Chapter 8

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Sarasin was parked in the lot as Hank pulled up next to the van. As soon as Sarasin got out of the van, Hank got out of the Mustang. Sarasin saw Bob sitting in the passenger seat.

Damn, Adaline, you look as hot as ever, Hank thought to himself as he eyed the brunette.

"Changed your hair color again, I see. It was red the last time I saw you," Hank remarked.

"Keep them guessing, I say. Besides, the red hair was what you liked, if I remember correctly?" Sarasin said as she approached him. "Still like what you see, though?"

"I do remember and I reserve the right to remain silent," Hank replied with a chuckle.

For the briefest moment, the two made eye contact. The two fought the urge to rush into the other's arms. But the past was the past, and there was a lot of water under that bridge.

"Who's your friend?" Sarasin asked.

"This is Bob Roy, Officer Bob Roy of the Philadelphia Police Department." Hank motioned for Bob to join them.

Bob walked up beside Hank as the side door of the van slid open. Sarasin smiled as her team presented themselves. Hank recognized Bennie, Sanchez, and Lowell from Sarasin's old unit he had been a member of. Bennie was a forty-four-year-old black male from Liberia, Africa, who stood six feet three inches tall. Jose Sanchez was a fifty-two-year-old Latino standing five feet seven inches tall with shoulder-length graying brown hair. Thomas Lowell was a fifty-six-year-old Brit who stood six feet tall with short brown hair.

"Gentlemen," Hank said as he and Bob shook each of their hands. Hank couldn't believe Lowell was back with the team. The last time he had seen Lowell was on a helicopter as he whisked Hank out of a hell storm between a South American government's federal troops, rebels, and drug cartel mercenaries. At that time, Lowell had been the leader of his team, one that Hank had joined after leaving Sarasin's team immediately after a disastrous mission.

Hank flashed back to that dreadful day years ago when he had turned his back on Sarasin and joined Lowell and the new team. A week after the failed mission at a villa in Italy, Hank found himself walking down the hall of an apartment building in downtown Berlin, Germany, straight to Sarasin's apartment. Byrd was just exiting with his duffel bag. Hank ducked into the shadows of an intersecting hallway. Byrd and Sarasin were kissing in the hallway outside her open apartment door.

"Come back to me soon," Sarasin told Byrd as the kiss ended.

"You know I will. I'm the best you have ever had or will ever have," Byrd told Sarasin as he picked up his duffel bag and walked down the hall.

Hank waited down the hall until Byrd had gone. He approached the door but couldn't bring himself to ring the doorbell. He turned around and walked away in more ways than one. Every fiber of his soul was being ripped to shreds as he walked away. As he exited the building, he called Lowell.

"I'm in. Where are you?" Hank spoke to Lowell as his temper flared.

"We're heading to Liberia. I have two others who are already on the ground," Lowell told him.

"Good. Where do we meet?" Hank asked. Lowell gave him the location of a small airstrip.

Four hours later, Hank was stepping from a rental car and shaking hands with Lowell. When he boarded the small plane, Hank was sure he would never see Sarasin again.

Sarasin was introducing the new members of the team, bringing Hank out of his reminiscing. Sarasin pointed out the new members. The first was Thomas Jerome, a twenty-four-year-old white male who stood five feet six inches tall that someone who seemed familiar to Hank but he couldn't place the face. Then came Stacy Grant, a twenty-five-year-old white female with short red hair, standing five feet eight inches tall, and the closest thing to a doctor the team had with nuclear, biological, and chemical warfare background. Then Tabitha Eldridge, a twenty-five-year-old, five feet eight inches tall white female with long bright red hair, and a computer whiz. Then Emily Moore, a twenty-five-year-old African American female with short black hair, five feet four inches tall, linguist and computer whiz. Then Eric Heath, a twenty-five-year-old male of Japanese descent, five feet four inches tall, black hair, mechanic, and pilot of the team. Then Hector Gomez, a twenty-five-year-old, five feet six inches tall first-generation Latino from Los Angeles, linguist and jack of all trades. Then Mark Stidham, a thirty-one-year-old, six feet one-inch-tall African American male, long dreadlocks, specializing in robotics and explosives. The team was ten strong not counting Sarasin, and now Hank.

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