For the average U.S. Navy SEAL, loyalty to the country was a matter of pride. Swearing the oath and voluntarily bearing arms in service of the United States.
Money discovered on missions, no matter how much, was ignored. Aside from fear of being caught, it was really the fear of being disgraced afterwards, losing their honor on top of their freedom, that dismayed most.
But Long Zhan was different.
Technically, his current status was that of an American soldier, but he had never sworn an oath to the U.S. government. He had never enjoyed its benefits, nor was he the one who enlisted. That was Long Gibran, not him.
Long Zhan still held on to his Chinese identity. He wasn’t like those “banana men” who fawned over the West and abandoned their roots.
Just because he had American paperwork didn’t mean he thought of himself as American.
Everything he was doing now, every risk he took, was for one simple reason. Money.
Ten million dollars, that was just the beginning. After nearly two years of careful planning and analyzing every detail of the “story,” he was one hundred percent confident he could secure it.
As for other missions? If there was an opportunity to make something extra, he would take it.
If he could, he’d make a profit, if he couldn’t, no loss.
There was no better business in the world.
As for how long he would keep at it?
With the U.S. government as his cover, flying around the world under the protection of their “tiger skin,” while quietly lining his own pockets, it would be foolish not to exploit it for as long as possible.
After all, he had never owed the U.S. anything. They had a contract, nothing more. It was just business as far as he was concerned, there was no loyalty involved.
So when Long Zhan made a little money on the side, he felt no guilt whatsoever.
While he was scheming internally, outwardly he stayed composed, helping Brock escort Ms. Marshall to the rooftop.
Meanwhile, Jason had descended from the second floor and regrouped with Team Two.
Through a basement door, they entered what looked like a typical basement used by locals to stash supplies.
Appearances could be deceiving. This wasn’t Samir’s hideout, it was just a hidden basement, and today, a decoy.
Cerberus, the bomb-sniffing dog, crouched by the right-hand wall. Cerberus was trained to never crouch without reason. When it did, it only meant one thing, explosives.
Jason stepped forward and ripped away a filthy, dust-covered carpet, revealing a wooden trapdoor embedded in the floor.
There was no mistaking its purpose.
“Well, run all you like, little rat. Let’s see where you can hide now,” Jason muttered under his breath, his pulse quickening with excitement.A situation that would make most men nervous, only got Jason more and more excited.
“Why don’t we just chuck a grenade in there and blow him to pieces?” Sonny suggested, his voice tinged with impatience. “Would save us the trouble, and I could be back in bed in no time.”
Always the blunt instrument, Sonny preferred violence to finesse.
“No, we need him alive. Let’s move,” Jason replied coolly, unfazed by his teammate’s temperament. He signaled with his eyes for Sonny to lift the trapdoor.
“Fine, your call.”
Sonny, used to having his ideas shot down, shrugged and slung his light machine gun across his chest. With Trent’s help, he pried open the wooden hatch and propped it against the wall.
“Go!”
Jason gave the order, before leading the way down the narrow stairwell.
At the bottom, they saw two tunnels, one leading straight ahead, one bending to the right, both with no end in sight.
Cerberus climbed down right beside Jason, then stopped, crouching down again, its nose pointing straight ahead.
The explosives were that way.
Once the whole team had descended, Jason pointed toward the right-hand tunnel. “Clay, you hold this position. Watch that passage, and keep our backs covered. Understood?”
Jason didn’t trust Clay much to begin with. The tunnels were tight, treacherous, and their target was a bomb-crazy fanatic. Any mistake could bury them all alive. Jason wanted only his most reliable men with him in this situation.
Leaving the newcomer to guard the rear was the safest call.
“Yes, sir.”
Clay nodded, though he wasn’t pleased. He cast one quick glance at the right-hand tunnel, an idea sparking in his head.
“Advance,” Jason ordered, leading the team deeper.
The passage was barely 1.2 meters wide and under two meters tall, making it very cramped and suffocating. The squad could only move in single file.
Cerberus took point, with Jason right behind it, and Trent and Sonny following in that order.
Electric lamps hung every few meters, making the tunnel very bright. Facing these new conditions, Jason and his men flipped their night-vision goggles up onto their helmets.
The passage twisted and stretched on, pulling them further underground.
And Clay, left alone at the entrance, didn’t stay put as he was ordered to.
Instead, he went into the other tunnel.
Years of operating like a lone wolf had sharpened his instincts, and those instincts whispered to him that this was the faster route to their target.
If he were the one to capture Samir, a wanted terrorist who had been on the run for over two decades, it would be a career-defining achievement for him.
The DEVGRU commanders would see his worth. His path into the Teams would then be guaranteed.
He might even surpass the so-called “monstrous trainee,” proving his place not through training scores but with real combat honors.
That’s what Clay believed.
And in that moment, he forgot everything else.
He forgot that he was assigned to guard the rear.
He forgot that his teammate’s lives depended on him doing his job.
He forgot that this wasn’t a place for lone wolves.
If someone sneaked in behind them, if the enemy collapsed the entrance, Jason, Trent, Sonny, these men who had entrusted Clay with protecting their backs, would never see it coming.
If that happened, the consequences would be unimaginable.
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