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Shakespeare stared at the day’s total income on the computer screen. Not bad. Not great, but for mid-February, he was satisfied. Leaning back in the ripped Naugahyde office chair, he kicked his bare feet onto the scarred wooden desk that had to be a century older than his thirty-two years.
Sales would pick up in March and April when the cruise ships were filled to capacity as guests of all ages escaped the long winter, in need of the sun’s warmth. He usually left those passengers to the other dive shops who were willing to kick back to the cruise lines. But thanks to TripAdvisor, an article in one of the most popular diving magazines, and hundreds of satisfied customers, the more adventurous and skilled divers had been booking privately with him. Perhaps next year he’d consider purchasing a van and hiring a driver for cruise days. Maybe.
He poured two fingers of twenty-five-year-old scotch into his stained coffee cup. The amber liquid slid smoothly over his tongue and burned its way to his stomach. Perfect. He internally chuckled with self-deprecation. Why the hell was he worrying about a few thousand dollars in revenue from a dive shop he’d somehow inherited? His personal investments fluctuated that much every second any international stock exchange was open.
His gaze swept the bright yellow interior of the small building. It had come a long way since the day he walked into Pop’s Place to see about the specialized mix required for a deep dive on the wall. Shakespeare’s first impression had been old and worn, both the shop and the leather-faced man who was hanging buoyancy compensators on a clothesline outside the front door. But the equipment had been in better shape than any other on Grand Turk.
Most dive shops throughout the Caribbean concentrated on business provided by the cruise lines. The equipment was usually cheap and often abused. Pop’s Place was for the serious diver.
As a former Navy SEAL, Shakespeare took his underwater gear seriously. It could mean the difference between life and death.
Satisfaction washed through him as he gazed at the clean, neatly hanging equipment, state-of-the-art dive computers, high-end masks, clean and sanitized regulators he personally tested before and after every dive, and a solid assortment of rental equipment. Then there was the most gorgeous view of the beach and the turquoise ocean that turned deep sapphire blue at the wall. He stared at the three bobbing boats at the end of the private dock.
He’d replaced the old Caribbean flat-bottomed boats with their hard, wooden bench seats for custom-built dive boats. Shakespeare had no desire to cram in thirty-five cruise ship tourists, nuts to butts, for two hours of snorkeling. He preferred skilled divers. His new boats securely held twenty tanks, but seating for only five, plus the captain and the one-man crew. They also featured a powerful inboard motor and a dive platform.
He was proud to run a first-class operation.
Throwing his feet to the floor, he stood, pulling his phone from one of the many pockets in his cargo shorts. As he was about to punch in the security code and lock up the shop for the night, the phone rang. Startled by the interruption in his silence, Shakespeare stared at the screen.
U.S. Navy.
What kind of joke was this? Then he wondered, how did they do that? Which one of his friends was able to change the caller ID to U.S. Navy? He was willing to answer the phone just to find out how the hell they did it.
“So, the United States Navy is looking for me?” He chuckled. “Who the fuck is this, really?”
“Sir, we are looking for Lieutenant Junior Grade Henry S. Morgan. Would that be you?” The man’s voice was clipped.
Shakespeare plunked his butt on the corner of the desk. Holy shit. Maybe it really was U.S. Navy. What the hell did they want? He seriously doubted they would want him back in the service.
“No. I’m definitely not Lieutenant Junior Grade Henry S. Morgan. I haven’t worn the uniform in over three years, and I have the DD214 discharge papers to prove that I am no longer an officer in the United States Navy.” He shook his head. “But I am Henry Morgan. Who the fuck wants to know?”
“I am required to authenticate your person first. On your last mission, were you dropped into Iraq HALO or HAHO?” The man on the other end was all business.
Shakespeare automatically knew this was a trick question. His last mission wasn’t in Iraq. It was in Yemen. They had initially discussed a High Altitude Low Opening versus a High Altitude High Opening, but a huge sand storm had prevented them from either. Instead, they’d simply driven across the border, following the swirling brown sand. No one saw them enter the country, or leave. They were being picked up in Djibouti when the rebel munitions dump had blown.
“My last mission was classified.” Shakespeare laughed out loud. “Hell, they all were. Nothing in your statement is true or accurate.”
“Sir, can you confirm that you have swam across the Bab al-Mandab Strait?”
