In two days, Owen would depart for Washington to assume command of the Rapid Response Team. Until then, he stayed home with his family.
The nature of the unit wasn't top-secret, and both his mother and Amanda had long since accepted the reality of Owen's life—always on the front lines. They simply urged him to stay safe. Owen had expected his mother to object, but to his surprise, she said nothing.
He gave Bryan a call, hoping to catch up. Unfortunately, Bryan was unavailable—soul singer Julia Andrews had recommended him to a celebrity friend embarking on a national tour.
Bryan had made quite a name for himself in the industry, thanks in part to Julia's backing and personal story. Many stars were now eager to work with him, and Owen was genuinely happy for him.
After Samuel and the others became private military contractors (PMCs), they handed off their celebrity bodyguard gigs to Bryan. But Bryan didn't want to grow too big—he stuck to personal protection work. That way, he only had to be busy in short bursts and could spend the rest of his time with Kim.
With Bryan out of town, Owen called Samuel and the rest. Ever since they'd built their PMC firm through military connections, they were thriving.
They'd secured plenty of contracts by working behind the military's operations and were making serious money. According to Samuel's bragging, he regularly played golf with senior Army brass and had excellent relationships at the top.
Owen also chatted briefly with Jim and Wright before hanging up. Nearly all his friends had unconventional jobs—it was genuinely hard to organize a meetup.
At dinner, Owen met with McCall again. He looked the same as ever: calm, composed, and scholarly. But their conversation was anything but academic. Owen knew McCall had once worked in black ops—though he didn't know the details, he was certain McCall had experience in the field.
"What do you think about the way we're building the team?"
Owen couldn't pass up the chance to pick the brain of an expert. He laid out all his thoughts, doubts, and ideas.
"From what you've told me," McCall said, "your Rapid Response Team is more like a streamlined special forces unit than an intelligence team. That's quite different from how the CIA typically operates. Most CIA field units are geared toward information gathering, so their team composition leans heavily on tech and logistics. Actual operatives are few, and firefights are rare.
"But your mission profile is clearly different. You're going to be fighting—probably a lot. Deep insertions into hostile territory, targeted captures of terrorist leaders... Urban warfare, wilderness ops—you'll need combat-ready, highly versatile operatives. You'll need designated marksmen. Snipers, too."
Owen nodded. McCall's assessment aligned perfectly with what he'd been realizing himself. At first, he'd envisioned building something like an Impossible Missions Force—all stealth and brains. But after two missions alongside the SEALs, he knew that wasn't viable.
The nature of their work often forced direct confrontations. Their operating style resembled special forces: precise, brutal strikes, then rapid exfiltration.
That was why Owen had tried to recruit members of SWAT. They were skilled, operated in sync, and most importantly, he already knew them inside and out—he had trained with them, fought with them, trusted them with his life. Their time together in Colombia had cemented that trust. They could be combat-effective immediately.
Unfortunately, everyone had their own path—and only Monica had agreed to join him. As for snipers, Owen had someone in mind: Swagger. The best sharpshooter he'd ever seen—bar none.
The only problem was Swagger's legal status.
"Oh, and there's one more thing…" McCall added suddenly.
Owen leaned in.
"Your team will likely operate overseas frequently. So, foreign language skills are a must. Every member of any serious special forces unit is fluent in at least two languages—and proficient in one."
Owen hadn't considered that. Realistically, it was a major issue. He barely spoke any French. Monica was the exception—she spoke several languages: German, French, Russian, Swedish. Her IQ nickname wasn't for nothing; she was a gifted learner. As for Heartbeat, Owen had no idea how many languages he knew.
"But that's easy to fix. You can run crash courses—hire a tutor. You don't need fluency, just functional conversation. With intensive training, an average person can master basic communication in a new language in about two weeks."
"Got it," Owen said, mentally noting the advice. Once back in D.C., he'd arrange for language instructors. Arabic would be a priority. The entire Middle East was a breeding ground for terrorism—they'd likely operate there often. Not knowing the language was a major disadvantage.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Just two more things: intelligence and logistics," McCall said.
"In warfare, it's all about intelligence. The more accurate your intel, the better your chances. Bad intel—or delayed intel—gets people killed. I'm sure you've experienced that already."
Owen nodded grimly. Their last operation, Scepter of Light, had gone smoothly—until they realized the VX nerve gas had already been moved. Thankfully, the Chechens hadn't known the Americans were coming. If they had set a trap instead, Owen's whole team might not have made it back.
"As for logistics," McCall continued, "I assume you'll be working with the military. The NSA and CIA both rely heavily on military assets. Only the armed forces have the global deployment capability you'll need."
Owen couldn't have agreed more. The U.S. military, with its worldwide carrier strike groups and E-2 Hawkeye AWACS, possessed a true "God's-eye view" during combat. The information disparity between them and their enemies was staggering.
Most of Owen's recent missions had involved military transport. Of the federal agencies, only the CIA maintained a fleet of planes capable of global ops.
The two men kept talking for hours. From the end of dinner until late into the evening, they sat on the terrace with tea in hand. Owen's mother and Amanda, knowing they were discussing serious matters, didn't disturb them.
Jack Bauer had given Owen total authority to build and lead the Rapid Response Team. But as a former team member, Owen had no real experience in command. He had no clear concept of what being a team leader truly entailed.
His conversation with McCall was like a revelation. Concepts that had once seemed fuzzy were now crystal clear. In terms of combat, Owen had maxed out his skill tree—but McCall had just schooled him in everything else.
Intelligence. Logistics. Weapons and tech. R&D. Personal skill sets. Team dynamics and psychological profiling. McCall spoke at length about all of it. Owen couldn't absorb everything at once—it felt like a crash course—but one thing was clear:
The old CIA veteran had real substance.
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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