His orders had been to kill the one man, not anyone else. He broke the rifle down, shoving it in the case. Then he left the room, walking quickly, taking the rear fire stairs. When he reached the door leading to the alley, he paused for a second, taking a deep breath, then shoved it open.

The limousine was exactly where it was supposed to be, engine running, rear door open and waiting for him.

Done with Foster and confident the "simulation" was on track, Royce slipped out the back. He slowly walked down the long tunnel to the outside world. From the rack just inside the tunnel entrance, he took a set of keys for one of the Humvees parked outside. He climbed in and started the large four-wheel-drive vehicle. He drove off Fort Shafter and turned to the north, toward the ridge of mountains along Oahu's west side.

The road went from four lanes to a well-maintained two lanes to two lanes of dilapidated hardtop to dirt as he got farther north and west. He took a turn onto an overgrown dirt trail, trees and bushes on either side scraping the sides of the wide Humvee. The path wound upward, traversing back and forth along the steep side of a mountain. Several times Royce had to back up and cut the wheel hard to make the sharp turns. It had been an easier drive in a smaller Jeep. The wider wheelbase of the Humvee compelled him to edge his way in between trees lining the track. Sometimes, he reflected, improvement wasn't better.

He finally broke out of the foliage into a clearing near the crest of the hill. A Land Rover Defender was parked there. Royce smiled as he saw the other four-wheel-drive vehicle. It was painted gray and tricked out with all sorts of useful additions, such as snorkel air intake, roof rack, winch, extra gas cans, shovel, and axe. Everything the consummate four-wheel-drive enthusiast would want. He had been in that vehicle on trips all over the island. It had also worked well in picking up older female tourists for drives to remote beaches on the island, off the beaten track. The driver of the Defender was sitting on the roof rack, a pair of binoculars trained to the north. Royce got out of the Humvee and walked over.

"Have a seat," David said, tapping the metal grate next to him. He was seated on a piece of foam rubber, and he slid another onto the rack.

Royce climbed up the narrow ladder to the roof and took the indicated spot. The view was magnificent. They could see the ocean to the north and west and even the faint outline of the next island in the chain.

They sat in silence for several minutes. David finally put the binoculars down.

"How's the op going?"

"Slocum is perfect for his role to run the simulation," Royce said. David nodded.

"We shoehorned him in there a year ago."

Royce wasn't surprised. Headquartered here in Hawaii, David had run operations here for the

Organization for over fifty years. The two had worked together for the past two decades, ever since

Royce had been recruited by David into the Organization after several tours in the military.

"Foster is flaky," Royce added.

"I had to motivate him."

David laughed.

"I figured he'd need a little stimulation. Short attention span."

He stopped laughing.

"He's expendable."

"I figured as much."

That gave Royce an idea how important this Section 8 mission was: if they were willing to get rid of Foster, that was a significant cutout being removed.

"The Jolo Island thing by Delta was a major screw-up," David said.

"Was it?" Royce asked, earning a hard look from his boss, then a laugh.

"Always the suspicious one," David said.

"That's a good trait in this line of work."

Royce didn't expect David to give him any information on the botched raid. As a consummate professional, he would never speak "out of school."

"How's the team?" David asked.

"They have the skills needed if they all make it."

"Carefully worded answer," David noted.

"I question their motivations," Royce said.

David's eyebrows rose.

"Their motivations are what we use to get them to do the mission."

"A good fighting unit is cohesive and shares the same motivations," Royce said.

"This is a collection of fuck-ups and failures – and that's what we're using to get them to do this."

"It's not like they have to win World War Three," David said.

"They've got one mission."

"So they're expendable?" Royce thought of Orson's comment while looking at Layla Tai's file.

"We're all expendable."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do."

Royce's satphone buzzed and he pulled it out, checking the text message.

"The last Section Eight member passed his test. He's on his way back to Okinawa."

"Good."

"Why'd you pick Section Eight as the name for the team?" Royce asked.

"Ever watch MASH?" David asked.

"We need to keep our sense of humor."

Silence settled over the clearing once more. The two were used to their roundabout discussions. But in a world where secrecy ruled supreme, they both enjoyed their time together. It was as close to a real conversation about the job they had devoted their life to that either man was ever going to have with someone they wouldn't immediately kill afterward.

Royce finally got down to business.

"Why am I here?"

"To run the op," David said.

"I'm the field agent. You run the ops."

"Not anymore."

David reached into the pocket of his khaki shirt and pulled out a postcard. It showed a tropical beach with a beautiful woman in a skimpy bikini.

"No shit?" Royce had known this day was coming, but he'd never dwelt on it.

"No shit," David echoed.

"When?"

"In a couple of days. Which is why you're here. This is your op. One hundred percent from this moment on out."

"Where is this?" Royce asked, pointing at the card.

"Well, that beach is Kaui," David said, "and I don't happen to know the young lady's name."

He put the card away and became serious.

"Of course, I'm not going to Kaui. Symbolism is what I was shooting for.

"I'd heard about this place. Where they send people like me. Out of the way. In the western Pacific.

Isolated but nice. Out of harm's way, able to enjoy our last years, courtesy of the Organization, for our years of service."

"You've still got plenty of work in you," Royce protested.

"You – " David shook his head.

"I'm tired, Royce. Bone tired."

He grabbed the ladder and slid down to the ground. Royce followed.

David pointed to the north, where they could still see the ocean.

"They came from that direction so many years ago. My brother was on this hill that morning. Eighteen years old."

David had never mentioned a brother to Royce, who had always assumed they met up here because it was remote and safe.

"Pearl Harbor?" Royce asked.

David nodded.

"December seventh, 1941. We got hit hard and were surprised. Same as 9/11."

David sighed.

"Makes you wonder."

"About?" Royce asked.

As he expected, David changed the subject.

"Everything's compartmentalized in our Organization," he said.

"I know who I answer to but I don't know who he answers to. You answer to me, but I don't know who you have working for you most of the time. It's been the key to our success. Someone takes out a link, they can only go so far in either direction before they hit a dead end. It's kept me alive and it's kept you alive."

"I'm going to miss you," Royce said.

David smiled.

"Thanks. You know, us meeting here – it should have never happened. I was wrong to meet you here that first time so many years ago."

"I know."

Royce paused.

"Then why did you?"