CHAPTER 23 — "THE GHOST OF THE GREEN TEAM"
"Not every soldier becomes a hero. Some, when confronted with darkness, don't fight… they surrender. And then they become part of it."
— Dylan Travers, internal report, March 2015
Langley, Virginia — March 20, 2015 | 6:08 AM | CIA Headquarters – Kaitlyn Meade's Office
The sun had barely peeked through the dense morning fog when Dylan Travers entered Kaitlyn Meade's office. She was at her desk, folders open, restricted access screen on and something in her expression worried Dylan. The tension in her jaw, the way she fidgeted with her fingers on the still-full coffee mug.
He went straight in.
— "You called me early. What happened?"
Kaitlyn didn't answer immediately. She held out a folder.
Dylan took it. He leafed through it. Images of crime scenes. Photos of bodies. Precise cuts. Violent apathy. A pattern emerged with each photo: methodical brutality.
— "Looks like the work of someone trained," Dylan said, turning to the next page.
— "Exactly," Kaitlyn replied, pacing around the table. "The FBI's BAU is investigating. Four bodies in three states. Short intervals. And now… a DNA match."
She stared at him.
— "One of the prime suspects is a name you might recognize. Petty Officer Declan Moore."
Dylan stood motionless for two seconds. Then looked up.
— "He shouldn't be free."
Kaitlyn nodded.
— "You kicked him off Green Team in 2007. Official record. I've accessed it. He almost killed a colleague during a CQB exercise. He locked the other operator's weapon and tried to fire. He only didn't succeed because you neutralized him on the spot."
Dylan remembered the scene. Vivid flashes. Declan screaming, foaming at the mouth like a cornered animal. And then, the silence as he was taken into custody.
— "I remember."
— "The name on the final report: 'Expelled for psychological instability and homicidal behavior.' Signed by Master Chief Petty Officer Dylan Travers."
Dylan closed the folder. He took a deep breath.
— "That stayed with me. I wondered what would happen to him… if the system would be able to hold him."
— "Apparently not. He disappeared from civil records in 2012. Since then, only light footprints: cheap hotels, sham jobs, fake tickets. But the BAU believes he's killing with military precision. And you're the only documented link to him."
Dylan looked at the horizon through the office window.
— "They want me to go to Quantico?"
— "Yes. Today. You're going to talk to the team. Help profile him. Maybe even serve as bait. They know you work with us, Dylan. Someone leaked the complete discharge sheet."
— "They know I'm from the CIA?"
— "They know you're a former DEVGRU agent, and currently work as a national security 'consultant.' Reid probably knows more. And Rossi has already read all the open reports."
Dylan closed the folder firmly.
— "Declan Moore isn't just a former soldier. He was a bomb waiting to detonate. And now it looks like it has exploded."
Quantico, Virginia — 10:31 AM | FBI Academy – Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU)
In the heart of the FBI Academy complex, on the reserved floor of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, seven people gathered around the oval table in the main room. The atmosphere was organized, functional, but charged with an invisible tension. The case they were investigating was already in its third state. Three men and one woman murdered, all with degrees of mutilation consistent with anatomical and tactical knowledge.
Aaron Hotchner, the team leader, paced in circles, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the photos on the board.
— "Each victim was neutralized with extreme precision. A blow to the trachea, then a surgical incision below the ribs. Quick, methodical, cold deaths."
David Rossi, experienced, observed the patterns.
— "It's not just method. It's doctrine. This is the work of a trained military man. Or a former operative with a control addiction."
Dr. Spencer Reid leafed through the dossier, speaking without raising his eyes.
— "The marks on the wrist indicate that the binding was done with a tactical double knot. Used in knife combat training in elite units. It's specific. It's not found on common criminals."
Jennifer Jareau (JJ) added:
— "All the victims had backgrounds in military academies or security companies. Declan Moore, the prime suspect, worked with at least two of them before disappearing off the radar."
Kate Callahan, new to the team, completed the train of thought:
— "Declan was expelled from Navy special forces training in 2007. Elite training. Green Team."
Garcia, on screen, interrupted:
— "And I dug deeper into the discharge record. I found the name of the person who signed off on his discharge. Guess what?"
Rossi looked at her.
— "Who?"
Garcia zoomed in on the screen.
— "Master Chief Dylan Travers. Former DEVGRU. One of the Navy's most decorated operators. Joined the CIA in 2011. And guess what? Still active. Currently listed as Senior consultant to the Directorate of Operations."
