing. Three rounds hit Webs.”
Kane let Duke’s hand go, turned, and disappeared into the darkness.
He expected Duke to follow.
A second later, Duke did.
He paused next to the body of the boy, but just for a moment. A child sent to be a killer, given no choice in growing to be a man.
Duke followed Kane, neither speaking. Five minutes after the team rendezvoused they were airborne.
When they landed outside Mexico City three hours later, Duke told Kane he was going home.
“I understand,” Kane said.
Duke turned, certain Kane didn’t understand. Maybe couldn’t.
“It’s war, Duke,” Kane said.
