As they’d been told last night, the barge would have six crew members and one licensed pyrotechnician controlling the fireworks—synced to music being played on the radio—working behind two steel containers for protection.

Teague was divided on whether he wanted to be assigned to the barge or the base during the show. Not that his preference would play a role in assignments, but he wondered where he could do the most good.

This wasn’t Teague’s first or even second op since he’d returned to active duty and joined this team. But it felt like the most significant op of his life. The Lake Olympus Lodge Exercise didn’t count because it wasn’t supposed to be an op at all, and he’d been useless to his team except for being able to tell investigators what happened from his hospital bed when it was all over.

Tonight could be his redemption. His chance to honor his dead Fire Team members: Odent, Mueller, and Hobbs.

He’d been useless to them in the woods. He wouldn’t fail them now.

Rand finished tending Kira’s wounds—applying antibiotic ointment and bandages to the back of her legs—then they joined the SEAL Fire Team in the galley so she could eat and get up to speed.

“You’re based at Little Creek?” she asked, after being introduced again now that her mind was clear.

“Yes, ma’am.” The man who answered was achingly young. Early twenties.

“We watched the video. Of you and…your brother,” another SEAL said. “I think it’s safe to say there isn’t a SEAL in the Navy who isn’t grateful for what you risked to get that intel.”

Her eyes burned. She pushed the surge of emotion down. “I’m just glad I made the connection to Benny and that Reuben confirmed the attack is today.” She smiled at Rand as he set a plate of food before her. Cheese and fruit pastizz along with scrambled eggs loaded with vegetables. It smelled heavenly and tasted even better.

While she ate, they all discussed when and how they would approach the Kulik estate. If they went too far in advance of the firework display, it could tip off Reuben that his plan was compromised. No one had left the Kulik estate, which meant Reuben had no idea she wasn’t quietly dying alone in the crypt.

If he visited the crypt, Kira and her SEAL companions would show up along with police, as that would give them the proof they needed to show he’d been the one to leave her there. Plus, authorities in Malta were bound to be upset that Reuben hadn’t informed them of what was destined to be a World Heritage Site, which he was using as a dumpsite for non-Neolithic human bodies.

But if Reuben didn’t return to the crypt, there was nothing they could do to convince anyone in Malta to make a move against one of the island’s wealthiest Russian residents.

The Navy had confirmed they still had nothing to directly tie either Kulik or Laskin to the conspirators in the US. The text message didn’t count when they didn’t know whose cell it was. They would likely blame it on Nadia, who’d admitted to sending messages from Aleksandr’s account.

It could take weeks to find a way to prove Ben Kinder was the boy Kira had known as a child. If his last name wasn’t Kinder, they might never know who he really was.

They were looking for connections with the other conspirators, but so far had come up with nothing. It was likely Reuben had chosen Benny to go after her because he knew her personally.

Again, sadness hit her as the depth of how awful the brother she’d loved—and now one of her playmates—had become. She was going to have to figure out how to process gaining and losing a brother all at once.

Grief and anger warred for first among her emotions. She grieved for that boy, but she hated the man who’d gleefully kicked her in the ribs, then dropped her in a crypt.

What would she do if he remained untouchable to the law when all this was over?

Chapter Fifty-Nine

They found the first body at 0940 in a dumpster behind the gym. The gym employee had been dead before Kira Hanson identified Ben Kinder as her childhood playmate.

The second body turned up an hour later. The Fleet and Family Readiness employee who worked directly with Kinder appeared to have succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning in his girlfriend’s garage. It was lucky the girlfriend found him before the poisoned gas seeped into the house and killed her too.

She was being questioned by investigators—both local police and the FBI—but was likely to be a dead end. An innocent bystander who’d been dating the man for less than two months. So far, the only item of note was that the guy had moved in with her last Tuesday, after a pipe burst in his apartment.

The guy had lived near and worked with Kinder, and he’d switched addresses the day Kinder opened fire on base. He’d shown up for work on Wednesday, before Kinder was identified, and had subsequently been interviewed along with Kinder’s other coworkers after the identification came through. He hadn’t shown up for work again after that.

Now he was dead.

And then there were three.

Teague was pumped. It didn’t matter that he’d barely slept since Sunday. This was what they trained for. They were close and getting closer.

Especially now that the base housing agency finally gave NSWC a list of all the empty housing units on Little Creek and Dam Neck. Hours late, but better than never. They couldn’t exactly search occupied homes on both bases. There were far too many.

Compiling the list had been delayed because the contractor was short-staffed over the holiday weekend—two employees hadn’t been to work since Thursday.

Teague and everyone else knew exactly who the missing employees were.

There were four empty units in one of the on-base housing developments. Teague parked his truck in front of one of them. He and Burns would search two units. Kramer and Meyers were searching the other two units in this development. Twenty miles away, other SEALs were searching the three empty units at Dam Neck.

Burns punched in the code on the lockbox and retrieved the key. Then they were in. The two-bedroom house had just been painted, and the rooms were bare except for sheets of plastic and blue tape, along with other painting debris.

There was no sign anyone had been inside the unit since the painters left on Friday. They quickly moved on to the second unit, walking the short distance to a house Teague had been inside three months ago, when a friend who was transferring to Little Creek asked him to scout housing for his family.

At the time, the house had been slated for a kitchen remodel and wouldn’t be ready for a month, which would have worked well for the friend, but then his orders changed, and the lucky bastard was sent to Pearl Harbor instead.

“Odd that this place is still on the remodel list,” he said to Burns. “It was supposed to be done two months ago.”

Burns frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that. Could be just lazy, but, given what we’re looking for…”

They went in as if they were expecting an ambush. It never hurt to practice, but also, better safe than sorry.

The place was a wreck—the same mess it had been when Teague walked through months ago. The kitchen was gutted of appliances, same as before. The one difference was now there were new appliances staged in the living room, waiting for installation. The dishwasher and range had been unwrapped. Debris on the floor indicated the unwrapping had been recent.

“I don’t like this,” Burns said.

“Me neither.”

Their instinct proved accurate when they entered the hall bathroom. On the plus side, they’d found one of the guys they were looking for. The problem: he too was dead.

Very recently dead.

And then there were two.

They radioed NSWC and informed them of their find. A bomb-sniffing canine and handler were sent to the house. The Belgian Malinois and his handler—a SEAL from another team—had been busy searching every potential target they were called to today.

In the house, Rikki alerted for explosives when his handler opened the dishwasher in the middle of the living room. He alerted again when the oven door was opened.

The fridge was still sealed with plastic wrap. A team of bomb experts would be tasked with opening it, but it was unlikely explosives had been left behind.

Rikki then followed whatever scent he’d picked up—explosives or the person who retrieved them—and led his handler through the house to the garage, where the dog lost the scent.

One conspirator had taken the explosives and left behind a compatriot. Why were the conspirators being killed, one by one? Were the two remaining men working together, or did one of them know his hours—or minutes—were now numbered?