He missed the Gulfstream, but it lacked the capacity to carry the two black Ford Econoline vans that were strapped down in the cargo bay. The plane taxied to the hangar and the crew got busy unloading the vans. He shivered in the morning chill, his light windbreaker providing little comfort. He took John aside. “We’ve got a few minutes. You ready for this?” John nodded. “This is what I’ve been training for, right?” “This isn’t like missions in the Army. We’ll be mingling with citizens. We don’t want any screw-ups, we just need to get to the storage unit and find the caesium.” “Got it,” John said. Eric introduced him to the other former Operators he had recruited with Nancy’s help. Taylor Martin, a black man with massive hands, had worked with Eric years before in Afghanistan and was second-in-command. Martin had an easy sense of humor, with intelligent, deep-set eyes. He trusted Martin and knew the man would rather die than fail his commanding officer. Roger Johnson, a thin young man with a receding hairline and jutting chin would be their third, followed by Mark Kelly, a bland looking man with sad brown eyes.
