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Hendrix was bent over his set of terminals, head swiveling like an owl between the monitors. Riley tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Hendrix. Got someone here who has a story for you.”

Hendrix swiveled round on his chair.

“Kinda busy now, Riley.” Then his eyes tracked up to Dan, standing in his leathers, six foot four of muscle, eyes hard.

“Who the hell are you?” Hendrix asked, going for bluster. And failing. Involuntarily, his body moved back tight against the seat back.

“A messenger,” replied Dan, with an amused smile. “I’ve got someone on the line, wants to speak to you. SOCOM, that’s SEAL Command.…”

Riley watched as Hendrix took the call. She saw his eyes widen, watched him blink, then eye Dan with extreme circumspection. He said little, just a few ers and yeahs, then he handed the phone back to Dan.

Dan took the cell, listened, smile still playing on his lips. “Thank you, sir. Will do.”

He clicked off the call, pulled out a chair, straddled it, turned to Hendrix.

“Ready to listen, now?”