Code Name: Admiral (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) (K19 Sentinel Cyber #1)

10. Admiral

10

ADMIRAL

“ M otherfucker,” I spat when I opened the door to the bathroom I’d expected to find empty and did. “She’s gone,” I said through the comms. “I don’t care what you have to do to make it happen. I want Alice Gordon found.” The words tasted like ash in my mouth. Alive, I added in my head, not daring to tempt fate by uttering it out loud.

“She left through the window,” I said when Tank stood near the bathroom door. His usual stoic expression cracked slightly at the edges. “Who’s your best rappeller?”

“Atticus,” he responded without hesitation. He stuck his head out the window. “She could’ve gone endless directions from here.”

Based solely on my experience with her earlier in the day, I agreed. She’d admitted to mapping out more than one escape route from a building she appeared to know every nook and cranny of. The realization that she’d probably planned this from the moment she let me in nearly leveled me.

“Pull every piece of surveillance, security, and CCTV footage you can find.”

“Already on it,” Tank responded. His fingers flew across his tablet, coordinating with our tech team.

“What about these?” I asked, motioning to her multiple monitors and computers. The screens still held a faint warmth, mocking me with their blank faces.

“Unresponsive,” said Blackjack. “Dead to our world anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “She knew exactly what she was doing. Military-grade wipe, if I had to guess.”

Which meant even the best of our tech team wouldn’t be able to power them up, and even if by some miracle they were successful, I had no doubt he was right; they’d be blank bricks. The thought of how methodically she’d planned this made my chest ache.

I raised my head when Grit walked in the door of the apartment, then glared at Tank for not alerting me he’d arrived. The old floorboards creaked under my boss’ heavy tread, a sound that seemed to emphasize the emptiness of the space.

“Don’t blame him,” my boss said, walking over and squeezing my shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding. I hated how easily the man could read me after only months of working together.

I was sure he already suspected I’d developed feelings for Alice Gordon, sister of the victim whose death I was supposed to be investigating. The knowledge sat like lead in my gut. Instead, I’d taken an unauthorized path, turning the assignment into one where my main objective was keeping Alice alive.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, motioning to one of two chairs positioned near the computers. The leather creaked as we sat, another sound that seemed too loud in the tense atmosphere.

My recounting began when I exited my apartment this morning and ended with my discovery of the empty bathroom. Rather than try to conceal the connection Alice and I had made while in her sister’s apartment, I didn’t leave out a single detail. My voice remained steady, professional, even as each word felt like it was being dragged across broken glass.

“She’ll try to lure Bobby Kane out,” said Grit. His eyes, sharp as ever, studied my face as he spoke.

I nodded. “She plans to kill him.”

Grit leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I fear she won’t stop there.” His weathered face showed the same concern I felt gnawing at my insides.

“Unless they take her out first.” My stomach, along with every other muscle in my body, clenched. The image of Alice lying broken and bloody flashed unbidden through my mind.

“The inurnment of Sarah’s ashes is scheduled two days from now at fifteen hundred hours,” said Tank, looking at his mobile.

“Where?” Grit asked.

“Saint Ambrose Cemetery. It’s between East 47th and 48th, near Lexington.” Tank’s finger traced something on his screen. “Security’s minimal. It’s an old place.”

“It’s where Sarah and Alice’s parents were inurned,” said Blackjack, also reading something on his phone. “Died in a car crash six years ago. Alice was the one who arranged everything.”

I’d known when they’d died, but that Alice had made the arrangements rather than Sarah, who was older by five years, surprised me. I was quickly learning that nothing should when it came to Alice Gordon.

While I could hear every word being spoken, my mind kept returning to what Tank had said. Two days from now. Two days. The numbers echoed in my head like a countdown. Even if we searched every square foot of the city—something that would be impossible even with a team numbering in the hundreds—I knew deep inside that we wouldn’t find Alice until she was ready to surface. She was too good, too prepared, too driven by grief and rage to slip up now. My next question was how in the hell I’d be able to function until then. The weight of failure—both professional and personal—settled over me like a shroud.

“Take a walk with me.” Grit’s words left no room for argument.

I stood, looking around the apartment, searching for some reason I could say no. I saw nothing. We were on the elevator before either of us spoke again.

“Thermite, huh?” he said, shaking his head.

“I’d say it’s a miracle the whole building didn’t implode, but I know better. She knows better.”

“I’m going to make a suggestion?—”

“No.”

Grit raised a brow.

“If you want me off this case, you’ll have to fire me.”

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and I followed him out to the street.

“If it was one of your people, you’d suggest the same thing.”

“What I’d do with someone else has no bearing on what I intend to do myself.”

“And if I pull rank?”

I stopped walking. “I already told you. You’ll have to fire me.”

“She’s dangerous.”

I shook my head. “She’s broken.”

Grit studied me. “Are you the man to put her back together?”

“If she’ll let me.” I shook my head a second time. “Scratch that. My answer is yes.”

“You’re this certain after what? A few hours?”

“Hell yeah, he is.” I felt my best friend’s presence before I registered his words. “How ya doin’, Admiral?” Diesel asked.

“Better now that you’re here,” I admitted.

“How are you, Deez?” Grit asked, extending his hand.

“Happy to be alive. How about you?”

Grit chuckled. “Dealing with an HR issue presently.”

“Good luck with that,” he responded, looking over at me. “Doc and Merrigan Butler told me to assure you their offer of a position with K19 Security Solutions remains wide open.”

“Fucking Doc,” Grit muttered under his breath. “He won’t stop until he’s drained the bureau of our best agents.”