That one hit home. They’d almost lost Spider that night. Somali pirates saw them swimming to Perim Island where they picked up their pre-staged scuba gear. A pirate’s bullet had grazed his teammate’s shoulder. They had one hell of a time getting it to stop bleeding before they could enter the water and swim the remaining twelve miles. That area had a high concentration of tiger sharks and one drop of blood would have endangered the entire team.
“I will confirm that I have swam across the Bab al-Mandab Strait.” He certainly wasn’t going to tell them when, or why.
“Please hold for General Lyon, Commanding Officer, USSOCOM.”
Holy fuck. Although he’d never spoken with the general, or met the man, he recognized his name. He’d technically served under him, way down the food chain, while he was a SEAL with Team Four.
Shakespeare slid into his deck shoes and debated whether this was a joke. He wouldn’t put it past several of his old teammates to concoct this farce. On the other hand, he didn’t have anything better to do at the moment. He’d play along.
“This is General Lyon with USSOCOM. Shakespeare, I understand you hate to be called by your given name. I’ll respect that.” The general’s baritone voice came through his cell phone loud and clear. “The GPS on your phone has you pegged at your dive shop. Our satellite image shows only one heat signature. Can you confirm that you’re alone?”
Shakespeare stood, rolling to the balls of his feet, ready for anything. His gaze swept the inside of his store. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to do. “Yes, sir. I’m alone.”
“Good. We normally hate communicating over civilian cell phones, but we’re bouncing this call through one of our satellites so it should be encrypted enough.”
He had no idea they could do that. There was a lot of covert shit he didn’t know, or care about, anymore.
“Shakespeare, we need your help. Would you be willing to assist a team for the next several days?” The general’s request sounded easy enough.
Smiling, Shakespeare immediately replied, “Yes. Certainly.” Spending some time with SEALs would be fun. Didn’t matter what they were doing, or why they were at Turks and Caicos. Perhaps they were training for deep dives. He’d be more than willing to help.
“The team is in the air and on their way to you now. They’ll provide you with a satellite phone for any further conversations. Any equipment they need will be shipped to you immediately. Thank you. Hold for Logistics. One more thing, Shakespeare, I don’t need to remind you that the presence of this team, and their mission, are top-secret. CO out.”
“Logistics here.” A very deep voice popped on the line. “Mr. Mor—”
“Call me Shakespeare, or Spear. I refuse to answer to anything else.” For the past ten years, his name had simply been Shakespeare. It was his way of moving as far away from his family, and their influence, as possible. He wasn’t sure if there was a single person on the island who knew his true identity, and he had every intention of keeping it that way.
“Very well then, Shakespeare, we’re sending you a contract now.” This was a different person than the one who had initially called. He didn’t miss the fact that no one gave their names, except General Lyon.
The landline phone rang once before the fax machine started spitting out paper.
“We immediately need you to employ round-the-clock security for the airplane that will land in two hours and thirty-seven minutes. We have secured hangar space for it at Grand Turk McCartney International Airport.”
Shakespeare chuckled. “It’s going to land in the dark, then. Our airport doesn’t have lights.”
“They will land just before night completely falls. It’s part of their security requirements,” the man clipped. “They will disembark inside the hangar. Your security team is to be positioned outside the hangar and rotate every eight hours. Make sure they understand they are not allowed inside the hangar, nor are they allowed to let anyone in without proper authorization. As soon as you have determined the head of your security team, have them call the following number.”
Scrambling for a piece of paper and a pen that worked, Spear quickly wrote down the number. As he completed the ten-digit authorization code, shit got real. A secret airplane. A secret team. What the hell was happening?
The fax machine finally quit spewing paper.
“Shakespeare, I’m passing you off to Legal to go over your contract, but then you need to come back to Logistics. We’re preparing a plane to bring you and the team everything needed.”
“I have all the diving equipment they’ll need,” Shakespeare offered.
“This team prefers its own personal gear which is already loaded on the plane at Langley. Five members will be arriving tonight, the sixth with the equipment should be there by dawn.”
Langley? What kind of team was this? CIA? Before he could ask, someone else spoke.
“Shakespeare, this is Legal. Please grab the faxed sheets, in order. We need to go through these as quickly as possible, have you sign the last page and fax it back to us. Time is of the essence.”
