Retribution (Moonstruck Genesis #4)

Epilogue

RAIN FELL in silent sheets and low, scudding clouds wreathed the mountains, making the autumn foliage look like it was on fire. Mac and Sean huddled over a laptop while Liam played video games with Cody. Hannah and Annie cooed over the newest baby to join the pack. Little Sally Danielle kicked her feet and waved tiny fists at the women.

Sean’s fingers flew over the keyboard and windows popped up on the screen. Michael, Nate, Rudy, and Antoine. There were only six Wolves now and as each face appeared, concern mixed with the wear and tear of life on the run.

“We have news,” Mac said without preamble. “First order, head toward HQ.”

The men’s voices droned in the background. Annie caught Hannah’s gaze. “HQ?”

“Yeah. Seems the old post where the Sixty-ninth was originally based was a victim of brAC.” Annie’s puzzled look kept Hannah explaining. “Base Realignment and Closure Committee. They decide which military installations get to stay open. The Wolves were posted in western Virginia, in the Smokies. The place closed when we phased them out. It came up for sale at auction.”

“Convenient.”

“Very. It’s now owned by a non-profit foundation intent on preserving the area for local flora and fauna.”

Annie snorted as Hannah made a face. “Including wolves?”

“Yeah. Absolutely. In fact, the foundation may just reintroduce wolves to the area. We’ll regroup here, right under their noses until we can take care of business. That’s the reason for the conference call. The Wolves plan to end this bullshit, here and now.”

“MR. SECRETARY.”

“General. I do hope you have good news for me today.”

General Bradshaw didn’t sit, nor did he stand at attention. The Secretary of Homeland Security was a jackass, but he wielded all the power. At the moment. “I’m activating the Atlantis Protocols.”

Secretary Jarrett leaned back in his massive leather desk chair and folded his hands over his ample stomach. His gaze flicked to the other man in the room, lounging on the couch nearby, an Irish crystal tumbler in his hand. Three fingers of sixteen-year-old scotch swirled in the old fashioned bar glass.

“About damn time, Bradshaw. Do you have a lead on those motherfucking Wolves?”

“We suspect they’ve returned to their roots, Mr. Smith. I’m authorizing the Atlantis SEALs for a seek-and-destroy mission.”

“Will they follow orders?”

“Absolutely.”

“Get it done.”