“They won’t stop there,” said Diesel. “There’s hardly anyone left at the agency. At least anyone worth mentioning.” His eyes scrunched at the man, who, for now at least, was still my boss. “I’m sure they’d be happy if you made the leap too.”

Grit poked my chest with his finger. “He goes, I might follow.”

If it was their intention to distract me, they were doing a good job of it. I checked the time. Forty-seven hours and fifteen minutes more of this, and I just might make it with my sanity intact.

“We need to talk strategy,” Grit said, his tone shifting back to business. “The cemetery service will be our best shot at containing this situation.”

I nodded, though “containing” felt like the wrong word. Alice wasn’t some threat to be neutralized—she was a wounded soul acting out of raw pain and a desperate need for justice. Or revenge. Sometimes, the line between the two blurred until they became indistinguishable.

“I want surveillance teams in place the morning of the service,” I said once the three of us had returned to Alice’s apartment. “Full coverage of every approach and exit point.”

“What about coordinating with the NYPD?” Tank asked, his fingers moving across his tablet. “We could arrange for plainclothes officers to supplement our teams.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I’d intended. “Keep this in-house. The fewer people who know about this, the better.”

“Do you think there are leaks coming out of the PD?” Grit asked.

“I think the Castellanos have their hooks in deeper than we know.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Bobby didn’t get where he is without protection from somewhere.”

The implications hung heavy in the air. If there were corrupt cops working with the family, bringing in the NYPD could compromise everything. Worse, it could get Alice killed.

“What about the cousin angle?” Diesel asked quietly.

I felt my jaw clench. “What about it?”

“Can you intervene?”

I shook my head. “If intervention were a viable option, we would’ve prevented all this from happening years ago. Everyone in our family tried to stop the train wreck my cousin became.”

He nodded. “You really think he’ll show up to his victim’s service?”

“He’ll be there.” The certainty in my voice surprised even me. “He’ll want to make sure she’s really gone.”

And Alice knew it too. That’s why she’d arranged this—creating an opportunity too tempting for Bobby to pass up. She was setting a trap, using herself as bait.

“We need to get ahead of this,” I said, my mind already racing through scenarios. “Tank, I want detailed schematics of the cemetery and surrounding buildings. Sight lines, access points, everything.”

“On it.”

“Blackjack, run background on every employee at Saint Ambrose. Anyone who might have access during or before the service.”

He nodded and moved away, already on his phone.

“What about me?” Diesel asked.

I met his eyes. “I need you to do what you do best. Watch my back when I’m watching hers.”

A slight smile touched his lips. “Always do, brother.”

Grit cleared his throat. “And what exactly will you be doing?”

“What I have to.” I checked my watch again. Forty-seven hours and counting. “She’s out there somewhere, planning her next move.”

“Can you predict what she’ll do?” Grit’s tone carried a note of skepticism.

“No.” I smiled grimly. “But I can think like her. She’s methodical, precise. She’ll have backup plans for her backup plans. The question isn’t whether she’ll show up at the service; it’s how many different escape routes she’s already mapped out.”

“And Bobby?”

My smile faded. “If he shows, we take him. Clean and by the book.”

“Before Alice can get to him,” I added silently. Because if she reached him first, there wouldn’t be anything but a body left for us to arrest.

“I want eyes on every known Castellano associate,” I continued. “If Bobby’s planning to attend, he’ll need to coordinate with someone. Maybe we get lucky and catch a break.” I turned to Grit. “What about informants? We’ve got to have someone inside.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“This is an area we might have luck with the NYPD,” Tank pressed.

“Do you know someone you can trust?”

“Affirmative.”

My eyes scrunched, and I studied him. “Whose life?”

“Come again?” he asked.

“Whose life do you trust him with?”

“Hers and my own.”

“You better be damned sure of this,” I warned.

“I am.”

My eyes met Diesel’s, and he nodded. While Tank was under contract with the FBI, he was employed by Doc and Merrigan Butler, the same as Diesel was. Which reminded me of something. Later, when I knew Alice was safe and Bobby was in custody, I’d find out exactly why the Butlers had agreed to allow two of their best operatives to work with me at the bureau. They had to have a reason a helluva lot more compelling than helping me.

I turned to Tank. “Okay. See what you can find out.”

When he walked away, I looked at Grit. “Once we get beyond whatever’s about to go down at the cemetery, I need my own escape plan.”

“Meaning?” he asked.

“I’ll need to get Alice out of there.” My eyes met Diesel’s, and based on his expression, he knew where I had in mind.

“Either of you want to fill me in?” Grit asked, looking between us.

“K19 Shadow Ops’ HQ is in the Adirondacks,” Diesel answered before I could. “It would make sense, given we’ve already got a crew there.”

“How many?” Grit asked.

Diesel shrugged. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Four or five extra guns should be sufficient.”

“On it,” Grit said, walking away.

“Thanks, man,” I said to Diesel.

“Of course. So, what’s next?”

I hung my head. “I don’t know. We’ve got a ticking clock and a woman with nothing left to lose.”

“Except you,” Diesel said quietly.

I shot him a look.

“Don’t kid yourself, Admiral. She felt it too. Whatever this thing is between you—it’s real.”

I wanted to argue, to maintain some pretense of professional distance. But the words wouldn’t come. Because he was right. In the brief time I’d known her, Alice Gordon had gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever had. And now, she was out there, alone, planning what could only be described as a suicide mission.

I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.

“Forty-seven hours,” I said, more to myself than the others. “Let’s make them count.”