Colonel Robert Pierson had been Mike’s “control” ever since his first mission in Syria. The colonel just happened to be the guy picked to talk on the phone with some madman who had traced the kidnapped coeds halfway across the world. Since then he’d received similar calls from Mike and made a few in the other direction. He never ordered Mike, who was after all a free agent, he just suggested or in a few cases pleaded. He was less a “control” than an information conduit. And in a way a friend.

“We did?” Mike asked, frowning.

“Slow news day,” Pierson pointed out. “And the Chechens are still a bugaboo after Breslan. Apparently the guy you wacked had a small piece of setting that up. At least, according to CNN.”

“Nice of them to tell us,” Mike said, rolling his eyes at Nielson.

“Seriously, what did you do, use all the trainers?” Pierson asked.

“No, it was mostly Keldara,” Mike replied. “Their first FTX. Right off of their first two days on the range. The mortar girls had had more range time, but not much.”

“Jesus Christ,” Pierson said, wonderingly. “How far are you into training?”

“Three, four weeks,” Mike said. “Depending upon whether you consider that training. Colonel Nielson doesn’t.”

“I didn’t say that,” Nielson said with a sniff. “Just that it’s interfered a bit.”

“Well, the boss man said ‘Good job’ followed by ‘next time, try to avoid the papers.’ ”

“Tell him I said thanks,” Mike replied. “Anything else?”

“Just that,” Pierson said. “I’ll add my own ‘good job.’ Take care.”

“Will do,” Mike replied. “See ya.”

“We were talking about an after action review,” he continued, looking at Nielson.

“I was thinking it might make sense to ask D.C.,” Nielson replied, gesturing at the phone with his chin.

“Thought about it,” Mike said. “Too many fingers in the pie. You’ll work up the AAR.