Walking behind his desk, Shakespeare returned to his aging chair. For the next ten minutes, he read, asked questions, clarified, then signed the final page before sending it back to USSOCOM.
Letting out a deep breath, he looked at the numbers on the bottom of page twelve. That was almost three years of profit for the small dive shop. Whatever the hell was wrong, the U.S. government was willing to throw money at it.
He’d been instructed to wait on hold for Logistics, so he picked up the landline and called his best friend on the island, Oliver Taylor. “Hey, Oli, can you come to my shop?” Shakespeare heard music and lots of voices in the background and knew the former Royal Marine was somewhere public.
“Right now?” The man let out a heavy sigh. “Can I finish my beer first?”
“Bring it with you,” Shakespeare suggested.
“What’s wrong?” The police commissioner’s voice had turned serious.
“Not over the phone,” Shakespeare warned.
“I’ll be there in five.” The line went dead.
Letting out a deep breath, he was bolstered knowing that Oli would handle any security issues and develop the strongest team possible for him.
Two hours and ten minutes later, Shakespeare and Oli leaned against the white SUV with a bright red stripe down each side identifying island police. They closely watched as the sun dipped behind the blue ocean and the sky turned from light blue to purple.
Oli looked at his watch. “They’d better get here soon, or we’re going to be cleaning up airplane debris out of the Atlantic Ocean.” He shook his head. “That’s going to be a fuck ton of paperwork I’ll have to do.”
Shakespeare’s phone rang. U.S. Navy appeared on the screen. Clicking to answer, and mechanical voice was speaking before he could announce his name. “Enter identification code.”
Dutifully, he punched in a sequence of numbers. “Say nothing.” The voice on the other end commanded. “Please confirm that your security is in place. We count four men surrounding the hangar, a sniper on the roof of the terminal, two airport crew, and Police Commissioner Oliver Taylor standing at your side.”
“That is correct,” Shakespeare replied. Fuck. There must be a satellite dedicated to this op for that kind of facial recognition. Just how big was this mission?
“Please quickly identify the heat signature in the bushes off to the east.”
Turning to Oli, he instructed, “They’re getting a heat signature from over there.”
Within less than a minute, one of the security detail was pulling a teenage boy from under the bushes.
“He saw the additional activity over here and thought he might be able to take pictures of someone famous.” The report came over the communication system on Oli’s shoulder.
“Situation handled,” Shakespeare reported into his phone.
“Team will be on the ground in ten, nine...”
Shakespeare and Oli searched the air and listened for a prop plane, the usual motor transportation among the small islands. Through the darkness emerged a black jet.
“Holy, fuck.” Oli stood. “Are they going to be able to land that thing here?”
Slowly, barely above the ocean, as smooth as a swan, the wheels gently touched the tarmac. The huge engines whirred in reverse as the tires grabbed the asphalt. Coming to a complete stop with a hundred feet of runway remaining, the ninety-nine-foot jet gracefully turned and glided toward the only hangar.
Oli let out a long breath. “That was some mighty fine flying.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Shall we go meet our new friends?” As they strode side-by-side to the hangar, he asked, “If they do a deep dive on the wall, save me a pair of tanks. I want in on this.”
“You know I will, if I can.” Shakespeare and Oli had been diving together for over a year. The former British Special Boat Service commander had been trained at the British Army Commando Schools. His unit had been the equivalent of his own SEAL Team.
They stepped into the hangar just as the large runway doors were closing and the engines were winding down. The sleek jet’s door popped open and swung to the side as the interior steps slid down. Three women in black flight suits filed off the plane, a straight-backed blonde heading straight toward them.
“If this is a prank pulled by your SEAL buddies so their girlfriends can spend some time in the sun, I’m going to personally castrate all of them the next time they come here,” Oli threatened.
Shakespeare scanned her uniform, catching the black embroidered oak leaves on the collar. The unusual emblem on her shoulder just underneath the U.S. flag threw him. He’d never seen that particular designation before.
“I’m hoping you’re Shakespeare and Commissioner Taylor.” She gave him a beautiful smile. “If not, I’m going to have to kill you.”
Both men extended their hands. Looking each in the eye, she gave them a firm shake as they introduced themselves. “I’m Lady Hawk. You’ll meet the rest of my team in just a moment.” She glanced over to where the hold was open and black duffel bags were being lined up. “For obvious reasons, we’ll maintain codenames only.”
