Chapter Twenty-Four Tyler #4
I get affirmatives across the line just as my Alpha and Bravo teams begin to file out of the house and appear from around it, as Porter stalks up to me.
He shakes his head gravely when I see his mask is already off, thankful to see a majority of his ink is covered.
It’s then I know that he’s drawn the same conclusion.
I sink where I stand as we share a long look before he nods in defeat at the long road ahead of him. He knew better, but neither of us expected this. This time, I wasn’t a step ahead.
“Nest,” I warn over the line to Russell. “Eyes. They’re watching.”
“I don’t see anything,” Russell clips in frustration. “I’ve got everything we’ve fucking got on.”
“What about the red?” I ask about the infrared images we’ve seen for weeks, none of them sedentary. All three images had been moving around the house in typical living patterns.
“They just fucking blinked out,” Russell states.
“What?” Dread cloaks me as the sinking rock settles as a boulder in my gut.
“On it!” Russell snaps in frustration. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s being bested on the technological front.
He’ll get down to the bottom of why we’ve spent fucking weeks watching suspects in that house that weren’t, and aren’t, there.
The glaring truth that they have the technology to create such a ruse, the likes of which we haven’t seen from civilians, is telling enough.
“Eyes,” I demand again, feeling bested for the first time in years.
“I don’t see anything,” Russell repeats in exasperation.
Racking my brain for any clue as to how they’re watching us, I glance at the doorbell, which now lies on the ground. Face up, the eye of the camera still intact from the blast, and I see the light is on and recording. “Try ADT.”
“You’re joking,” Russell counters, incredulous that it could be a typical security system both identifying and lining us up like sitting ducks. “I killed everything before we went in.”
“Not this one.”
Russell curses before responding. “It’s off-grid, they either fucking piggybacked on a neighbor’s power line or it’s running on its own circuit, or the signal’s masked and bouncing through fake IPs and they spoofed it to look dead until we walked in.”
“It’s not dead now. Do it,” I snap, “and tell me what footage was captured.”
“Jesus Christ, I ran a full kill switch on the grid—they must have had a shadow circuit that’s military-grade or better.
In your pocket,” Russell sounds off as my phone buzzes.
I pull it out to view the footage he’s rapidly rewinding in real time, and I see that a few of my most trusted were easily identified by the indoor cameras after clearing the house and unmasking.
Their collective futures going up in flames before my eyes.
As of minutes ago, they’re of no use to us.
Porter’s face being the most prominent of them all.
Mind racing, I start to work this out, unrealizing I’m still on the wire. “The reds weren’t—” I begin.
“Real,” Russell growls. “No, man, they fed us loop for weeks, an inconsistent loop at that to make it convincing, but those heat signatures were fucking ghosts.”
The knowledge of how far they went to create this illusion has fury lighting the marrow in my bones. Weeks of planning an operation that now has the lives of my best men in unidentified enemy crosshairs.
After a brief exchange with Donovan, who I know will Q-tip every inch of the scene, and a futile fight with Sean running point on investigating with him, I quickly backtrack to the idling SUV.
With T and Cecelia tucked safely back inside, as soon as my door snaps closed, Clint slams the gas, getting into quick file with the others as we speed away.
Within seconds, I’m barking orders to get us free of the house and all eyes that could possibly be watching our retreat. After several long minutes of feeling my mangled heartbeat in my throat, I finally sit back, nowhere near relaxed but able to admit the truth.
“I fucked up again,” I exhale, pulling off my mask as T and Cecelia tense at my admission, both riding in the seat opposite me.
“How so, brother?” Tobias prods, lifting his chin in a consoling way. As if he can think his way out of this or provide a solution when I pose my question.
“If you’re the most wanted by the US government, and you’ve been leading them on a goose chase for over a fucking year, but they’ve somehow gotten too close for comfort, what’s your next step?”
Given that T has the same tactical education given by my general, it takes him less than thirty seconds to reply. “Identify your most capable potential threats and possible captors and eliminate them.”
I give him a solemn nod.
“Who did they get, Tyler?” he asks as Cecelia tenses next to him.
“Four of my very best dozen”—I wince at my next confession—“all of them inked.”
“Jesus Christ,” Tobias roars.
