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Being so highly classified that the US government preferred not to admit its existence, DEVGRU was one of only four SMUs within the United States military. The other three SMUs were: Delta Force of the US Army, the 24th Special Tactics Squadron of the US Air Force, and the Intelligence Support Activity—also under the auspices of the US Army.
    Gil patted his jacket pocket for his tobacco. “Are we talking about Warrant Officer Sandra Brux, Chief?”
    â€œYeah. Know her?”
    â€œShe’s flown top-cover for us a couple of times,” Gil said. “They’re gonna tear her up, Chief. How’d this happen?”
    â€œIt’s a CID investigation right now,” Steelyard said. CID was the Army Criminal Investigation Command—originally known as the Criminal Investigations Division first established under General Pershing during the First World War. For the purposes of continuity, the agency was still referred to as the CID. “But I had a talk with our guy in NCIS who’s connected.” NCIS was the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. “He says CID just took some Pakistani intel guy into custody who’s been selling information to the other side. I’m thinking he may have tipped off the enemy about the Army’s plan to snatch an Al Qaeda cleric who’s been making them nervous. Listen, I’ll get back to you in a few days. Sound good?”
    â€œSounds good, Chief, yeah. Thanks for the heads up.”
    â€œYou bet.”
    Gil went back downstairs to find his mother-in-law in the kitchen making sandwiches. “Thanks for calling me in, Mom.”
    His mother-in-law smiled. “Are you leaving us again?” Her name was Janet, and she was sixty-five years old, short with long gray hair she wore in the braid of a horsewoman, like her daughter.
    â€œNo,” he said. “That was just an update to keep me in the loop.”
    â€œThink Marie will buy that?” Janet asked.
    He laughed. “There’s not much space between you two, is there?”
    She shook her head, offering him a plated roast beef sandwich with potato chips. “Like a beer with that?”
    â€œYes, I would,” he said, wishing in earnest that he did not personally know Sandra Brux. The two of them had shared some laughs one night half a year earlier, swapping stories about the challenges of holding a marriage together.
    LATER THAT NIGHT, after his mother-in-law had washed the dinner dishes and gone to bed, Gil sat alone in the rocking chair in front of the fireplace rolling a cigarette.
    Marie came to sit on the hearth in front of him, a glass of white wine in her hand. “I’ve seen you like this before,” she said quietly. “You lost a friend today, didn’t you?”
    He looked up from the cigarette. “It’s worse, actually.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œThe Taliban captured one of our helicopter pilots yesterday.” He licked the edge of the cigarette paper and smoothed it into place to make it look almost store-bought. “A Night Stalker. For the enemy that’s a hell of a trophy. Almost as good as capturing a SEAL or a Green Beret would be.”
    â€œAnd you know him, I assume?”
    â€œIt’s a her ,” he said quietly, poking the smoke between his lips and lighting it with a match. “She’s twenty-nine. Pretty. It’s gonna play like hell once the media gets hold of it.”
    Marie nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Another Jessie Lynch,” she said sadly. “So when are you leaving?”
    â€œThey didn’t call me for that.”
    â€œThat’s not what I asked you,” she said.
    He sat holding his temples with the same hand the cigarette was in. “They don’t even know where she is yet, baby.”
    Marie set the wineglass aside with a sigh and rubbed her knees. “Gil, I’m sorry, but I don’t have the patience for these little go-rounds no more. Are ya