Hotchner frowned.
"Travers. The name circulates in confidential documents. I've seen him mentioned in joint actions with JSOC."
Reid, ever analytical, raised an eyebrow.
"If anyone knows Declan Moore intimately and knows what he's capable of that person is Travers."
Hotchner nodded.
"Then call him. Today. Before Declan strikes again."
Quantico – BAU | 2:18 PM
Dylan entered the conference room accompanied by an FBI agent. He was wearing a light jacket, jeans, and had a hard expression. As he entered, everyone in the room turned to look at him. There was something of presence in his posture. He wasn't imposing because of his height or tone of voice, but because of the clarity in his eyes.
Hotchner greeted him firmly.
"Dylan Travers. Thank you for coming."
"It wasn't a request. Kaitlyn was clear." Rossi approached and shook his hand.
"I read about you. Action in Abbottabad. Supervision in Fordow. Mission in the Tri-Border Area. Impressive."
Dylan smiled discreetly.
"These aren't public actions. But I understand that nothing stays hidden for long here."
Hotchner was direct:
"You trained Declan Moore."
Dylan nodded.
"During Green Team. He was technical. Impeccable physique. But from day one I saw something in his eyes. That… disconnect. As if he was testing the limits of what he could or couldn't do."
Reid listened attentively.
"How exactly was he expelled?"
"During a night exercise, Moore illegally disarmed a colleague. The other operator was knocked unconscious. He tried to simulate a shot with the weapon removed. He was neutralized by me. The report indicated uncontrolled behavioral disturbances and homicidal impulses." "I signed the report with a recommendation for immediate expulsion."
JJ crossed his arms.
"Do you think he held a grudge?"
"Moore doesn't operate out of resentment. He acts on… twisted logic. He believes the world is a test. And that he is the blade that must cut the weak."
Morgan, who had been silent until then, approached.
"Do you think he remembers you?"
Dylan answered without hesitation:
"He remembers. Absolutely."
Reid pointed to the timeline on the board:
"The next victim has a clear pattern. Moore follows connections. Everyone had some association with his trajectory: training, subsequent jobs, military circles."
Rossi added:
"That puts you on the list. At the top."
Dylan looked at everyone with a cutting calm:
"Then use me. Make him come to me."
Hotchner reflected.
"It might work." But we need to make sure that when he comes, you're ready."
Dylan replied:
"I always am."
CHAPTER 24 — "THE WAR DOG"
"Some men aren't made for the battlefield. But when they're raised on it, breathing gunpowder, sweat, and blood, they become something else. They become war dogs. And dogs, if let loose, bite again."
— Dylan Travers, confidential personal report, March 2015
Quantico, Virginia — March 24, 2015 | 2:18 AM | FBI Academy – BAU, Monitoring Room
The silence in the room was dense, heavy as smoke. All eyes were on the monitors. On them, black and white images transmitted from thermal cameras showed the surroundings of the "Red Pines" motel, a dilapidated building on the edge of Interstate 95, in an isolated stretch surrounded by sparse vegetation.
Dylan Travers stood, wearing a light vest under his black jacket, headphones tucked under his collar, and a Glock 19 in its concealed holster at his waist. Beside him, Aaron Hotchner, calm as always, held a clipboard with a map of the property and the teams' positions.
David Rossi, standing behind Spencer Reid's chair, observed the data as the young genius typed in geolocation patterns with the agility of someone who breathes algorithms.
Derek Morgan and JJ were already in the field, positioned on opposite sides of the motel. Kate Callahan covered the rear, ready with a compact rifle. And Penelope Garcia monitored everything from the base in real time.
"Moore is in room 107," said Reid. "Based on his movement pattern, he arrived six hours ago. He was only gone for twenty minutes. Apparently, he bought food and came back."
"Do you think he knows we're here?" asked Hotchner.
Dylan replied, without taking his eyes off the monitors:
"Moore always waits. He wants them to come after him. He thinks he's in control. But he's not."
Rossi looked at Travers with a veiled admiration.
"You talk about him like you talk about a renegade brother."
"Because I saw him before the fall. He was on the edge. One wrong step and he was gone."
Hotchner nodded.
"Dylan, you go to the door. It'll be visible on the cameras. If he reacts, the team goes in. But if he hesitates, we can convince him."
"He won't hesitate," Dylan said dryly. "But he'll want to look me in the eye. Just to be sure."
Hotchner said nothing. He just nodded. And the protocol began.
