THE MASTER'S GAME PLAN

CHAPTER 1 - THE MISSION

The Mission

12 HOURS EARLIER

MONDRAGON HIDEOUT...

"This will be our last mission."

Gian stood in the hideout, black leather molded to his frame. A laptop glowed on the table. On its screen, four men stood together in the headquarters room, bent over their gear for the last mission, uniforms pressed tight against restless shoulders. A map lay unfolded beside the keyboard.

He tapped it. "Mondragon's men may already be posted at the exit point. In case of a double-cross, kill them all."

His eyes found Esiah on the screen. "Once I have the target, blow the warehouse."

Then Ryan and Greg. "Rooftop, the building beside the warehouse. After the explosion, drop everyone except the target."

Then Vince. "Get to the car behind the warehouse. Engine running."

He looked from one face to the next. "Wait for my signal. No matter what happens, the target does not get shot. Clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Only the five of us go in. Bravo backs us up." He straightened. "One mission. Bring down the biggest cartel this region has ever seen."

Silence settled over the headquarters room, heavy as a held breath.

Greg's hand froze in his magazine. Ryan's jaw tightened. Esiah and Vince held Gian's stare through the screen, the way men do when they already know what's at stake.

"ARE YOU READY, ALPHA TEAM?"

"YES SIR!"

"COME BACK ALIVE. THAT'S AN ORDER!"

"SIR, YES SIR!" Four hands snapped to four brows on the screen. Gian saluted back.

Laying your life down was ordinary work in this line of business. But in the time they'd bled and moved together, these four had stopped being named on a roster. He caught himself counting heads before he counted casualties.

He closed the laptop, and the room behind it went dark. In the quiet, his phone threw a pale square of light across his knuckles. On the screen, a couple stood close, and between them a boy who hadn't yet grown into his own shoulders. A rosary was wound twice around Gian's wrist, its beads worn smooth by someone else's fingers. His thumb brushed the boy's face.

"We'll see each other soon, Manolo. Just let me finish this last one."

The phone shuddered in his hand.

CHIEF ROMERO, PDEA.

He answered before the second ring.

["Are you ready, Captain?"

"Yes, chief!"

["Then this is your last mission and you'll be free. Do not disappoint me, Captain Villareal."]

His grip tightened around the phone. "Yes, sir." No hesitation. The decision had been made long before it rang.

The line clicked dead.

One last mission.

The words pulled him backward, to the day it began.

The Manila station. S.E.S. Chief Armando Reyes sat behind his desk, a folder under his palm.

"Captain Gian, you have one mission left. After this, you rest. You do what you want. You're still looking for your grandfather, aren't you?"

"It's my grandmother's wish, sir. She asked me before she passed."

His thumb found the rosary at his wrist.

"Then do this one last mission and you're free. Come back after a month."

A small, restrained smile slipped across Gian's lips.

"What kind of mission, sir?"

"Zamboanga City, Mindanao. Bring down the biggest drug cartel in the region." The Chief slid the folder across. An old man's face stared up from inside, rich and powerful at a glance. "You'll coordinate with the PDEA chief. Romero knows you're coming. Most of this man's legal transactions run through his resort. You'll join the security there and find out about his illegal businesses."

"How long, sir?"

"Six months. Succeed, and you're promoted and permanently assigned here in Luzon."

"I assure you, sir, mission accomplished."

"I know. You've never failed, not even once. But be careful, Gian. The enemy is formidable."

Reyes held his gaze and did not blink.

The man had never lied to him.

Even so, it would be the last!

---

MONDRAGON WAREHOUSE 7:00 PM...

Five cars rolled in, headlights sweeping the gravel lot. Old man Mondragon stepped out, his people behind him. They met the Chinese dealers, unsmiling, and the negotiation began under a single buzzing light. Sweat gathered at Gian's collar. He kept his hands loose at his sides.

While the talk droned on, he slipped away and spoke low into his earpiece. "Situation, Victor?"

"Ready, sir."

"Echo. Romeo. Golf."

"On position, sir," came the answers, low and certain.

He turned back toward the door. It had barely clicked shut when he heard the scrape of a slide racking behind his skull.

"Traitor!" the voice hissed.

Simon.

Gian wrenched the gun from the man's grip, but a boot caught his wrist and sent it skidding into the dark. Fists, then. He dropped under a spinning kick, slid behind the man, and scooped a fallen gun off the concrete.

"WHERE IS VILLAMAYOR? FIND HIM!"

The old boss's voice cracked across the lot, and under it, a silenced shot swallowed by the dark. Simon crumpled before he hit the ground.

Gian wiped his palms down his trousers and walked back into the light. "Apologies, boss."

"Where the hell did you come from, Villamayor?"

"Checking the area, boss."

"Check it." A jerk of the old man's chin sent the men behind him scattering.

Gian crossed to the vehicles and pressed small charges flat against the undersides, where no one would think to look. A flashlight beam swept past the bumper. He held his breath until it moved on.

Charges set.

When the money changed hands, he made sure he and his boss would be first through the door. Simon's body still lay in the shadow beside it. Gian's eyes slid over it once and away. The fire would have to take it.

As they walked out, he glanced back one time. The explosion answered half a second later.

The night went white, then orange. Glass rained across the gravel. Gian dragged the old man through the smoke toward the car behind the warehouse.

Now they stood in the car, Gian's hand locked around the old man's neck, guns raised on every side. Vince's barrel to the old man's temple, Marco's on Vince, Gian's at the base of Mondragon's skull.

"Boss. He killed Simon."

"You animal! I trusted you!" The old man's scream tore out of him, fear and fury knotted into one sound.

"TRAITOR!" Marco's gun began to swing toward Gian.

Wrong move. Vince's barrel was already arcing toward Marco. The shot caught him clean at the temple. Marco dropped.

Gian shoved the target into the car. His partner floored it, tires screaming.

"You're evil, Villamayor!"

Gian cuffed the old man's wrists and dropped a black hood over his head.

"You don't know me," the old man spat. "Mondragon law doesn't answer to anyone!"

"The law exempts no one, Mondragon."

"Hah! We don't obey the law, we play with it!"

"Go play in a cell, then." He taped the man's mouth shut and pressed two fingers to his earpiece. "The target is secured."

"Copy, Captain," the team answered.

"You had a call sign go off earlier."

Gian looked at the target beside him.

"Damn it, could be backup!" Vince's eyes flicked to the mirror.

Gian found a phone in the man's pocket and thumbed it open. "Password."

Silence. He ripped the hood off, tore the tape away, and closed a hand around the old man's throat. "Password!"

"S-silent."

The phone unlocked straight into the call log. No. 2. No. 3. No. 5. No. 6.

'What does this mean?'

His thumb slowed down the list, then stopped. His jaw tightened. Not one name. Only numbers, row after row.

If every entry was a number, there had to be a No. 1.

He found it and hit the call. He pressed the phone to his ear, and the ringing began. He was still waiting for the line to pick up when gunfire tore the night open!