LITMIR.BIZ

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after your stuff.’

      ‘Come on, man. Just this once. In case anything happens to me.’

      Tom frowned. ‘Don’t talk rubbish, mate. This mission’s going to be a piece of cake.’

      ‘I know, I know, but just humour me on this and take the damn watch.’

      Turning the watch over, Tom saw that the back was engraved and he used his penlight to read the inscription. To Robert Edward McBride. In appreciation. January 10, 1925.

      ‘It was my great-grandfather’s watch,’ Ed yelled. ‘It’s been handed down through the family. My dad passed it on to me and I want to keep it safe for my boy.’

      ‘For your son?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      The team didn’t talk too much about their families—it was if talking about home might soften them somehow, and in this deadly game they couldn’t afford any kind of distraction. But Tom knew Ed had a wife and son back in Virginia. He’d seen a photo of the little fellow. The boy had been wearing his father’s cap and his face was in shadow, but he’d gained the impression that the youngster was sturdy and cute with a cheeky grin.

      He shoved the watch back into Ed’s hand. ‘You keep this for your kid. It’ll be perfectly safe with you.’

      ‘No!’

      The urgency in Ed’s voice sent a chill spiking down Tom’s spine.

      ‘Do it for me,’ Ed pleaded. ‘Just this once.’

      ‘Don’t talk crap,’ Tom shouted angrily. What was eating Ed? Special Operatives never lost their cool. Never showed fear. Or doubt.

      But deep down he knew what Ed was trying to say. It was a feeling a soldier could get—a premonition that something was going to go wrong.

      ‘Please, Tom,’ Ed insisted. ‘I thought we were buddies.’

      ‘Well, yeah, of course we are. We’re more than buddies. We’re mates.’

      It was true. He genuinely liked this American with his constant smile, spiky blond crewcut and marine-blue eyes. Ed was a crack soldier and an all-round great guy. Easygoing, salt of the earth, apple pie and Fourth of July all rolled into one six-foot, muscle-bound package. A walking-talking-fighting Good Guy.

      Tom hadn’t expected to become close friends with the American, but he and Ed had formed a unique bond. They respected each other. Without question they trusted each other’s considerable battle skills, and they shared a similar outlook as well as a similar string of military decorations. But beyond that they shared something more important—a sense of humour that had helped them in the grimmer moments.

      Until now.

      Tom looked again at the gold watch. There was nothing particularly fancy about it. Its value could only be sentimental. And this was not a time for sentiment.

      ‘One minute out.’

      The signal was given for the team to unbuckle their seat belts and move to the ramp at the rear of the chopper.

      Their craft dropped to a hover and the men stood, bracing themselves. Ed would be the fifth man to descend the fast rope, while Tom, who was the squad’s leader, would bring up the rear.

      ‘Please!’ Ed yelled once more, holding the watch out to Tom.

      Already, the assigned soldier was shoving the coiled rope off the ramp and leaning out as he watched it fall to the ground. Then he signalled to Zeke, the first man to descend. Zeke grabbed the rope with both hands, hooked it with one foot, pivoted, jumped clear of the ramp and disappeared, sliding down.

      Tom sighed. ‘OK, give it here,’ he said, taking the watch from Ed and zipping it quickly into an inner pocket. ‘But I’ll be giving this bloody thing straight back to you just as soon as this mission is over.’

      He lowered his night goggles and Ed’s teeth flashed green as he grinned.

      ‘Thanks, bud,’ he called back to Tom. Then, still grinning, he turned, ready to descend.

      CHAPTER THREE

      IT WAS a warm summer’s day in Virginia but Ethan had the beginnings of a cold.

      Mary frowned as she reached over the breakfast table to lay a hand on her son’s forehead. He’d started coughing during the night and this morning his nose was snuffly and his skin slightly warm. If he had a raised temperature she would have to keep him home from school today.

      ‘Is your throat sore?’ she asked, noting the way he dawdled his spoon around and around his bowl of cereal, then sipped half-heartedly at his orange juice.

      Ethan nodded, and beneath his floppy blond fringe his big brown eyes grew round as he sent her his sad puppy look.

      She’d seen rather too much of that look lately.

      ‘Why didn’t Dad come home for Fourth of July?’ he asked her. ‘He promised.’

      Mary sighed. Ever since she’d received the terrible news that her husband was missing in action and presumed dead, she’d tried to keep the news from Ethan. Coping with her own sickening fear was hard enough.

      Ethan idolised Ed, and Mary was concerned that his cold was a symptom of his distress as much as a seasonal chill.

      ‘Sometimes soldiers can’t keep their promises, but I’m hoping Daddy will be home very soon, sweetheart.’

      She wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth. She still clung to the hope that Ed was safe and well.

      But the boy was supersensitive to her tension, to her friends’ kid glove treatment of them both, to Grandma McBride’s open concern and Grandpa McBride’s stoic acceptance.

      Not knowing was the worst. There was so little news—just that Ed was missing behind enemy lines. She couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened to him. As an Army wife, she’d always known something like this might happen, particularly when he’d joined the Special Squad, but she’d pushed that knowledge to the back of her mind.

      But now he was missing. And missing could mean so many things. Awful, unbearable things.

      ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’

      Oh, God, she’d nearly given in to tears in front of Ethan. Flashing him a quick, tight smile, she said, ‘Would you like to stay home from school and rest up today?’

      He nodded listlessly. ‘Can I watch TV?’

      ‘Sure,’ she said, frowning as she watched him wander through to the adjoining family room.

      Until they’d received the news about Ed, Ethan had always loved school. She told herself that one day wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps today, when he wasn’t well, the comforting sight of the familiar bright puppets on his favourite children’s show would cheer him up.

      As her son settled on to a beanbag, in front of the television, she poured herself another cup of coffee, put her feet up on the opposite chair and forced her thoughts to practical things—like the changes she would have to make to her day’s plans.

      With Ethan sick, she wouldn’t be able to play tennis this morning but, because she ran her business from home, she would still be able to get on with her work this afternoon. She reached to the phone on the nearby kitchen counter, planning to call one of her tennis friends, but she’d only dialled the first digit when the doorbell rang.

      Surprised, she swung her feet from the chair and looked around for her slip-on shoes. Where had she left them? Her hand flew to her hair. She hadn’t taken any trouble when she’d brushed it this morning and she hadn’t given a thought to make-up. Who would be calling her at this hour? It was too early for tennis.

      Could it be someone from the Army?

      Oh, God. The unwelcome

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