“A majority of their ink was covered, and for military brethren, similar markings and tattoos are common, so I’m not too worried they’ll connect those dots, but we’ll search every inch of the footage to see how incriminating what was visible is.
” Tension begins to mount in the cabin as I voice my frustration aloud.
“Fuck, that trap took us too many months to find, and I’m betting no one of importance was guarding that house.
” I nod back in the direction we fled from.
“My money is on they were sacrifices,” Tobias adds, “human fodder. Paid cash to guard the house until we got there. Untraceable.”
“If that’s true, it means we just murdered mall cops.” I grind my teeth. “Innocents.”
“Fuck knows how long they were watching it. We look like amateurs,” Tobias seethes. “So all we’ve gained tonight is four men with targets on their backs?”
“Four of the best soldiers in the world,” I state. “Irreplaceable.”
“Their point,” Tobias grits out, “I should have thought of it.”
“We all should have,” Cecelia interjects, “but now we know they’re on our board.”
“How so?” I ask.
“If they took the time to spoon-feed us suspects and wire that house, they didn’t set a trap simply to get their eyes on just anyone closing in from government agencies.
” Cecelia shakes her head. “They expected Donovan, it’s public knowledge he’s the director of the FBI.
So you’re right, they were looking specifically for who’s targeting them, and also judging our speed and competence.
Because at some point, we’ve gotten close. We just need to pinpoint who and when.”
It’s then that Larissa’s words traverse back to me.
“I’m here to warn you that you’re stirring a hornet’s nest whose full scope you can’t possibly know. You need to stop bragging about your accomplishments on air, because they’re searching for you, and it’s only a matter of time.”
Tobias reads my posture, and I know he’s drawing upon every part of our initial conversation about Larissa. His return gaze conveying the same damning conclusion as he speaks it.
“If she knows who they are—” His timbre says it all, as does his inability to get it out in one go. “If she’s fucking playing us, brother—”
“Let me talk to her,” Cecelia interjects, “one on one.”
“No,” I counter, “no, I’ll handle this,” I practically growl in response. Cecelia doesn’t shy away, but I know she’s not at all used to this side of me. Only garnering rare glimpses during our recent missions together.
“Give him a minute, Trésor,” Tobias murmurs reassuringly, and she nods for him, never taking her eyes off me. Her worry for me clear.
Thankfully, Clint catches my attention in the rearview and gives me a sharp nod.
Confirmation from his earpiece and own network that we’re safely out of harm’s way.
That my teams are clear for the moment as well.
Though I should be somewhat relieved, no part of me believes it.
My gut is telling me this is just the beginning, and I relay as much to T and Cee.
“This is different,” I tell them both before tapping my earpiece and biting out my defeated order.
“Scramble, and don’t stop until you’re fucking dizzy.
Hit your local fallout shelter with your closest until you hear word from me.
Everyone reports back to the nest the second they land. Nest, next channel.”
“Clear.” Russell confirms our conversation is private.
“Trace every single playback of that feed—”
“Already am, but it’s likely they have access to security headquarters—”
“Just do it,” I snap.
“On it,” he clips as I pull my earpiece out and toss it away in disgust.
“They’ll have already thought of it,” Tobias states. “A way to see us without giving away their own location.”
“Worth a shot,” I grumble, hating the notion our new opponents may be lightyears ahead.
“Tyler, you can’t possibly anticipate everything,” Cecelia tries to console, and I shake my head to silence her as we race through the night.
I should have known better. I should have.
If it was Larissa’s intent to distract me and divert my birds’ attention, then she accomplished her mission simply by showing up at my doorstep.
By sending me as the fucking fool to run her errand.
A bait and switch—using Ciro’s takedown as an excuse to get whatever real agenda she has underway.
To keep us distracted as she sets the table.
With a good majority of the intel she’s given thus far being confirmed—legitimate—it doesn’t make sense, but none of it has since the night she darkened my doorstep.
As I think it, I start to feel some real hatred for Larissa DiCicco.
And if she’s in on what went down tonight—in any fucking way—hers will be the head that rolls first.
Blink. Black.
“Men are so simple and so much inclined to obey immediate needs that a deceiver will never lack victims.”
—Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince