Chapter 1

Somalia 20 miles East of Berbera

“Scott, do you have that list of the bids,” Cameron Lambert asked, sticking his head over the edge of his cubicle.

“Not yet. We’re supposed to get the final list by this afternoon.”

“You’re kidding? We’re supposed to be delivering this thing next week and they’re yelling at me from upstairs that they need all the bids in now, so they can make the final decision by Friday. I can’t go back and tell them ‘hey, can you wait till tomorrow.’ What’s the holdup?”

“Something in IT. I knew it was a mistake to set up in the ass-end of nowhere, but no one listens to me.”

“Tell me about it. I’ll go and talk to the geeks and see if we can’t get this shit fixed.”

“Remember, you can’t...”

“I know, I know. I get need to know and security, but there’s a time and a place for it. If we can’t get any emails because they’re not told anything, then what’s the point?”

“Hey, I get it, but you know how it is. You signed up for this when you started working on K-Street.”

“Yeah, but I thought I’d get to actually work on K-Street, not some off-site compound wrapped up in security. All right, I’ll be back.”

Cameron pushed his uncomfortable office chair out of the way and wove his way through the small room packed with cubicles. When Cameron had first heard about this assignment, managing the sale of their newest product from a secret compound, he’d been excited. He’d imagined some non-descript warehouse in the streets of Detroit or something, coming in and out through a door with no sign each day, not being able to tell his neighbors where he worked. At least, that’s how it was in the movies.

Instead, he was eating, sleeping, and working in an eight-thousand square foot building, jammed in with fifteen other people, on the coast of Africa miles away from any other humans. They’d barely gotten the company to spring for an IT person, so a cook was completely out. All of their meals were frozen or from a can and heated up in a tiny little building in the corner of the compound, usually in a microwave. He’d lived better than this as a broke college student.

Stepping through the windowless little room and out into the bright African Sun, he blinked to clear his vision. At least it wasn’t melting hot. He’d been worried about that when he’d finally heard they were headed to Somalia, imagining scenes of barren desert or rocks or ... something. Beyond seeing some action movie about the place a few years back, he hadn’t had any idea what Somalia was like. Considering all he’d seen since getting here was the airport, a ride in a tarp-covered truck, and this compound, he supposed he still didn’t, not really.

They were on the coast, though, which meant there was enough of a breeze to cool down the hottest part of the day. It felt closer to Florida than a desert, so it wasn’t all bad. Now, if they could just bring in some girls, it might not be completely miserable.

Cameron made his way across the cluttered compound to another small building that held their IT specialist and all of his equipment.

“Nash,” Cameron said, knocking on the door. “What’s going on with the internet? We can’t get any emails to send or receive and we’ve got some time-sensitive stuff we’re waiting on.”

“I know, and I’m working on it. The satellite hookups they sent us out here with are really outdated. I swear, they must have pulled this stuff from a mothballed warehouse somewhere, because I’ve set up some other remote locations before, and we always had up-to-date equipment. This stuff won’t hold a signal and has huge packet loss, which is why you’re having trouble with the messages.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Maybe. I know we need to have everything safe, but our system already has pretty good security. Why do we need to use this separate encrypted mail system? If we didn’t use it, I’d be able to work around the bad signal a lot easier.”

“I don’t know; we’re just doing what we’re told. I think they’re worried about a competitor getting details of the project before it goes public or something. We’re all dealing with the security bullshit on this. Trust me; I’d rather be back in D.C.”

“Tell me about it. Give me twenty more minutes and I should have it.”

“Try and make it faster if you can. This whole thing is time-sensitive and I don’t...”

A loud bang interrupted Cameron before he got the sentence out. He had just turned around, mouth agape at the smoking hole that had been the compound door, when he was flung back into the IT shed. For a moment, he lay on the floor, unable to catch his breath, trying to figure out what had happened.

It wasn’t until he put his hands on his chest that he realized he’d been shot, his fingers coming back red. That was when the pain started, his brain finally catching up with his body, telling him something had gone wrong. Looking down, Cameron could see a dark bloom spreading out across his white shirt. He tried to push himself up, but his legs weren’t responding, and he slid back down, his head smacking against a crate of cables.

He looked around in terror, finally making eye contact with Nash. He tried to call out, to ask for help, and nothing came out except a gurgle followed by a trickle of blood leaking out the side of his mouth. Cameron stared into Nash’s eyes, the sounds of gunfire and shouting fading out, the man’s terrified face slowly going fuzzy before everything faded to black.

Washington, D.C. “That’s the last time I leave the country,” Taylor said, dropping two large suitcases just inside of the front door.

“Sometimes I swear you just like to complain,” Whitaker said, dodging around him and putting the bags she was carrying in the den.

Taylor sighed, pushing the bags against the wall so they weren’t in the way of the door. She’d been moody ever since they got up this morning, and had barely talked to him the entire flight back, mostly answering in mumbles or one-word snarky sentences when she did talk.

He knew she wasn’t angry at him, because she wasn’t the type to get passive-aggressive. She always told him exactly what she was mad about, often in very loud and blunt terms. He’d tried to ask her what was wrong, but she just said nothing and went back to ignoring him. He hadn’t said anything yet because it had been a long honeymoon, and maybe she was just tired.

“You’re back!” Kara said, running from down a hallway and throwing her arms around Whitaker.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“You sent me your itinerant, remember? I wanted to be here when you got back.”

“Itinerary,” Taylor corrected, leaning down and kissing her on the top of her head as he walked by.

“Yes, itinerary,” Kara said, letting go of Whitaker and grabbing Taylor in a hug before he could walk away. “How was England?”

“Rainy,” Taylor said, hugging her back.

“See, all he wants to do is complain,” Whitaker said, walking into the kitchen.