02:42h | Red Pines Motel – Outside corridor, block 100
Dylan walked slowly down the dirty concrete corridor. His footsteps echoed muffled. The night was cold, and the air smelled of mold and truck grease. He stopped in front of door 107.
For a few seconds, he didn't move. He just breathed. He remembered what Declan was. And what he had become.
He knocked.
Three times.
Silence.
Then, slow footsteps inside the room. The doorknob turned. The door opened just enough to reveal Declan Moore's face.
Longer hair. Deep dark circles under his eyes. A slight smile at the corner of his mouth. And eyes... the same eyes. Crazy. Alive. Fixed.
— "Travers," he said, in an almost affectionate tone. "I knew you'd come."
— "Declan," Dylan replied calmly. "It's over."
— "It's over?" Declan laughed. "Ah, Dylan… it ended when you kicked me out. This… this is just the epilogue."
Dylan kept his hands outstretched.
"You can still surrender. Walk out with dignity. You don't have to die here, in a roadside motel."
"You always talked about 'honor.' About 'discipline.' And look at you… now you're a lackey for the CIA, covering up dirty war in exchange for free coffee and pats on the back."
Dylan took a step.
"I'm not here for the agency. Not for justice. I'm here because you started killing people who just wanted to live."
Declan hesitated. His gaze hardened.
"They deserved it."
Dylan didn't back down.
"No. They just reminded you of what you couldn't be. And you hated them for it."
There was a long silence. Declan breathed heavily.
And then…
He took half a step forward. "Then finish me off. Like you should have done that night."
Dylan didn't move.
Morgan came up behind him, quick, efficient. He took Moore by surprise. He handcuffed him tightly, pressing him against the wall.
"Declan Moore," said Morgan, "you are under arrest for the murder of four American citizens, obstruction of justice, and for being a complete psychopath. Stay quiet and maybe you'll still be breathing tomorrow."
Moore looked over his shoulder as he was dragged away.
"You should have killed me, Travers. Now it's too late. For me… and for you."
Dylan just watched. Cold. Restrained.
Quantico – BAU | 5:21 AM
The team returned to headquarters. The preliminary interrogation confirmed details: Declan had confessed to the murders coldly, almost proudly. The pattern, the motivation, the targets. Everything made sense. And everything was sadder than anyone would like to admit.
In the BAU cafeteria, Dylan was having coffee with Hotchner and Rossi.
— "He mentioned your name seventeen times," said Hotchner. "Clearly, you were the pivot. What prevented him from falling sooner… and what he blamed when he fell."
— "It's hard to know when you're the anchor… or the rock that sinks the boat," Dylan replied, looking at the mug.
Rossi leaned back in his chair.
"You did what you could. He was already broken before he got to you."
Hotchner nodded.
"And thanks to you, no one else will die at his hands."
Dylan stood up, picked up his coat.
"Thank you, gentlemen. And thank you for the work you do here. Silent. Precise. Real."
Hotchner extended his hand.
"You were an exceptional operator, Travers. But today… you were more than that. You were human."
Dylan shook his hand.
"That's what I try to be. When I can."
Langley, Virginia — March 25 | 8:12 AM | CIA Headquarters – Kaitlyn Meade's Office
Dylan entered, still with the shadow of the case in his eyes. Kaitlyn awaited him with a discreet smile.
"You appeared in four paragraphs of the BAU report. And one of them is personally signed by Aaron Hotchner."
"They like me. Or they pity me. I don't know yet."
She smiled.
"The Director also read it. He said it was good to see someone with your profile collaborating with a civilian agency with such ease. He used the word… 'balance'."
Dylan sat down. Finally, relaxed.
"Declan was a monster. But he was a monster I knew. That makes everything more complicated."
Kaitlyn observed him for a moment.
"Do you think you could have saved him?"
"No. But I could have believed I could. And that hurts too."
She nodded.
— "You did what was necessary. And now… rest. For today. Go home. Mandy is waiting for you."
He stood up. He smiled with rare gentleness.
— "Yes. And today… I'm really going to turn off the phone."
Fairfax County – Travers House | 7:47 PM
Dylan arrived home, and Amanda was waiting for him at the door. No words were spoken. She simply hugged him. Tightly. Silently. Truly.
In the back of the house, the fireplace was lit. And the radio was playing Sinatra.
Dylan closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin and the sound of the right world.
The monster had been contained.
And the man… still resisted.
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