In the morning heat, their apartment’s concrete walls seeped in salty sweat. A battered fan hummed weakly in the corner and pushed the damp air in loops. Sawyer stood by the window, bare chested, and rubbed a towel over his face. It smelled faintly of mildew and old frying oil. His body was sticky with salt and grime.

  Below their apartment, Colón’s waterfront sagged in rust and rot. Freighters slouched low in the bay, their hulls pocketed with barnacles and streaked with oil. A panamax container ship idled offshore. Its deck was a maze of rust red cranes and shipping crates. Near shore, a tugboat’s blue paint was peeling; it puffed diesel fumes as it nudged a half sunken barge toward the shallows. At the far end of the pier, a rusted trawler bobbed like a carcass. Gulls circled overhead and squawked.

  Sawyer’s phone buzzed in his hand. It was a call from Colonel Bradford.

  Cormac sat cross legged on the mattress, nursing his bandaged arm. He looked up. “That him?”

  Sawyer nodded. “We’ve got five minutes.”

  Cormac grunted. “Four more than I thought.”

  Sawyer swiped to answer. Colonel May Bradford’s face flickered onto the screen. He was an older African American man with hard eyes and heavy bags. Some say he hadn’t slept since 9/11 and he looked like it on most days. His voice cracked through cheap data bandwidth.

  “Kestrel.”

  “Colonel,” Sawyer said. “Appreciate you picking up.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’re trying to get me fired, looking into Panama.”

  “We’re just following a signal.”

  “Yeah, I know. I have eyes in the region. Colón’s not exactly a vacation destination, and two SOF boys landing off-manifest during a cartel ops cycle? That raises questions back home.”

  “We’re not here to interfere with ops,” Sawyer said.

  Bradford leaned back in frame. He muttered off screen to his assistant Kelly. “You already are. There are teams—real teams—operating along the Isthmus. Cartels, Chinese logistics units, private intelligence groups, and something…well…it’s hard to explain without sounding crazy. You start kicking enough rocks and you’re not going to like what comes crawling out.”

  “Help us avoid the pitfalls,” Sawyer pressed. “Ashley’s signal is active. I just need help narrowing it down.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Bradford stared at the screen. “Still pining over this girl? Jeez, Sawyer. Find yourself a beautiful Panamanian woman and just forget about her.”

  “She’s not just a girl.”

  “You always say that.”

  Sawyer hesitated, then smirked faintly. “Remember that bar in Kuwait? You never wouldn’t have landed that blonde without me. You owe me, don’t you?”

  “That’s why I lended you the Blackhawk. That’s why I picked up this call. I still think about Ms. Kuwait.”

  “So…can we get down to details? We don’t want to be stuck in Panama any longer than we have to be.”

  Bradford sighed and rubbed his face. “Alright, alright. Hold on.” He tapped a few keys. “I’m sending the ping to one of my analysts on site. But listen to me, Kestrel. If you get eyes on her, you should just walk. You don’t need to stick your nose any deeper into this cesspit. We need you on contracts, stateside. There’s big money waiting to be collected in Virginia and D.C.”

  “Why are you so worried about this?” Sawyer asked.

  “Because what’s happening in Panama isn’t sanctioned. It isn’t even understood, most of the intel is compartmentalized and nobody’s sharing anything with me. Still, we have resources in the area. I hijacked a few sanctioned corporate satellites…we’re tracking movement deep into the rainforest and they’re seeing things that don’t make sense. We’re spotting movement without any heat signatures. There’s hovering lights. And there’s been the…disappearances. And that’s not only in Panama. It’s in Columbia, Honduras, it touches every country up and down Central America.”

  “You’re saying the DoD is involved?”

  “I’m saying if you look too long into Panama, Panama starts looking back. You’ll lose your clearances. You might lose your life if you’re not careful.”

  There was a chime on Bradford’s end. He glanced over at another screen and exhaled. “Got it. Okay, here she is. You’re looking at a half-click stretch near the ocean road. Central market. GPS match puts her phone last seen in or around…El Mercado Municipal.”

  “Say that again?”

  “Municipal Market. It’s not your usual street fare. The locals go there to secure components for ancient Cueva rituals. Black magic.

  Cormac leaned into the screen. “Sounds charming.”

  Bradford’s face hardened. “I’m not joking. You boys go in there, you go in quietly. Your father knew it better than anyone, Panama is filled with monsters and you’re about to walk into their shopping center.”

  “We know,” Cormac said. “We landed in the cemetery. specters are off the charts.”

  “Is there anything I can say to get you to forget about all of this and fly back home?” Bradford asked.

  “There’s no other choice, Colonel,” Sawyer said. “Ashley is here and we’re getting her out.”

  Bradford looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he nodded once. “Fine. But listen, both of you. You get any deeper into this and I’m cutting you off. Whatever you find in Panama... don’t bring it back home.”

  “Understood.”

  The call disconnected.

  Cormac stood and flexed his arm. “So…we’re about to walk into a demon market?”

  Sawyer holstered his .45 and slipped into a dark rain jacket. “Looks that way. Let’s get civilian.”