Sam Axe.

January of 1992.

Desabafar, Bolivia.

Desabafar was a village lost to time. Its buildings were made of clay, its signs hand-painted, its only road bumpy and strained by persistent roots. It had five cars, all of them beaten and dusty, and an abundance of horses and donkeys pinned beneath shelters along the fields. In every direction, the ground was like gravel, with boulders nestled between spiny scrub plants, and dry soil stirring at the winds that came off the distant mountains. It had a dozen or so houses, a general store, and an inn at the end of the road. It seemed perfectly rustic, a snapshot of a simpler time, but the more I looked, the more I noticed.

I only saw children in Desabafar, running around in shorts, wearing corporate-branded shirts. I also found locked doors and pulled shutters everywhere I turned. I knew there had to be people in the town because of the gas generators popping and sparking outside the businesses, but everyone was avoiding me – except for one old man peeking at me through an upstairs window.

It was nearly dusk when I gave up on recon and went to the inn, the only door that had been open so far. It had been a long ride out here, certainly a journey from Russia, and I had barely slept since I left the last airport, so my reflexes were not perfect.

Someone was standing just inside the inn. He grabbed me and threw me against the wall, a hand like iron closing around my throat.

"Who are you?"

His accent was unmistakably American. I held myself back from any countermeasures, staying as still as possible to get a good look at my attacker – and keep my windpipe intact. He was wearing a decorated Navy uniform.

"Westen," I croaked.

His eyes narrowed. "Number?"

"4768-782."

He released me, and like a spineless jellyfish I slithered to the ground. I rubbed my throat and coughed, simultaneously impressed by his strength and pissed off that he had gotten the jump on me. If he had been an enemy, I would be dead.

"Just gotta be sure, kid. You never know. You must be our spook."

He was definitely stronger than me, and faster than a man his size had any right to be. His face was like the one on the army recruitment posters – a strong, American chin, rugged good looks, hard blue eyes, and an easy smile.

He crouched down, frowning at me. "Sorry for the… er, greeting. You can never be too careful."

I eyed the knife on his belt. "Is that Navy issue?"

"Oh, no. Bessy here is special." He smiled, drawing the serrated knife from its sheath. It looked like it could do some real damage. "I got her in Kuwait – won her in a poker match, if you can believe that. I've opened more beer bottles with this knife than I care to admit." He sheathed it, smiled, and held out his hand, "Sam Axe."

"Michael."

Sam looked at me harder, squinting. "God, what are you, twenty? Did they start recruiting spooks right out of basic?"

Larry would have something clever to shoot back, but all I could do was flounder, "I was a ranger."

"Right, right. Whatever you say, pal." He turned away from me. "But, listen, sorry to make you come all this way for nothing. We got this handled. Se puede ir."

"I don't speak Spanish."

"Really? Well, I think the language here is Portuguese anyway. I said you can go." Sam turned back, a crinkled piece of paper in his hand.

"You found him?"

He cocked one bushy eyebrow. "Er, no. But we don't need any more hands coming in and messing things up. Nothing personal."

Sam seemed to be trying to piss me off, and it was working. I wanted to punch him in that ridiculous jaw of his. But I was not a teenager anymore.

"You messed things up well enough on your own."

Sam smiled, his jaw a little tighter this time. "Like I said, your services won't be needed."

"That's not your decision."

"Whatever, kid. Just stay out of our way."

I looked around the empty lobby, "Where's your team?"

"Where's yours?"

"I work alone."

Sam snorted. "You know, that is such a spy thing to say. My guys are upstairs. We rented up all the rooms, though. Too bad. But I hear the next town over has rooms available."

"I'm sure I'll figure something out."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Sam was not going to win this battle of wills. I turned the couch so I had a good view of both the stairs and the front door, and laid down with my feet hanging off the end. I rarely slept these days, and that sleep was light and troubled. When those SEALs came down, I would hear it.

XxX

I woke up soaked in sweat. It was a warm day and the hotel doors were propped open. I stared out at the street for several minutes before I realized I was not hot, but I had been having a nightmare – and I was not alone in the lobby anymore.

