3. Rook #2
The photograph showed Tex’s daughter holding her enormous fish, her smile brighter than the lake behind her.
Rook looked at the message he had written on the back.
Your father talked about you during his final flight.
He couldn’t leave it here.
Rain would destroy it.
Someone might recognize his handwriting.
The wrong person might realize a survivor had attended the funeral.
He had promised Tex his daughter wouldn’t forget him.
He intended to keep that promise.
But he would have to find another way.
“I’m sorry,” Rook whispered.
His throat tightened.
“I should have brought you home.”
The rain answered.
“I should have brought all of you home.”
A hand closed around his shoulder.
Sniper.
Steady.
Silent.
Fathom stepped beside them.
Three survivors standing before six graves.
Rook reached into his other pocket.
His fingers closed around the silver coin.
The woman’s warning echoed inside his mind.
Stay dead.
He removed the coin and studied the sword with dark wings engraved on it.
Cold.
Heavy.
Real.
“So what now?” Sniper asked.
Rook looked down the row of graves.
Hammer.
Ghost.
Viking.
Tex.
Ridge.
Bishop.
Then he closed his hand around the coin.
The metal bit into his palm.
Pain.
Sharp.
Welcome.
“Now we become ghosts.”
Fathom studied him. “And then?”
“We find the man who did this.”
Sniper stepped forward.
“So do I.”
Fathom nodded. “Count me in.”
Rook looked at them.
He wouldn’t order either man to follow him.
They had already followed him into hell.
“If we do this, there’s no going back.”
Sniper’s expression didn’t change.
“We can’t tell anyone we survived. Not friends. Not family. Not even people we trust.”
“I know.”
“We won’t have careers. We won’t have official support. If we’re caught, the government will deny we exist.”
Fathom looked toward the six graves.
“They already do.”
Rook tightened his grip around the coin.
“We don’t know how high this goes.”
Sniper’s eyes hardened. “Then we keep climbing until we find the top.”
Three survivors.
Three brothers.
Three ghosts who had walked away from a mountain.
Rook faced the graves one final time.
Then he made a promise.
Not to himself.
To them.
“I swear I’ll find every person involved.”
The wind carried his words across the cemetery.
“And when I do…”
His voice turned cold.
“They’ll wish they buried me too.”
Thunder rolled across the sky.
None of them noticed the woman standing among the trees.
Black coat.
Black gloves.
Dark hair hidden beneath the hood.
Sarah watched the three men from a distance.
She hadn’t expected them to attend.
It had been reckless.
Dangerous.
Human.
Her gaze remained fixed on Rook.
He looked different standing among the graves.
In the hospital, he had been broken and unconscious, fighting enemies only he could see. She had known him by his record, his reputation, and the men who followed him into battle.
But she had never seen his grief.
Never seen the weight he carried for the dead.
Rook turned slightly.
Sarah stepped deeper into the shadows.
For one impossible second, his gaze traveled directly toward her.
He couldn’t see her from that distance.
She knew he couldn’t.
Still, something inside her went quiet.
Rook stared at the trees.
Watching.
Searching.
Sarah didn’t move.
Then his attention shifted toward the road.
A man was approaching the graves.
Captain Sam Cutter.
Retired Navy SEAL.
Former commander.
One of the few men Sarah believed Rook could trust.
She remained hidden as Cutter joined them.
The moment Rook turned away, Sarah disappeared into the rain.
Rook watched Sam Cutter approach.
The retired captain carried four cups of coffee in a cardboard tray and walked with the easy confidence of a man who had spent most of his life entering dangerous places.
Cutter had led teams before Rook earned his trident.
He had taught Rook how to recognize an ambush, how to survive a failed extraction, and how to carry the weight of command without letting it crush the men beneath him.
He was also supposed to believe Rook was dead.
Cutter stopped several feet away.
His gaze moved over Rook.
Then Sniper.
Then Fathom.
He showed no surprise.
Rook’s hand drifted beneath his coat.
“Easy,” Cutter said. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have brought coffee.”
Sniper studied the cardboard tray. “Could be poisoned.”
Cutter handed him a cup.
“Then yours definitely is.”
Sniper accepted it. “I always liked you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“True.”
Cutter gave the other cup to Fathom before extending one toward Rook.
