Friday, September 16, 1:38 p.m. EDT

Scott felt the SEALs before he actually saw them—a push of the air, a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw their team leader, Schneeberger—no first name offered. Seconds later, Matt Logan appeared at Scott’s shoulder.

Looking at the SEAL who had taken a place next to him and at Logan, Schneeberger said softly, “You saw them setting it up on the video, so no possibility of mistakes. Get yourselves orientated before you disable the device. You don’t want hajji showing up behind you. Get it done, and get back fast.”

Logan and the SEAL, both demolitions experts, nodded and began creeping up the stairs. Kim Li followed Logan, while another SEAL tailed his partner.

Scott nodded at Schneeberger. While still in charge of the operation, Scott had no problem delegating elements to those with more skill or experience. The reputation of this Schneeberger guy was that he was one seriously bad dude who had led combat missions in parts of the world that most people had never even heard of. It’s safe to assume he knows his stuff. Although I wonder if I should let him know that orientated is not a real word.

He glanced at his watch and shifted nervously. What’s taking that HERF so long?

“Tara, sitrep on Riley,” he whispered.

“Don’t know. He’s out of sight. HERF just arrived. Should be online in minutes.”

Schneeberger, who was on the same com line, gave Scott an encouraging thumbs-up.

Come on, Logan! Get that wire disabled. Although the trap that had been laid at the top of the stairs was much more elaborate than a simple trip wire, that’s still how Scott conceptualized it. He was no munitions expert. That’s what I keep Logan around for—that and the fact he makes killer guac.

Two clicks on his earpiece signaled that Logan and the SEAL had completed their mission. Scott gave a sigh of relief. Moments later, the four men reappeared. Scott fist-bumped Logan and Li. The SEALs just retook their places in their squad.

“Tara, I need the HERF now,” he whispered urgently.

“Less than . . . The Internet feed just went live,” Tara said. “Saifullah’s talking. Alavi’s holding Riley—he has the knife to his neck. Oh, Scott, how is he even conscious—it doesn’t even look like him!”

Scott balled his hands into fists and fought back the rage. I’m so close! I can’t let this happen! I should never have let him go in!

Tara continued to narrate the action on the screen, but Scott wasn’t listening. Please, God, I may not be one of Your church people, but Riley is! Do something! Save him!

Tara’s voice cut through his prayer. Three words—all he needed to hear: “HERF is online!”

“Fire it! All teams go, go, go!”