us than you know.”
Dennison gave them more details about the Snow Maiden’s last known location and how they would be heading off to Europe within the next four hours.
They’d been formally introduced to the two Splinter Cells at the back of the room, George and Thomas Voeckler. George was the clean-cut one, Thomas the looser free spirit.
Brent had already decided to request full dossiers on the two spies, and he hoped Dennison would divulge that information. Bottom line: You wanted to know who had your back — and who might not.
As they left the room, Brent reached to shake George’s hand.
The spy frowned and accepted the handshake. “Nice to meet you, Captain.”
“It’s not easy, I know,” said Brent. “You guys are used to working alone.”
“That’s right,” said Thomas. “I don’t even like to work with my brother. And all this military talk gives me an upset stomach. We’re spooks, not soldiers.”
“I apologize for my brother,” said George. “He suffered some head trauma as a child and he’s never been —”
Thomas jabbed George in the ribs, then faced Brent. “Don’t worry about us, GI Joe. Just give us a long leash, and we’ll deliver that bitch on a silver platter.” Thomas tossed his head back, hair flying, and for a moment, Brent wondered if the man was on drugs. No, just a little weird.
Back in their barracks, Brent gathered his team into a half circle. “You got your wish. No more training. Live fire now. Test of fire. Are we up for this?”
A few of them shrugged.
“Look, they gave us a good operation.”
“Yeah, but something’s not right,” said Lakota. “They wouldn’t give us something this important — unless they’re making it seem important and it’s really not… or maybe we’re just part of some bigger plan and acting as cover… or bait. The spooks got the real work. We’re just the bulldogs waiting outside to cover them when they leave.”
“Not true. And don’t get paranoid,” said Brent. “Higher knows I’ve had some nice captures in Afghanistan, seven in all, and those ops went well. Maybe they figure me for a guy who can abduct people. I’m like a UFO, so they gave us this. That make you feel better, Lakota?”
She shrugged. “A little.”
Park, the Korean guy who never talked, widened his eyes and lifted his chin. “Captain, I don’t think we should trust the spies.”
Brent frowned. “What makes you say that?”
Heston cursed under his breath. “Captain, he never talks, but when he does, you should listen.”
“Park?” Brent asked again.
“I don’t mean to sound unprofessional, sir, but I do have some experience with the NSA through joint operations in the Helmand Province. They always have another agenda. And you heard what the director said about those CIA agents who went after the Snow Maiden. Two dead, two still missing.”
“Well, we sure as hell ain’t the CIA.”
Park’s tone grew more grave. “No, but those teams all had one thing in common — they had Splinter Cells attached to their units.”
“Could be just a coincidence, but if you haven’t learned this about me by now, here’s a quick lesson — you need to earn my trust. And so will they.”
“I’m not worried, sir. But you should be.”
Brent sighed. “All right, everyone, let’s pack up. Bring your civvies. We need to look like tourists. We finally get to insert with real cover. I always love it when they drop us into a city wearing unmarked fatigues — but we’re not supposed to look like soldiers.”
“Can I wear a dress and heels?” said Riggs.
That query was met by the hoots, hollers, and catcalls of all the men, save for Park.
“Calm down, wolves. Riggs, that sounds good. Just be ready to ditch the heels when I need you.”
“You got it, sir.”
“All right, on the ready line in twenty minutes.”
They muttered behind him as he spun on his heel and left, heading back to the office to pick up their travel docs.
While en route, Schoolie caught him on the sidewalk. “Heard you’re shipping out, got a big mission.”
“Yeah, we’re going to rescue your father from the backyard kiddie pool. He’s been lying in it all day, getting drunk.”
“How do you come up with this stuff?”
“You inspire me.”
“Seriously, Brent, just wishing you good luck.” Schoolie proffered his hand.
When Brent glanced down at that hand, he saw another one, darker skinned, and when he looked up, there was Carlos Villanueva, grinning.
Brent blinked hard and faced Schoolie. “I’ll shake when I get back. Don’t want to jinx myself, okay?”
“Okay, Brent. I heard you were superstitious.” Schoolie lowered his hand. “Make old Buzz proud.”
“Roger that.”
Schoolie had just referred to Major Harold “Buzz” Gordon, born March 17, 1955, and one of the first soldiers assigned to the Ghosts when they were formed in 1994. He’d gone on to become a lieutenant colonel and company commander, working extensively with Scott Mitchell. Buzz was now considered the “father” of Ghost Recon, while Mitchell was considered its greatest living Ghost. Brent hoped history wouldn’t record him as the black sheep of the unit, but you had to do more than hope to change history… you had to
FOUR
Brent and his Ghost Recon team, along with the Voeckler brothers, had traveled to a locale so spectacularly beautiful that it was hard to remember he was working. The juxtaposition between this part of France and some of Brent’s old duty stations — little hellholes in Afghanistan draped in “moon dust”—was enough to weaken his knees.
The Chateau de Menthon-Saint-Bernard, a medieval castle built in the tenth century, towered some two hundred meters over Lake Annecy, the second-largest lake in France. The castle was like something out of a movie, with great stone walls, spires, and ornate turrets set against a verdant hillside. Walt Disney might have taken his inspiration from the place when he’d planned his Magic Kingdom castle because the environs had a distinct fairy- tale air. Behind the fortress’s ancient walls were 105 rooms on four levels, and Brent presently stood in the main banquet area on the second floor, watching as partygoers slowly filtered in past the orchestra.
A banner hung across one wall. In Cyrillic it read,