Her eyes darted between the two of them. “I understand that you have not been briefed on the situation. Is the boat ready?”
“You want to go out now?” Shakespeare couldn’t believe that they intended to head out immediately. “I wasn’t informed that it would be a night dive.”
“We’re not going down tonight.” She stepped in close and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “We just have to find it, immediately.” Glancing between Shakespeare and Oli, her eyebrows pinched. “Were you not informed that time is of the essence?”
Shakespeare shrugged. “The military uses that term all the time.”
Lady Hawk scanned the hangar. “We’ll talk in the vehicle on the way to the boat. The acoustics in here may carry our voices.”
Two more women trotted down the stairs from the airplane and strode toward the line of bags. The auburn-haired woman glanced back at the steps then pulled what looked like a key fob from her pocket and pointed it toward the stairs. Seconds later, quiet hydraulics lifted the steps, tucking them into the side of the plane before the door closed and beeped twice.
Glancing sideways at Oli, his tongue was practically hanging out of his mouth. Spear had to agree. They were all beautiful. The baggy flight suits couldn’t hide their toned bodies and there was something naturally beautiful about a woman without makeup.
With bags over their shoulders and one in each hand, the other four women joined them. “Black Swan is secure,” reported the redhead. “Has our new toy arrived?” she asked with a smile.
“I haven’t seen it, but the hangar has been secured for over an hour. Hopefully it’s waiting for us outside.” Lady Hawk turned her attention to the small-framed woman with jet black hair in a tight bun at the nape of her neck and gave a barely perceptible nod. She immediately set down all her bags and opened one. Extracting a small aluminum-sided suitcase, she opened it and took out a tablet before she lifted several smaller objects from the foam.
Shakespeare was entranced by the woman’s heart-shaped face and dark eyes that tilted slightly up at the outer edge. She obviously had Chinese in her ancestry. He couldn’t take his gaze away from her as she walked the inside perimeter of the hangar. When she reached to touch several of the support columns, her flight suit pulled tight against a perfect ass. The gentle sway of her hips was natural, not intentional. It made his cock twitch.
“Want to roll your tongue back into your mouth?” Oli whispered under his breath while the women carried on a quiet conversation a few feet away.
“Commissioner Taylor, Lady Kite is positioning cameras around the interior of the hangar. There is no reason for any of your men to enter. Please be sure they are instructed that no one, I repeat, no one, is to enter this facility once we leave. It will be continually monitored by USSOCOM.”
“Understood, Lady Hawk.” Oli held her gaze. “You do realize that Turks and Caicos is a British territory, not American.”
Shakespeare almost laughed at the expression she gave his buddy. “Of course.” Do you think I’m a fucking idiot? went unsaid. Her gaze swept the hangar once again as though buying herself time. Once again stepping close to both men, she spoke in a low tone. “The President has been in contact with your Prime Minister who has agreed that we are to handle the situation.”
Shakespeare wasn’t sure if she referred to herself and her team or to the United States of America. Either way, he was involved. In what, he hadn’t a fucking clue.
The cute little woman with dark hair approached the group. “All set.”
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my team before we leave. This is Lady Eagle and Lady Falcon.” Lady Hawk motioned to the redhead and the very tall woman with the darker brown skin. “They’ve been flying for the last several hours and need to sleep so they’ll not be going out on the boat. They have the address of the safe house which has been secured for us. Police Commissioner Taylor, will you see them safely to our quarters?”
Oli smiled. “Only if you promise to call me Oli. We’re pretty casual here in the islands.”
“Done.” Lady Hawk agreed with a single nod of her head. She gestured toward the woman with short dark curls and the girl-next-door face. “This is Lady Harrier. She’s our team doctor. Next to her is Lady Kite, our computer expert and dive instructor. She’ll be guiding us to the location tonight.”
Shakespeare looked at Lady Kite. “Do you have the coordinates?”
“Not here.” Lady Hawk interrupted. “We need to leave.” She picked up two duffel bags and headed for the door. Without a word, three of the women grabbed two bags each and followed her.
Lady Kite remained behind.
“After you.” Spear gestured toward the door.
“No. I have to be the last one out and arm all the alarms,” she explained.
His gaze wandered to the last two bags at her feet, then automatically bent to pick them up.
He’d barely lifted them off the floor when she insisted, “I’ll get those.”
