Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters, dressing them up in MARPAT, and giving them some guns (again).

Unbeta'd, unedited.

Jan 14
Undisclosed Location
Somewhere along the coast of Algeria

"This fuckin' sucks!"

Parked on the dented-up tailgate of a ragged-out, four-door Hilux with a hillbilly gun turret bolted onto the cab, Emmett glared at the dark, foaming line of surf as he dumped clumps of wet sand out of his boots. With a hard bang of the heels against the side of the truck, he knocked loose a shower of fine debris, all the while muttering under his breath.

Off to the side, carbine slung across her chest at a loose low ready, Bella watched the big man through a film of night vision green. As he finally – finally – yanked his boots back on and fumbled with the laces, he let out a stream of curses, and she flashed him a smile. "You okay, there? You sound like you're having some problems."

A large middle finger waved through the air. "Don't start with me, baby Captain."

Snorting, she threw her palms up in surrender. "Wow, someone's pissy tonight."

A drawling baritone chuckled in her earpiece. "When's he not?"

"Fuck you, Jazz." Emmett thumped his throat mike, making them all wince, but no more than a second later, he hauled himself off the tailgate with an irritated grunt.

At six and a half feet, two hundred and fifty pounds, and armed to the teeth, Emmett McCarty was a wall of muscle, menace, and violence waiting to happen. He plucked a pair of rifles – a brand spanking new M4A1 with a close-quarters battle receiver and then the heavier round, belt-fed 240B he usually favored – out of the truck bed, and on instinct, he angled south to scan the horizon. Following the arc of a rocky ledge, he pinpointed the outline of the other truck through his long-range night optics. Less than twenty yards away, the barely discernable silhouettes of two other Marines moved in silent, near-perfect synchrony to clear the route down to the valley.

"Not. Funny," Emmett said, turning back to surreptitiously weigh the fit and status of their scientist's gear. Unsurprisingly, this time around, it fit her like a glove, and she wore that rifle like she'd been playing outside for years. Her breathing gave her away, though – soft, quick puffs of air that belied the nerves she didn't want anyone else to see.

Playing his part, Emmett scowled in mock annoyance and gave Bella's chinstrap a playful tug before motioning her over to the passenger side door. "You ever seen a bad case of boot rot?" he asked, making an ugly face, like he could smell the wrinkled, decaying flesh right here and now. "I have, and let me tell you, that shit's nasty."

On cue, Bella's cheeks creased, stretching and cracking the layers of tacky grease paint. As she climbed into the cab and settled onto the split, fraying vinyl seat, she glanced over and sagely nodded. "Rule number four: Change my socks. Got it."

"I'm serious!" The big man reached across the cab and flicked her ear. "You gotta take care of your feet! I am not dealin' with that, you hear me?"

Her cheeks spread even wider. "Loud and clear… Staff Sergeant."

"That's more like it." He landed another thump, dodging her answering swing with far more dexterity than his size would suggest. "Now, buckle your scrawny ass up. This is goin' to be fun."

Two minutes later, lights out and creeping, the truck emerged from the high, reedy grasses blocking the beach. They turned onto a washed-out roadbed. Even through her NVGs, Bella could tell the thing hadn't been touched for years. Deep chug holes littered the rutted tracks. Mangled, gray driftwood logs dotted the sides, occasionally jutting into the road and forcing Emmett to swerve. A few yards off, a smattering of old, dry-rotting tires and construction debris sat beneath the boughs of a scraggly Mediterranean pine. Further out, the busted-out headlights of an ancient, rusted truck glinted, peeking out of the base of an ever-shifting dune.

Gravel popped and crunched beneath the tires, loud and intrusive in the silence of the cab. When they hit a deeper hole, the suspension creaked and groaned, and for a second, Bella's stomach lurched at the idea of being stuck out here in no man's land. The truck kept on going, however, and in no time at all, a wall of jagged rock loomed in front of them.

"Jesus," Bella muttered, breathless, as they began the crawl up the rocky escarpment. The transmission shuddered as Emmett kicked the truck into four-wheel drive. Sweat slicked the inside of Bella's gloves, and as the ground slowly fell away into a blue-black abyss, her heart hammered against her sternum. "How can you see like this?"

"What? This ain't nothin'." Far too nonchalant for her liking, the staff sergeant tapped the four-tube NVGs strapped to his helmet twice and then waved a dismissive paw at the cracked, sun-bleached dashboard, where he'd mounted an inch-thick, aluminum-framed, non-reflective screen about the width of her tablet. With the contrast inverted and dimmed to its lowest setting, even with her optics, she could barely make out the faint concentric contour lines layered beneath the route. "Just follow those little glowing lines. Piece of cake."

"Piece of cake," she repeated, drawing it out. "If you say so."

"Pfft!" Emmett glanced over and grinned a row of blacked-out teeth. "I'm startin' to think you don't trust me."

Before Bella could answer, a peal of high-pitched soprano laughter cut in and nearly took out her eardrums. "B, ask Bear-man about Yakla and the time he wrecked that brand-new Humvee."

"That doesn't count, you little shit!" Emmett thumped his throat mike again. "You know that fuckin' road was mined!"

A low, steady, masculine voice – one Bella knew in her sleep – replied with dry amusement. "Yes, it was. If you recall, that was why I told you not to use it in the first place."

"Oh, come on! That's a load of bull–"

Tearing her eyes away from the dark, winding goat trail in front of them, Bella looked out her window, past the drop-off immediately below, and focused on the shrinking, uninhabited bay tucked in between a pair of high arid cliffs. Pale light from the waning moon glistened off the water, distracting enough that she almost missed the shadow silently sluicing through the waves on its way back to the carrier.

"Hey." A low whistle startled her, and Bella looked back over to the big Marine. Two fingers muffled his mike, and that impish grin of his had morphed into something a little more serious. "You all right over there?"

"Yeah," she said, muting her own. Swallowing, she threw him another small smile, even as the grip on her carbine tightened. "Fine. I'm just…"

"You know it's normal to be nervous, right?"

A laugh tumbled out, and Bella rolled her eyes, never mind he couldn't see them. "Yeah, sure, says you."

There was a beat of silence, but then Emmett's lips mashed together. The corners turned down into a grim frown. He shifted in his seat, and his fingertips drummed a tight staccato against the steering wheel.

"Every time we go out," Emmett said, quiet and halting, almost as though he were speaking to himself. "There's this… moment right at the start. Usually 'bout the time I shoulder my rifle, but for a minute, all I want to do is puke my guts up and go home." Hesitating, he swapped gears before they cut into a hairpin curve. The back tires spun gravel, and he grunted in aggravation before punching the gas anyway. "Mouth goes dry. Sweat like a pig. Feels like my heart'll pop out of my chest like fuckin' Alien or somethin'." The Marine's jaw braced. "No matter how many years in. Shit happens every goddamned time."

"I don't believe you."

His broad shoulders flexed beneath his vest and armor. "Whatever, but it's true. It's like that for all of us… 'cept for the Cap– Major." Wagging his brows behind the optics, he cracked a toothy, mischievous smile, then winced. "And, well, maybe Blondie. That woman's got fuckin' ice in her veins."

Bella wasn't sure if that last bit was a compliment or not, but something warm and fuzzy settled in her midsection.

"Speaking of," she said, quieter, still silencing her mike. "You two okay?"

The air in the cab abruptly turned staticky, but all the man said was a low, grumbled, "No clue what you're talkin' about."

Of course, the suede pulled taut across his knuckles told her otherwise, but Bella wasn't about to pry. Instead, she just shook her head with a slow sigh, leaned against the backrest, and watched the dark like she'd been taught to do. A second later, she added a quiet, "Thanks, Em."

Humming, Emmett peeked over and regarded the slight relaxing of Bella's posture. That grip on her rifle had loosened, too. "Yeah, yeah… anytime."

Three more hairpins, the last of which sent their back wheel teetering off the edge, and the truck slowed to a stop next to the other. With a gruff command to "Stay put," Emmett hopped outside. Despite the augmented vision, the man vanished almost instantly, sliding effortlessly into the line of low scrubby bushes that littered the sides of the roadbed.

Tense and waiting, Bella surveyed the valley below, looking for any signs of traffic or movement. Almost as dark as the beach, the overhead clouds cast deep shadows in the hollows, but here and there, a handful of lights twinkled – maybe a mile out, maybe ten, she couldn't tell. As Bella continued scanning the dry, sparse terrain, the wind off the ocean whistled across the top of the cab, a steady contrast to the jerky rumble of the diesel engine. Sweating beneath the gear, she cracked the window, and when she inhaled a breath of cool winter air, she tasted the clean scent of evergreens marred by the faintest hint of smoke.

Maybe a minute later, the driver-side door swung wide without warning.

Every muscle in her body locked, and a hoarse whisper-scream spilled out before she could stop it. On instinct, her arm shot up, right as a pair of boots thunked against steel in the truck bed behind her.

Slowly easing onto worn-out vinyl, Edward eyed the sand-colored .45 already out of Bella's thigh holster and swinging toward him. He caught the exact moment she pinned him, and when her face screwed up in barely concealed fury, one corner of his mouth lifted into a wry smile. "You're getting faster."

A loud breath punched out of Bella's chest, along with a shrill noise of both fear and aggravation.

"I swear, I'm going to shoot you one day." Bella huffed again, but the tension drained from her body like a sieve, and she slumped against the lumpy backrest.

"Hope not," Edward said, softer, his chin ducking once in approval as she dropped her weapon into her holster with the quick ease of a seasoned pro. "Ready?"

He watched Bella's slim shoulders rise as she sucked in the frosty air. Before she could answer, however, he leaned across the armrest and flipped up her NVGs. For just a second, his eyes traced the fine, too-pretty features of her face – ones that all the grease paint in the world couldn't hide – and he did his damnedest to ignore the fist squeezing his gut. His thumb, rough and calloused from years in the field, came up of its own volition and gently swiped across her bottom lip. He lingered until her throat bobbed behind her collar, and then her gaze fell to his mouth.

"Stop that," Bella whispered, swallowing again, even as she unconsciously leaned closer.

Edward's brows, invisible between the grease and the dark, climbed. "Stop what?"

"You know what." Her fingers locked around his wrist.

"Had to fix your warpaint," he replied, softer still, repeating the exact phrase he'd used months ago on that helo ride into Mogadishu. When she squeezed his wrist, never mind where they were or why, he touched her lips again before mouthing, "You good?"

Bella nodded right as a palm banged on the cab overhead and wrecked the second of warm, cocoon-like silence. Emmett's impatient baritone blared. "Are we goin' or what?"

Shaking his head, Edward pulled away, and with a final quiet, reluctant glance, he plucked the tablet off the dash and handed it over.

"Dr. Swan," he said, louder, effortlessly morphing back into the hard, no-nonsense commander she knew him to be. "Can you check the drone footage? I want to know if that van's still there. And see if you can catch up with Eli. Find out if they had any problems at their landing site."

It took a real, concerted effort not to smile. "Yes, sir."

And then she did smile when he rolled his eyes at her.

As the major issued a curt command to the other truck to follow, Bella tugged off her gloves with her teeth. Following Jasper's earlier instructions, she split the screen into quadrants and navigated over to the incoming footage.

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Bella scanned the image, noting the position of every vehicle and building. In a second quadrant, she pulled up surveillance from hours earlier.

That van was there, just like it'd been the day before. White but for an empty ladder mount and with a distinguishable curving swipe of rust on its top, it was the same van the CIA had finally tracked from Paris to Marseille. From there, it'd hopped an overnight ferry to Algiers, stopped at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city for half a day, and then traveled a spider's web of back roads to where it was now parked in the shadow of a flat-roofed, multi-story building in the heart of a dusty village in the Northern Sahara.

"Hasn't moved an inch," Bella said, tapping her knee as she studied the images.

The village was tiny, a little over half a dozen blocks with plain, boxy houses and buildings, all in light desert shades typical for the region. A wide center street bisected it, empty but for a smattering of trucks and older Land Cruisers. Livestock corrals sat on the edges – mainly camels and goats, judging by the sizes and coloration. At the far end was a small white mosque, marked by its domed entry and spindly minarets.

Bella zoomed in, noting that between the nearly identical buildings, colorful bolts of fabric, rugs, and clothing hung from crisscrossing clotheslines strung across the narrow alleys. Fifty yards away from their target, a three-wheeled cart sat permanently positioned on the street corner. An old, faded sign in Arabic script leaned against it, decorated with images of mhajeb and garantita.

"What do you think that means?" she asked as she simultaneously typed an encrypted text to El'azar.

As they approached a steeper descent, Edward glanced at his rearview. He could just make out Jasper's silhouette behind the makeshift .50 mount on top of the second vehicle. As their hood tipped down, the younger man casually swung the weapon toward the valley below.

"You good, Jazz?" he asked. When the sergeant threw him a firm thumb's up, he barked the same to Emmett. Of course, the big man just banged his fist on the cab in reply, then let out a whoop heard over the growl of the engine.

Looking up from the screen teetering on her knee, Bella peeked over at Edward in time to catch the slight upturn of his lips. Yet as he stared at the pitch-black road ahead and shifted gears, there was a predatory focus in his expression, too. It was almost eagerness, matched by a kind of quiet self-assurance and efficiency of movement, and it reminded her all over again what he was capable of.

"To your question," Edward answered, clocking Bella's scrutiny in his periphery. "I don't know… which we're going to remedy in a few hours." His gaze flitted to the rearview once more, and he bumped his throat mike. "Tink, you got any news from Langley?"

There was a long pause, followed by a pulse of static. "That's a negative, Ghost, but you'll fucking love this."

"Doubt it." Edward flicked the wheel right to dodge a deeper rut, taking them close enough to the edge that Bella's fingers curled into the thick fabric of her utility pants. With another quick, economical adjustment, the vehicle zigged back into the center like it'd never left. "Go on."

"Eli's buddies in Tel Aviv got back to him while they were on the water," Alice said, and there was another long pause. "Ben just sent me the details."

"And?"

In the background, Bella picked up Rosalie's grumbled curse as she navigated the same patch of rough road.

"They haven't figured out who owns that warehouse just yet, but they're almost certain the house we're heading to belongs to someone we know…" The pilot let out an inelegant snort when Rosalie spat something else. "Or, I guess, more accurately, someone we knew."

Memory whispered in Bella's ear, and for a second, the truck and their surroundings fell away, replaced by the sights and smells of a limestone cave half a continent away. She could taste the dust and the scent of the dry shrubs scattered across the valley, and when she closed her eyes, she could hear El'azar's smooth baritone answering her incredulous question.

"It's really not that hard, Beautiful…" the Israeli had said, sporting an easy, indulgent smile, lazily shrugging as they'd discussed scorpions and war and the true monsters that roamed the earth. "Once out in the desert, he probably slipped through Algeria or Libya and then went from there."

"Aronović… This is where he hid here years ago after he faked his death," Bella said. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she watched one of those distant dots of light down in the valley flicker before finally blinking off. She looked back to Edward. "But he's… very dead now. I was there. I watched him die after you shot him."

"Correct." Edward's right forefinger tapped against the steering wheel. "So, we're looking for someone who was close to him. Someone who'd have known about this location."

"And," Bella added, grimacing. "Someone who might just be worse."

Jan 14
Undisclosed Location, South of the Saharan Atlas
Somewhere in the Sahara Desert, Algeria

The place was a ghost town.

Eerie and empty, despite the bright, cloudless sky and the mild afternoon temperature, there wasn't a soul out on the street. Silence echoed between the buildings, broken only by the occasional bleating of the goats in the corrals.

On Edward's wordless command from twenty yards ahead, Bella slid out of the passenger door and slipped in behind Jasper.

"Where is everyone?" she asked, heart beating a mile a minute. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, soaking her collar.

M110 up and scanning, Jasper crept toward the nose of the truck and motioned to the second floor of one of the nearby buildings. Following the sergeant's lead, her eyes flew to the sunbaked façade with the jagged crack down the middle, halting on a small square window. A set of purple and white flower-patterned curtains fluttered in the light southern breeze, then a wrinkled hand peeled one of the panels back, no more than an inch or two. Deeper in the shadows, Bella caught a glimpse of gray-white hair.

"They're hidin'," he murmured as he lifted a fist and signaled Rosalie. "We weren't exactly circumspect when we rolled in."

With a curt nod to Edward, Rosalie jumped down from the bed of the second truck. Without a second of hesitation, she stepped out into the middle of the street and bellowed into a bullhorn, "Attention! Veuillez rester à l'intérieur! Nous n'avons pas l'intention de vous faire du mal!"

As the gunnery sergeant repeated the same warning and reassurance in heavily accented Arabic, a tiny, grizzled grandfather in an off-white djellaba cracked open one of the doors. His rheumy eyes boggled at the sight of the Marines in the center of town, specifically at the tall glaring blonde, and for a second, he just stared. When Rosalie huffed and impatiently waved him on, the spell broke, and the man retreated inside, still wide-eyed and scurrying.

"So, we're not even trying to be sneaky?" Bella asked, whipping her carbine around to cover the rear.

Before Jasper could answer, Edward was in her earpiece, low, sure, and maddeningly calm. "I don't want civilians accidentally getting caught up in this." She watched him cross the empty road directly in front of Rosalie. Then the two darted to the corner fifty yards opposite the target building, moving in a choreographed maneuver they'd likely done a thousand times. All the way on the other side, where that plain white van still sat motionless, Alice and Emmett slowly shifted closer to box in the target.

"Plus," Edward continued, simultaneously gesturing to Rosalie. "There's no point. If they were looking, with all that open desert, there's no way they didn't spot us coming."

"Shit." Bella glanced back at the lone, incoming road. The pale beige cloud from the trucks still lingered in the air, going back for miles, all the way to the rust-colored plateaus off in the hazy distance. "I should know that."

"You ready, Doc?" Jasper asked, sweeping his rifle from building to building, searching for any hint of movement or aggression. "We're gonna move fast."

Panting and shaky, Bella adjusted her armor and tucked her cheek against her buttstock, just like he'd shown her. "Yeah, let's do it."

Across the intersection, Alice giggled and tipped her Kevlar. "Fuck, yeah, let's go, let's go!"

Unfazed, still calm as ever, Edward flashed another series of hand signals. "Tink, you and Bear-man get ready. Cover that north flank just like we planned, then come around the back."

"You got it."

"Jazz, as soon as Blondie blows the door and we're inside, you and Dr. Swan approach. I want you to secure the entry and watch the street." Low and rifles ready, Edward and Rosalie slipped past the abandoned three-wheeled cart, and cut across the street, now aiming for the lone steel door in the center of the target building. "Once we sweep the building, I'll come back to you… But if anyone not in MARPAT comes at you – and I mean, anyone – you take them out." He paused for a single heartbeat. "Are we clear?"

Jasper responded immediately. "Yes, sir. Crystal."

Bella frowned, and a split-second of exasperation erased some of her nerves. Now wasn't the time or place, however, and pragmatism won out.

Edward's lips twitched at the hushed chuff of air from Bella's mike. But when he glanced back at Rosalie, she leveled him a flat, irritated glare over the barrel of her matte black combat shotgun and muffled her throat mike. "You're being a dumbass again... sir." She spat on the dusty street. "You know she's more than capable."

"I'm aware." That fist in his gut squeezed tighter, and the old phantom ache in his side throbbed its accompaniment. Yet his response was as dry as they came. "Your input is duly noted."

"Whatever." The blonde muttered something else, rolling her bright blue eyes. Ten yards away, they split off, aiming for either side of the door. As Rosalie's back thumped against the wall, that glare vanished, and she let out an amused little chuckle. "It's your fucking funeral."

"Probably," he said, sighing as he clipped in his gas mask... just in case. Rosalie copied him, and as the two made eye contact through layers of Lexan, everything slowed. Their surroundings came into sharp, unrelenting focus. The chipped paint on the door, the faded newspapers stacked on top of a rusted chair, the tiny desert insects crawling up and down the mud-brick walls, all of it. Even the goats stopped bleating. "One… two…"

Rosalie's shotgun boomed. She threw her boot into the remainder of the lock in a single, lightning-fast move and kicked the door inward. It flew open, banging against the interior wall.

Dropping to one knee, Edward plucked a flashbang from his vest. With a hard yank of the ring, he bowled it into the dark. Two seconds later, a bright, blinding strobe lit up the room. The air fractured, reverberating off the buildings and echoing down the street.

Someone screamed from inside one of the houses behind them, and somewhere, a small child wailed.

"Focus," Jasper whispered to Bella as the two Marines slipped inside, instantly obscured by the heavy smoke curling out of the open doorway. Loose and uncannily relaxed beneath the armor, the sergeant shifted forward, his rifle still calmly swinging back and forth in search of targets. Across the intersection, Emmett and Alice crept toward the van and the back of the building.

"Entry's clear!" yelled Edward. "Blondie, you take up! I got down!"

"That's our cue." Jasper flashed her an eager grin. "Let's hit it!"

Bella's heart rate soared, racing in time to the thud of her boots as they bolted across the intersection. In no time at all, her back slammed against the wall. She yanked her mask up, tightening the rubber gasket against her face. She snapped it in place with expert ease, and with an acknowledging dip of her chin, the sergeant ducked inside with Bella hot on his heels.

She skidded to a halt the moment she hit the tile.

Lit beneath a dim, flickering lamp, wooden furniture from another era sat overturned and broken in one of the corners. Across the room, a wallowed-out sofa stood beneath a boarded-up window. Slivers of pale sunlight streamed around the frame, and she could see black, dime-sized burn marks decorating the cushions. Shattered glass glittered everywhere.

From somewhere in the back of the building, Edward yelled. "Clear!"

Up on the second floor, Rosalie let out a frustrated growl. "Where the hell did they go?"

"Tink, Bear-man, check the exterior and the adjacent buildings." It was a sharp command, tinged with the same fury and frustration. Static crackled. "I want to know how these assholes got out of here. Right now!"

The two Marines answered in unison. "Yes, sir!"

Mentally cataloging the scene for later, Bella took another step and angled toward the small open kitchen off to the side.

As she turned, an involuntary gasp spilled out, and she recoiled at the dark, rust-red pools of dried blood staining the cracked and dirtied tile. She pivoted, and more of it marred the walls, splattered in thick, viscous droplets and splotches. Along another was the telltale wide, angled spray of a close-range gunshot. The old laminate countertop in the center was covered in it, too.

This kitchen looked more like a slaughterhouse, like a horror movie come to life.

Mouth suddenly dry, Bella froze, then her stomach clenched and sank at the row of pristine, inch-diameter circles on the cream counter – the only places blood hadn't hit. Her eyes dropped back down to the filthy tile, and almost on autopilot, she began following a long smear of crimson, where a body had been dragged around the counter, past a dented, almond-colored gas stove, into a long, dark hallway that ran toward the other end of the building.

A familiar voice came from behind her. "Doc, where you goin'?"

She waved the younger man off when he repeated her name. "It's fine, Jazz. I'm good, I promise."

"Hey, no," he repeated, torn between grabbing her and manning his assigned post. Out in the street, he picked up a handful of braver souls milling around at the far end of the street, curious about what was happening. He spat out a juicy curse. "Hey, Ghost told you to stay up here. Remember?"

Ignoring him, Bella continued down the dim, dingy hall, not stopping until she reached the banged-up wooden door at the very end. Dried blood coated the pitted brass knob. She glanced back as rubber soles scuffed somewhere up front, and in the background, she heard Edward barking another quick, angry command to the team outside. Staring at the door and the macabre crimson streaks that disappeared beneath it, she paused and swallowed back a mouthful of saliva.

"Fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck," Bella silently mouthed. Air sawed in and out of her chest, constricted by the tightness of her armor and more so by the chemical filters attached to her mask. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to slow down and breathe. When her pulse finally responded, she gave herself a hard internal shake, reseated her carbine in the pocket of her shoulder, and slowly and oh-so-carefully pushed the door open.

As soon he re-entered the blood-soaked kitchen, Edward ripped his mask off and chucked his Kevlar onto a nearby table. Sweat, mixed with dust and grime, rolled down his temples. Swiping a rough hand through damp, mangled hair, he eyed the ceiling and tapped his throat mike. "Rose, what you got?"

"I got jack shit, that's what." Something fragile shattered against a mudbrick wall. "These motherfuckers have been gone for at least a day." Another breakable broke. "Maybe two."

"Fine," Edward said, surveying the chaos of the room. His brows climbed when he landed on Jasper, where he stood by the door, monitoring the street. "Where is she?"

Still watching the group at the end of the street, Jasper angled his chin toward the narrow hallway hidden on the other side of the kitchen.

"Dr. Swan?" His forefinger tapped his throat mike. "Get your ass back up here. Right now."

From the back of the building, hinges softly whined, and as Bella's quietly whispered, "Ah, shit," rang in Edward's earpiece, time itself came to a grinding halt.

Almost numbly, Edward's eyes traveled the room. Pausing on the ceiling, the doors, the sliver of that plain white van visible through the window, his mind raced a mile a minute, and he began to piece together the puzzle that'd been nagging since the moment they'd rolled into this quiet, sleepy town.

The blood, the signs of an adept, gleeful torturer.

The rancid, cloying stench of death permeating the air now that he'd taken off the gas mask.

The drag marks leading to the missing DARPA scientist he'd discovered dead and mutilated in the back.

The fact that no one was here, despite the satellites and drone footage, despite whatever those dumbasses at the CIA had to say.

It was a fucking setup, as clear as day.

His whole body jolted, and Edward raced across the kitchen. Barreling down the narrow hall, his boots slapped against the tile as he yelled a loud, panicked, "Bella, no! That body's rigged!"

.

.

.

Notes:

The ending of the first section references a conversation in Chap 15 of OPERATION: Break the Dawn. The team was discussing how the villain of that story, Professor Vladislav Aronović, had faked his death after his son had been killed in the Balkan Wars. He'd disappeared somewhere in Northern Africa before eventually resurfacing to form his terrorist cell, The Deathstalkers (a variety of scorpion and a reference to his son's paramilitary unit).

Regarding Rosalie speaking French, Algeria is the second largest Francophone country in the world. French is still considered the lingua franca, used widely in media, commerce, etc., with a majority of people able to understand and speak it to some degree. She opted to go with French first simply because she speaks it better (see also: Chap 6, O:BtD)

French:

Attention! Veuillez rester à l'intérieur! Nous n'avons pas l'intention de vous faire du mal: Attention! Please stay inside! We have no intention of harming you!

Glossary:

240B: refers to the M240, the U.S. military designation for the FN MAG, a family of belt-fed, gas-operated medium machine guns that chamber the 7.62×51mm NATO cartridge. The M240B is the standard variant of the 240 used by the USMC

Combat shotgun: in this case, the Benelli M4, a semi-automatic, auto-regulating, gas-operated 12-gauge tactical shotgun

Djellaba: a long, loose-fitting outer robe or dress worn by both men and women in the Maghreb region of North Africa

Gas Mask: or the M50, is a lightweight, full-face, protective mask system used by the US military. It's designed to enable protection against all types of weapons of mass destruction, including chemical and biological agents. Lexan is just a commercial name for polycarbonate, which is an optically transparent, rigid plastic

Flashbang: aka stun grenade, or MK 141 in USMC-speak, is a less-lethal device used to disorient an enemy's senses. Upon detonation, they produce a blinding flash of light and a deafening bang

Hilux: for folks in the US, this is a light-duty truck manufactured by Toyota and sold outside of the US. It's comparable in size, service, options, and power to the Tacoma

M110: or the Knight's Armament M110 Semi Automatic Sniper System (M110 SASS) is a semi-automatic precision rifle chambered for the 7.62×51mm NATO round. It's used by US Army and USMC snipers, and is Jasper's rifle of choice

M4A1: a fully automatic variant of the basic M4 carbine intended for special operations use. It's a 5.56×45mm NATO, gas-operated, magazine-fed carbine. The Close Quarter Battle Receiver (CQBR) is a replacement upper receiver. It features a 10.3 in length barrel, making the weapon significantly more compact and beneficial in urban warfare settings. Additionally, special operations teams, such as Edward's, would field the M4A1 with a SOPMOD (Special Operations Peculiar MODification) kit, which includes various nifty accessories such as sound suppressors, grenade launcher mounts, better optics, better night vision, etc

Mhajeb: an old Algerian dish consisting of dough made from flour and semolina, stuffed with cooked vegetables – mainly onions, tomatoes, and some chili- and drizzled with olive oil. Garantita is another famous Algerian dish prepared from ground chickpeas and eggs

Yakla: an area of the Al Bayda Governorate of central Yemen