The unbearable heat. The Cypriot sun seemed ready to melt even the worn walls and windows of the safe house, known as the “Doghouse.” An old ceiling fan hung from the ceiling, creaking and squeaking as it slowly turned, stirring only a lukewarm breeze. The team members sprawled loosely across the living room’s battered sofa. They had stripped off their jackets, beads of sweat glistening on their bare skin, casting vacant stares at the television blaring noisily in Greek. Men drained of energy, like broken toys. This brief rest until the next mission was like a drug, and everyone willingly sank into listlessness. The air inside the house was thick with a mix of choking cigarette smoke, the smell of damp dust, and the sweat of the men.

It was a madness-inducing heat, yet the Cypriot heat stole even the will to go mad. Bradley sat on the floor with a beer bottle clamped in his mouth, staring only at the inane TV program. An afternoon in which the entire team had been defeated by boredom and heat. That was when it happened. The front door opened with a soft creak. A few indifferent gazes turned toward it, then returned to the television screen as if nothing had occurred.