"Formerly of the First Ranger Battalion."

Kasen's grip was strong and the skin rough, toughened; Vaughn assumed it was from a rigorous martial arts routine. Kasen said nothing, staring at him with no apparent emotion, but Vaughn felt a coldness in the man. Vaughn had gone to Ranger school but never served in one of the battalions. He had a lot of respect for the soldiers who did, since they were the most elite infantry in the U.S. Army and perhaps the world. But there was a much different attitude between soldiers in the Ranger battalions and those in Special Forces: the former were more action oriented and thought in the short term, while the latter tended to be more cerebral and considered long-term missions.

"We're glad you're finally here so we can proceed," Orson said, giving Vaughn a cold look. With that, he spun about and headed back to the door.

"Hey," Sinclair said, slapping Vaughn on the back, "I'll give you a hand with your gear."

Orson led the other three inside, leaving Vaughn with Sinclair to haul the contents of the bundle that had been left there from his previous time in the tunnel.

"Friendly fucking lot, aren't they?" Sinclair said as he hoisted a duffel bag.

"You been here long?" Vaughn asked as he threw one strap of his rucksack over his shoulder and they headed for the door.

"Six hours," Sinclair said.

"I was the third one here. I guess we've been waiting on you to get the show going."

"So everyone is new to the team?"

Sinclair shrugged.

"I am. You are. You'll have to ask the others."

"Did you have to – " Vaughn hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.

"Pass a test?" Sinclair nodded.

"Yeah, but we ain't supposed to talk about that. Everything's a big secret here. Hush-hush and all that good shit."

Vaughn had wanted to know how long Sinclair had been in Section 8, but he knew better than to ask too many questions right away. There would be time for that later. Sinclair's answer, though, did indicate this was a newly assembled team, which meant he wasn't the outsider. That was both good and bad: good, because he wouldn't have to be accepted by those who had already formed bonds; bad, because it meant they all would have to quickly form the bonds of trust and training that the upcoming mission was going to require. The thought of going on a mission with a group of people who had just been thrown together didn't sit well with Vaughn.

They stepped through, and the steel door slammed behind them. Vaughn looked around. A typical setup for isolation. Plywood boards with maps mounted on them along with satellite imagery and lists of supplies. Two more doors at the end that Vaughn assumed led to their bunks and latrine.

"Functional" was the word that applied.

The other three Section 8 members were seated in folding chairs, Orson standing in front of them, waiting with impatience. Vaughn and Sinclair dropped the gear and sat down in the two remaining folding chairs. Orson had a remote in his hand, and a multimedia projector had been set up, attached to a laptop on the lectern in front of him. Orson took a thumb drive out of his coat pocket and plugged it into the USB port of the laptop. He worked the keyboard for a few moments, bringing up whatever he was going to show on the projector.

"Our mission," he began, "is to kill the leader of the Abu Sayef, a man named Rogelio Abayon."

The face of a middle-age man appeared on the screen over Orson's right shoulder.

Vaughn felt a surge of adrenaline as Orson confirmed what Royce had promised – this was the real deal. No more pussyfooting around. No more reacting. They were going to take the war to the bad guy.

Orson tapped the screen.

"This is the last photograph we have of Abayon, and it was taken over twenty-five years ago."

"No one's seen this guy in twenty-five years?" Sinclair asked with disbelief.

"No one's taken a photograph of Abayon in that time," Orson clarified.

"He's been seen, but rarely. It appears he hasn't left Jolo Island in all those years. And outsiders aren't welcome on Jolo."

Orson looked at Hayes, a not too subtle prompt.

The black man nodded.

"I saw Abayon on Jolo once, eight years ago. Only in passing. From what I managed to pick up, he has a hiding place on Hono Mountain, which pretty much dominates the entire island. There's supposed to be a set of tunnels built up there connecting natural caves. Only his closest people know where the entrance is."

Tai spoke up.

"If Jolo is controlled by the Abu Sayef, what were you doing there?" she asked Hayes.

"My father was in the U.S. Navy. My mother was Filipino. I grew up mostly in Manila, but when I was twelve I – " He paused, as if figuring out how to say it.

" – I traveled around the islands a lot with my friends. There are a lot of people like me, people of mixed race, in the islands. So although I don't pass as a native, since I speak the language and know the ways of the land, I can go pretty much anywhere."

"Eight years ago you were on Jolo?" Tai prompted.

Hayes nodded.

"Yes."

She waited but he didn't elaborate.

"Your teen years seem long gone," Tai finally said.

"What were you doing there?" Hayes stared at her.

"I was working."

"Doing?" she pressed. Vaughn glanced at Orson and noted that he wasn't stepping in, giving tacit approval to Tai's line of questioning. Vaughn had noted that while Orson had given the background of certain members of the team, for others he'd been rather quiet. Hayes didn't blink.

"I was negotiating the transfer of funds for illicit drugs. Does that make you feel better?"

"No," Tai said.

"You're a drug dealer."

"Was," Hayes said.

"And do you want to know who was supplying me with the money to buy?" He didn't wait for an answer, and Vaughn half expected the answer that was coming, based on his experiences in Afghanistan.

"The CIA. They wanted intelligence on the Abu Sayef and they recruited me to get it for them. What do they call it? Humint. Human intelligence. That was me. Of course they denied it, said I was just a drug dealer."

"Doing it for money," Tai said.

"What?" Hayes asked.

"You do it for free?"

"I do it for my country," Tai said.

"So you hand your paycheck back?" Hayes asked. Sinclair got them back on track.

"When was the last time you were on Jolo?"

"Two years ago," Hayes said.

"Shit," Sinclair said. He looked at Orson.

"And we're supposed to trust this guy?"

"Yes," Orson said.

"Hayes has his reasons for being here. As you all do."

Sinclair wasn't satisfied.

"So we're to take your word for it?"

Orson eyed him.

"Would you like to explain to the others why you're here?"

Sinclair glared at Orson but didn't respond, which was answer enough. Vaughn shifted in his seat and picked up the sense of unease that Orson's question to Sinclair had generated in all of them.

"But you didn't see Abayon?" Tai asked Hayes.

"Only in passing, as I said."

"If I may continue."

Orson made it an order, not a question.

"As you all know, the Abu Sayef were recently responsible for the deaths of eighteen tourists of various nationalities."

Vaughn once more shifted uncomfortably in his chair. But no one turned to stare at him, so he had to believe they didn't know his role in the recent debacle on Jolo.

"With the exposure of American involvement in the failed raid on the compound on Jolo Island," Orson went on, "the normal covert, albeit unofficial, channels of going after Abayon and his organization are closed. No other organization dare touch this, and the Philippine government, which has jurisdiction, wants nothing more to do with Abayon, the Abu Sayef, or Jolo Island. We believe they have negotiated an informal truce."