Damn. They were heavy. “What the hell do you have in here?” He tilted his head toward the bags in his hands.
“Everything a girl like me needs to travel.” The smile she gave him pierced his heart. When she winked, his knees went weak. She was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen. “Just leave them. I’ll grab them on my way out. You’d better hurry. We have thirty seconds to get out of here.”
“No way in hell are you carrying these. My mama raised me better than that.” Shakespeare and Oli each grabbed a bag and headed for the door, Lady Kite right behind them.
While loading up the bags into the police vehicle, an open-sided mail Jeep pulled up next to them.
“Hey, my man Oli, hoping you can help me.” Jacob, the island mailman, stepped out and rounded to the back of his vehicle. “You got any idea where I can find me a Captain L. Sorensen, U.S.A.F.? I got this suitcase for him. I thought the delivery note was crazy. It said he was going to arrive...tonight...at the airport. Crazy Americans. The airport is closed at night. But I’m absolutely supposed to deliver this tonight.” Stressing the last word, he spread his arms wide and danced in a circle. “Grand Turk may be a little island, but it’s a damn big one when I have to find me one American captain. I already checked all the hotels and he’s not there.” He dramatically threw his arms up in the air.
Jacob was known for his over-the-top drama...and gossip. It could take him all day to deliver ten pieces of mail and two packages. Spear had come to the point where he would often meet the mail plane at their tiny airport rather than endure the antics of their mailman.
“What am I to do? Oli, you know I can’t afford to get fired. Mia’s about to pop our next baby, any day.” The man who was two inches taller than Spear fell to his knees, his arms outstretched. “Oli, you gotta help me, man.”
Shakespeare wasn’t sure who was more surprised when the black-haired little beauty stood in front of Jacob, who was still on his knees. Their eyes were almost level.
“Where’s my box?” Her dark brown eyes darted to the Jeep then back to him.
When Jacob cocked his head, his dreadlocks swung to the side.
“Was I supposed to bring you a package, too?” The mailman’s body slumped over, his face dropping to the sand. “Oh, Lordy, Lordy. I’m going to be fired for sure. The Prime himself is going to come over here and fire my ass.”
“You said you have a delivery for Captain Sorensen. That would be me.” She stood quietly in front of him, her toes inches from his forehead.
Jacob lifted his head. “You be Captain L. Sorensen U.S.A.F.? He unfolded to stand, stretching to his full height. His gaze swept up and down her small stature. “Do you fly airplanes?”
“Yes. I’m expecting that package.” She purposely looked at the Jeep. “May I have it, now?”
The other women gathered near the trunk, a yard away from where Shakespeare and Oli stood.
After retrieving a large aluminum suitcase from the back of the Jeep, he wheeled it through the sand, stopping several feet from her. “How do I know you really be Captain Sorensen U.S.A.F.?”
“Oh, for Christ sake,” Lady Harrier said just above a whisper.
Lady Kite let out a long breath. Shaking her head, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her military ID card. Without a word, she handed it to him.
Jacob looked at the picture on the ID, barely visible in hangar security lights. He then looked at her. He twisted the card for better light, then squinted at her. “How I know this is you?” He waved the green card in the air. “I watch TV. These can be faked.”
Lady Kite closed her eyes. When she opened them, she gave him the most evil smile Spear had ever seen. She bent her knees. “How do I know that you didn’t open that case?”
She slowly took one step closer to him.
“Oh, fuck. This is going to get ugly.” Lady Falcon declared.
“I’m the mailman. I’m sworn by law not to open anything. I just deliver the mail.” Jacob sounded more than a little defensive.
Like a cat, Lady Kite prowled toward him.
“Then deliver my package.” Her grin broadened. “I don’t want to hurt you. I need what’s inside that case.” She stopped and leaned forward. “Now!” She roared.
Jacob’s eyes went huge as he handed her the extended handle to the case. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to run back to his vehicle.
Shakespeare couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh.
“Mailman.” Lady Kite boomed. “Stop.”
Midstride, Jacob halted and didn’t move a muscle. He slowly looked back over his shoulder at her.
She wiggled her finger, indicating for him to come to her.
Spear couldn’t stop laughing. He had to turn away. He couldn’t watch.
Head down, Jacob took small steps like a scolded dog toward the tiny woman.
Once he got close enough, she held out her hand, palm up.
