10. Fall Back Position
10
FALL BACK POSITION
Ronan kept them moving through the mall’s service corridors, his mind mapping exit routes while cataloging threats. Through the walls, they could hear the controlled chaos of first responders—radio chatter, boots on tile, the clipped tones of officers establishing a perimeter around their recent battle zone.
Maya moved well for someone without his training—staying low, checking corners, maintaining spacing. But she kept leading with her left, favoring the shoulder that had taken that hit back in the corridor. That’d get her killed if they ran into another team.
He caught Axel’s eye, got a slight nod. His partner had noticed too.
They paused at a junction as a pair of uniforms hustled past the corridor entrance, weapons drawn. The local PD’s response time was better than expected. They’d have the main concourse locked down by now, probably reviewing security footage.
“We need resources,” Axel said quietly. “Intelligence. Transport.”
“The library branch,” Maya whispered. “It’s why I came here. I can access federal databases, check our options.” She hesitated. “But we’ll have to circle around. That section of the mall will be crawling with cops.”
Ronan didn’t like it. Going back inside meant limiting their escape routes, exposing themselves to security cameras, civilian witnesses. And now they’d have to evade both tactical teams and local law enforcement. But they needed intel.
“Two minutes,” he conceded. “We’ll use the service tunnel that runs behind the old department store. Axel, watch our six. Those cops are going to expand their search pattern soon.”
They ghosted through the maintenance tunnels, pausing whenever voices echoed too close. Above them, the mall’s PA system crackled to life, announcing the facility would be temporarily closed due to a “security incident.” That would clear most civilians, but it also meant every remaining person would be either law enforcement or hostile.
The library entrance was down a secondary corridor, past the defunct fountain. An elderly couple power-walking the perimeter stopped mid-stride as mall security directed them toward the exits. Each shuffling step sounded like a countdown timer.
“Hold,” Ronan whispered, pulling Maya back as two officers swept past, checking shop entrances. Through the glass walls of the library, he could see a drowsy clerk gathering her things, responding to the evacuation order.
They waited until she left, then slipped inside. Maya went straight to a computer station, and logged into the secure federal systems she could access.
“Knight Tactical,” Axel whispered, positioned where he could watch both entrance and escalator. “We gotta contact them. They’ve got resources, international reach, specialized extraction teams?—”
“No.” The word came out harder than Ronan intended.
“Found them,” Maya interrupted, scanning through database entries. Her eyebrows rose. “Multiple government contracts ... specialized training programs ... Your brother’s outfit is serious business.”
“He’s not my brother. I mean, he is technically, but?—”
“Did you know they just pulled off that impossible hostage situation in Buenos Aires?” Axel interrupted. “Full tactical support, clean exfil, zero civilian casualties?—”
“Enough.” Ronan stepped closer to his partner. “Since when are you such an expert on Murphy’s company?”
Another radio squawked nearby. Maya tensed, but kept typing.
“Did my homework after Buenos Aires hit the news,” Axel said, adjusting his position to better cover the entrance. “They’re impressive, Ro. And we need help.”
Maya kept scrolling. “They’ve got better resources than most federal agencies. Why wouldn’t we contact them?”
“The lady’s right. You got a better plan?” Axel pressed. “Because right now we’ve got no resources, no backup, and a federal agent with a target on her back. Plus about fifty cops who’d love to question us about those unconscious operators downstairs.”
Ronan turned away, running tactical scenarios that all led to the same conclusion. They needed help. Real help. The kind that came with clean paperwork and official credentials, not the under-the-table favors he usually traded in.
“Fine.” The word tasted like ash. “I’ll make the call.”
But when he turned back, Maya was already typing into the secure contact form on Knight Tactical’s government portal.
“She moved fast while you were brooding,” Axel said. “Already reaching out to them.”
Ronan stared at the computer screen, remembering those long nights flying questionable cargo across borders. He’d thought that was rock bottom. Now he was facing both Maya’s independent streak and having to work with Christian Murphy.
“You know what the worst part is?” he said finally.
“That you’re being a dramatic child about working with your brother?”
“Half-brother. And no.” Ronan checked his weapon, an old habit when stressed. “The worst part is you’re actually excited about this.”
“Did you know they have their own tactical training facility in Dubai?”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, partner.” Axel grinned, then tensed as footsteps approached. “Now let’s get our fed out of here before her login attracts the wrong kind of attention. Or before those cops decide to check the library.”
Ronan’s phone vibrated. He checked the display, jaw tightening. “It’s him. My b—” He caught himself. “It’s Murphy.”
“So answer it. Duh.” Axel kept watch on the entrance.
Ronan connected. “Murphy.”
“Status?” Christian’s voice was pure operator.
“Mobile. Three-man element. One minor injury.”
“Threat assessment?”
“Multiple hostiles. Professional. Agency-grade gear and training.”
A pause. “Golden State Bank building. It’s five clicks from your present position. Be there at thirteen hundred.”
“What, we making a withdrawal?”
“You’re getting on a helo.” The line went dead.
Ronan stared at his phone. No questions about why his half-brother, a virtual stranger, suddenly needed an extraction. Just coordinates and a timeline, delivered in the clipped cadence of a SEAL commander.
“Well?” Maya asked.
“We’ve got a ride.” Ronan checked his watch. Four hours to make it across town without getting caught by local LEOs or whoever had sent that tactical team. And then ... he’d have to face Christian Murphy.
He’d fought his way out of hot zones on three continents, survived two helicopter crashes, and spent a couple years now flying rust buckets for operators who made cartels look legitimate. But somehow, this felt worse.
What had he gotten himself into?