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your business?”
    “Since now.”   The admiral pinched the bridge of his nose.   “You know how sorry I am about Sara, your family, but Sanchez is barreling down on us.  I need you.”
    At the mention of Sanchez, Dillon’s stare cut to the newspaper, headache forgotten.  Hatred twisted down his spine, shooting him forward in his seat.“No.  Absolutely not.”  But deep inside, pushed into the blackest corner of his mind, a bonfire still raged.  “No way in hell am I going back--”
    Only he was.  Dillon was going to hunt Sanchez down like a dog and kill him no matter how far he had to go, no matter what he had to do.  But dammit, he wanted, needed, to do this his way. 
    Without rules.
    Without some government leak trying to get him killed.
    “Please.”  The Admiral blew out another sigh.  “Just read.”
    Dillon finally pulled the newspaper closer and read.
     
    San Diego Times Top News
    Innocent Americans Slain by Drug Cartel
    By Suzanne Clements, Staff Writer
     
    Billionaire drug lords fly our friendly skies with huge jumbo jets crammed to capacity with cocaine.  Narco-subs hover just off the coast.  Border bandits and drug barons thumb their noses at law enforcement.
    With bases all over the world, the SBC, also known as the Sanchez Brothers Cartel, is one of the most powerful, violent, and aggressive drug trafficking groups in Mexico.  When the Mexican government took an anti-drug stance in the mid 1990s, the Sanchez Brothers drug cartel reacted with a never-before-seen wave of narco-terrorism.  Hundreds of Mexican police officers, judges, government officials, and journalists were murdered by drug mafia assassins under the Rafael Sanchez regime.  This horrific violence included the bombing of Calidad flight 312 which killed 218 people, and the bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Mexico City which killed 80 people and wounded 170.  Nationwide, more than 1,400 people have been killed in Mexico this year, all attributed to the SBC.
    The SBC has been a U.S. nightmare for some time now, but last night they went too far.  They slaughtered an entire busload of innocent American tourists in Guadalajara, and in so doing, have moved themselves out of the shadows and into the spotlight of a nation in turmoil.
     
    Something about the writing style poked at him before a red haze had him shoving the paper across the desk in fury.  “You’ve been fighting those bastards for more than a decade.  So why are you calling me back in on this?  And,” his breathing shallow, he tried to temper his anger, wishing he had something vicious, something savage and horrible enough to make Sanchez and his fucking cartel quiver and beg and fucking die, “why now?”
    “Headlines, Commander.  Lost innocence.  Nine-eleven cost us.  You know the one thing pisses people off more than war, recessions, and bullshit politics?”
    Dillon shrugged.  “Global warming?  Taxes?”  Dammit, he knew what was coming next and he didn’t want to hear it.  Hearing the words would suck him in.
    “Losing faith in the country you believe in,” the admiral continued as though Dillon had never spoken.  He had that look in his eye, the outraged expression people wore when a helpless child has been beaten to death with a steel pipe until that child lay broken and mutilated and unrecognizable.  The one that is at first shock, then denial, then profound personal injury.  The look that, in the end, inevitably said, “I will hunt you down, and no matter your penance, there will be no absolution.”
    There will only be justice. 
    So there he sat, getting sucked back in, feeling torn and resentful and unforgiving.
    He wanted to kick loose of this place and close his mind to all feeling.  But his mind hovered, not ready to leave, not ready to give in, not ready to ground itself.  Loss was still ghosting around, playing tag with rage, but rage had the advantage because it always burned hot and never stilled.  He wanted vengeance, and