Jacob stared at her hand. Slowly he extended his hand as though to shake.
She shook her head slowly side to side. “My military ID card, please.”
“Duh,” Jacob said self-deprecatingly as his whole body relaxed. “Sorry, mum.” His gaze shot to where Shakespeare was holding himself up on the side of the truck, laughing so hard his sides hurt.
“You laughing at me, Shakespeare?” Jacob accused.
“Oh, fuck, yes.” Spear’s cheeks were starting to hurt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard.
As Jacob turned to leave, Lady Kite ordered, “Stop.” She approached him. “Look at me. You didn’t see me. You’ve never heard my name because I was never here.” She waved her hand toward the men and women behind her. “They weren’t here either, so no one saw your embarrassment. None of this ever happened.”
Jacob stared at her as though he didn’t understand.
“I want you to forget that any of this happened.” She repeated.
He suddenly brightened. “Oh, I get it, this is where you flash me.” He opened his eyes wide.
Lady Kite lowered her beautifully arched eyebrows and glared at Jacob. “This is not Mardi Gras, or Carnival, or whatever you celebrate on this island. I am not about to flash you my ti—”
“No. No my lady.” Jacob started jumping up and down and waving his hands. “Flash me.” He made his fingers burst in front of his face. “Like Men In Black. Like in the movies. Make me forget.”
Tears were running down Shakespeare’s face. He could see the women turning around laughing, hiding their faces in their hands slowly shaking their heads. Oli was struggling hard to be the staunch commissioner and hold his shit together.
“Jacob.” Oli strode toward the island postman. “Thank you so much for coming out here and delivering this suitcase.” As he passed Lady Kite, he waved her toward the truck. Slapping Jacob on the shoulder and spinning him around toward his Jeep, he pulled the local man toward him. “What we’re trying to say is that we want you to keep this to yourself. There may be others who come to the island looking for the these wonderful ladies. We have to protect them. We can’t let anyone know they’re here.”
As he guided the man to the doorless vehicle, Oli practically shoved Jacob into the front seat. “You’re a federal employee and I know you take your position seriously. I’m asking you as the police commissioner, please forget everything you saw and heard tonight.” He pointed toward the ignition. “If I hear one drop of gossip about this, I’m coming to arrest you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Oli. Very clear.” Jacob’s hands shook as he jabbed in the key.
Shakespeare wiped his face with his hand before he got into the SUV.
With Oli behind the wheel, they pulled out onto the main road a few minutes later. All five women’s bags of luggage fit comfortably in the large SUV.
“Is this secure enough for you to tell us what the fuck this mission is all about?” Shakespeare still wondered if it wasn’t a boondoggle for somebody’s current squeeze and her BFFs. He twisted around from the shotgun seat to look at all five women. Lady Kite’s face was lit from the tablet she held in her hand.
“We’re secure,” she announced.
No shit. They were on Grand Turk Island, not in the middle of the sandbox where everything had to be checked twice for bombs and bugs. No one in their small community gave a shit who these women were or what the hell they were doing.
“Do we have the plane’s coordinates?” Lady Hawk asked.
“We do.” Lady Kite turned the tablet around. “Both the cockpit voice recorder and the flight data recorder are sending strong signals. Even though each pulses every thirty seconds, they’re not in sync so I’m getting a signal almost every fifteen seconds.”
A red dot and gold dot pulsed on the screen. As the latter moved, Shakespeare deduced that it represented them—very accurately from what he could see.
“What’s the red dot?” He asked. It looked to be about forty or fifty miles southeast of Grand Turk...in the middle of the fucking ocean.
“The black box to a plane that crashed seven hours ago.” Lady Hawk said no more.
Shakespeare knew it was a damn big ocean, so it was not a surprise that no one had seen or heard the plane go down. Airplanes and ships had encountered problems throughout the Bermuda triangle for over six hundred years.
“Oh, fuck. Who was on the plane?” Oli asked as he turned off the main road toward Shakespeare’s dive shop.
“The pilot and copilot.” Lady Hawk’s voice held no inflection.
“Fuck.” Shakespeare rubbed his chin. “So, this is a recovery, not a rescue.”
“Yes,” Lady Hawk agreed. “Recovery.”
Shakespeare didn’t understand—if they were recovering bodies, then why were they in such a damn hurry?