Rook didn’t take it.
“How did you find us?”
Cutter’s humor disappeared.
“I didn’t.”
Rook waited.
“You contacted me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Not directly.” Cutter slowly reached into his coat and removed a folded piece of paper. “This was delivered to my boat two days ago.”
Rook accepted it.
Three words were printed in the center.
THEY NEED YOU.
Beneath the message was the date and location of the funerals.
A silver sword had been drawn at the bottom.
The same sword engraved on the coin inside Rook’s pocket.
“She contacted you,” Rook said.
“If she is the person who sent that, then yes.”
“You don’t know who she is?”
“No.”
“Why did you come?”
Cutter looked toward the six graves.
“Because if there was even a chance one of you survived, I had to know.”
His eyes returned to Rook.
“And because I never believed that mountain was an accident.”
Rook finally accepted the coffee.
It was hot.
Black.
Exactly the way he drank it.
He glanced at the silver sword drawn on the paper.
The woman knew that too.
“What do you know about the mission?” he asked.
“Only what the official report says.”
“Intercepted communications.”
Cutter’s expression hardened. “Bullshit.”
“That was our conclusion.”
“Nine men don’t walk into a trap that precise because somebody overheard a radio call. They knew your route, your target, your timing, and your extraction point.”
Rook studied him. “You’ve been investigating.”
“I’ve been asking questions.”
“And?”
“People stopped answering.”
Cutter took a drink of coffee.
“Then two of them disappeared.”
The rain seemed colder.
“Who?”
“An intelligence analyst in Virginia and a communications officer stationed in Germany.”
Fathom stepped closer. “Names?”
“I’ll give you everything I have.”
“Why?”
Cutter looked offended by the question.
“Six of my brothers are in the ground.”
His gaze moved across the graves.
“Three more are being hunted.”
He looked back at Rook.
“Why the hell wouldn’t I help?”
Rook had trusted Cutter with his life more times than he could count.
But trust had led nine men onto that mountain.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
“If you help us, you become a target.”
“I’ve been a target before.”
“This is different.”
“It’s always different until the bullets start flying.”
Rook almost smiled.
Almost.
“What are you offering?”
“I own a harbor in Alaska.”
Sniper blinked. “A harbor?”
“Most people buy a fishing boat when they retire,” Cutter said. “I’ve never been most people.”
That was true.
“The harbor is outside a small town,” Cutter continued. “Quiet. Isolated. Mostly fishing boats and repair docks. I have an old warehouse at the far end of the property.”
“How old?” Fathom asked.
“Old enough that the original blueprints were drawn by hand.”
“Security?”
“None yet.”
“Utilities?”
“Enough.”
“Internet?”
Cutter looked at him. “It’s Alaska, not the moon.”
Fathom considered that. “Debatable.”
For the first time since the funeral began, a genuine smile almost reached Rook’s face.
Cutter nodded toward the graves.
“You boys need somewhere nobody will ask questions. Somewhere you can disappear while you figure out who betrayed you.”
“And you think Alaska is that place?”
“My harbor is quiet.”
Cutter’s expression grew serious.
“Hidden.”
“Forgotten.”
He looked directly at Rook.
“Perfect for ghosts.”
Rook glanced at Sniper.
Then Fathom.
Neither man hesitated.
“When can we leave?” Rook asked.
“Plane’s waiting.”
Rook looked down at Tex’s photograph.
He still had a promise to keep.
Cutter noticed.
“What is it?”
Rook turned the picture over and showed him the message.
“I promised Tex his daughter wouldn’t forget him.”
Cutter read the words.
His jaw tightened.
“I can get it to her.”
Rook searched his face.
“No one can know where it came from.”
“No one will.”
“Not even her mother.”
Cutter carefully took the photograph.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Rook released it reluctantly.
It felt like surrendering the last piece of Tex he had left.
Cutter slipped the photograph inside his coat, protecting it from the rain.
Rook faced the graves one final time.
Six brothers.
Six promises.
Six reasons to survive.
Then he turned away.
Sniper and Fathom walked beside him.
Cutter followed.
Four men disappeared into the rain.
By nightfall, James Callahan would no longer exist.
Rook would take his place.
And somewhere in Alaska, Shadow Division would begin.