The gunman growled as he brought the pistol up to fire at Brand. Brand side-stepped as the pistol belched flame. The bullet cracked wickedly as it bounced off the concrete wall. He snatched the gun hand, pulling the smaller man towards him.

It was called Gladiator Floor. The Harris County jail was a nightmare at any rate. Poor living conditions and an inadequate number of guards made the typical day a hazardous one for inmates.

Brand exhaled impatiently and leaned back. He waited for Kilgore to get to the point. “Your recent activities have drawn a lot of attention from highly placed individuals on both sides of the law. I don’t believe you will last long in here once it is known that you single-handedly wiped out the leadership of the Cartel.”

AT NINE BRAND WAS SITTING IN A COURTROOM in the court annex building next door to the jail. Attorneys spoke to their clients and to awaiting prosecutors. Amy entered the courtroom and gave him a smile of recognition as she passed. She stopped before a seated prosecutor. Brand watched her as did most of those seated in the courtroom. The attorney was blonde and fit.

BRAND LOOKED AROUND HIM CAREFULLY. Mercer had picked a strange place to get a drink. The bar was crowded for a weekday. There were no women there and the men gave Mercer and Brand plenty of attention as the two took seats at a small table near the front door.

A YELLOW TAXICAB DROPPED BRAND before the barracks at Camp Bravura. The compound was coming to life in the darkness of early morning. He paid the cabbie and carried his gym bag, and a hanging bag containing his new suits, into the squad bay. Inside, most of the bunks were unmade as the trainees moved sleepily, readying themselves for a long day of training.