“I NEED TWO men covering the southwest entrance. We’re not letting these assholes disappear into thin air again,” I mutter into my wireless mic. Scanning the dense rainforest that has served as our basecamp the last few days, I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and silently curse the bulletproof vest and tactical gear piled on my body, the extra layers making the humid weather in this place a thousand times worse. Please, God, don’t let anything get fucked up this time. After nine months in the Dominican Republic, gathering intel, living out of fleabag motels and completely cut off from communication with anyone back home, I’m ready for this to be over. I’m ready to put an end to the monster who’s haunted my dreams for two years, who kept me from a future with the woman I love and who was directly responsible for the deaths of my best friends. My thoughts, momentarily consumed by all the things I’ve lost and the hope that it’s not too late to get at least one of them back when this is all said and done, are interrupted by the static from the mic in my ear. “I’ve got movement coming from an upstairs window, south side, third from the left. Permission to fire?” Crouching down, I slowly inch my way through the brush two hundred yards from the two-story shack hidden