Sam was there, digging into a banana, watching me with practiced indifference.

"Bad dream?" he prompted.

I sat up, fluffing out my hair. It was obviously early, but dawn had already come. I could see the outline of several sets of shoulders beyond the front desk, in a little conference room. I ignored my company and went to join them, hovering by the doorway. When they noticed me, the conversation stopped, and three sets of eyes hit me all at once. Sam slipped in behind me, settling in the furthest chair, still munching on his breakfast.

"Westen, I presume," the closest SEAL said.

"Yes. Where are we?"

"We have a witness who saw the asset being taken up the mountain on foot."

"Up the mountain?" It was an odd place to take a captive, especially when being pursued by an elite military force. It was also dangerous this time of year because of the rain.

"There's another village up there, with a private airport."

"You think they're taking him out of the country? Why?"

"That's not relevant," the SEAL responded.

"It is, if you want to know what these guys are really up to. Why would they take him out of the country? Bolivia doesn't have an extradition treaty with the US."

"There have been talks," Sam said, though he looked curious. "What are you getting at?"

"Why would they go that way? The road I came in on leads to a few major cities. They could have driven him to an airport and left the country by now, if that was what they wanted to do."

"We've been watching that road," a burly SEAL named Thompson responded.

"Odds are your guy is still nearby. You have a hundred miles of open terrain in every direction, and only a few vehicles in town – most of them would get run down by your cars in a few minutes, tops. So where could they go? What could they do?"

"Go into the mountains," Thompson responded, almost in a growl.

"Or make us go into the mountains, and then skip their merry way out of town," I said.

"So, what do you propose we do, Spook? Split up and search for clues?"

"No. I'm saying you make it look like you all went up the mountain, and then see what comes crawling out of the shadows back here."

Sam snorted, pulling out another banana he had stashed in his bag. "If you're so sure he's wrong, we can all go up together. But if he's right, it sounds like a lost asset and a lot of paperwork." He took a big bite, smiling, speaking through a mouthful, "But that's just the potassium talking."

Thompson looked between them, considering. And then he smiled to himself. "How about you and the spook go up and see what you can see."

Sam smiled, too, but there was something else going on behind his amused mask. "Hey, anything to stretch my legs. I feel like all we do around here is sit and eat."

"No, Sam, that's all you do around here," Thompson responded, not unkindly. It was hard to tell if these were good-natured jabs, or if these two hated each other right under the surface. "I want you to scout the foothills at the base of the mountain and see if you can find any signs of our asset. But also keep an eye on the town, make note of the comings and goings. We'll go up together, and then leave you two at dusk to sneak back into town."

"Oh, a hike and a stakeout? It's my lucky day." Sam shoved the rest of his food into his mouth and spoke through it, spraying the unfortunate nearly SEAL with tiny pieces of it, "Sure beats kicking down every door in this town."

"You haven't searched the town?" I asked, interrupting their banter.

All eyes were on me again. Thompson answered. "No. We have a delicate agreement with the government to search for our asset. We can't go around terrorizing the locals."

"Last thing we need is an international crisis," Sam agreed.

"So, you have no idea if he's hiding in the next house over?" I demanded.

"Whoa, current status is unknown or captive, not in the wind." Sam stood up, brushing his shirt off and tossing a banana peel in the trash. "And yes, we have no idea if he's just squatting in the house next door, because we can't officially force our way in and none of the locals are cooperating. If you ask me, something smells fishy about all of this."

Thompson snorted. "We should move. I want everyone to see us. But you stay for now." He looked at me. "We'll switch with you at dusk. Stay here and keep an eye out. Maybe go to the roof."

He left, and the SEALs followed – all but Sam. He dug around in his pockets, looking disappointed when he didn't find yet another banana hidden there. "I swore I stowed some peanuts in here somewhere. Did I drop it when I kicked your ass last night?"

Something about his tone made me smile despite how tense the other SEALs were. He seemed to be the opposite of his colleagues, and the opposite of me.

"See you out there," Sam added as he left the room.