7. Rook
ROOK
Orange fire still lit the sky behind them.
Even from three blocks away, Rook could see the glow reflecting against the windows.
Sirens echoed through Anchorage.
Police.
Fire crews.
Ambulances.
The diner parking lot they had left behind had become a sea of flashing lights.
People crowded the sidewalks.
Pointing.
Filming.
Talking.
Nobody knew a truck bomb had nearly killed two Navy SEALs officially listed as dead.
Rook grabbed Sniper’s sleeve.
“We need to move.”
Sniper glanced back once.
The burning wreckage reflected in his eyes.
Then he nodded.
Neither man looked back again.
They moved through a narrow alley and crossed behind a row of closed businesses. Rain soaked Rook’s clothing and ran into his eyes.
His shoulder throbbed from hitting the pavement.
A burn stretched along his forearm where a piece of heated metal had grazed him.
He ignored both.
They had survived.
That was enough for now.
A dark SUV turned into the alley ahead.
Its headlights flashed twice.
Reef.
Rook and Sniper hurried toward it.
The rear door opened before the vehicle stopped moving.
“Get in,” Reef ordered.
Rook climbed inside.
Sniper followed and slammed the door.
Shawn “Falcon” Miller sat behind the wheel.
Former Navy SEAL.
Former member of Rook’s team.
“Damn, it’s good to see you.”
Sniper and Rook gave Falcon a man-hug as best they could, being in a vehicle.
The second man cleared by Fathom and brought into Shadow Division.
Falcon looked at them through the rearview mirror.
“You two look terrible.”
Sniper leaned his head against the seat.
“Apparently, everyone feels entitled to tell us that.”
Reef turned around from the front passenger seat.
His gaze moved over Rook’s burned sleeve, then Sniper’s bleeding temple.
“How bad?”
“We’re walking,” Rook said.
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
Falcon accelerated out of the alley.
In the distance, emergency vehicles raced toward the diner.
“Anyone follow you?” Rook asked.
“Not yet,” Falcon answered.
“Take the secondary route. Change vehicles before we leave Anchorage.”
“Already arranged.”
Falcon made two quick turns before entering an underground parking structure beneath a closed office building.
A gray utility van waited near the rear exit.
Its side displayed the logo of a plumbing company that didn’t exist.
They abandoned the SUV and transferred into the van.
Reef removed a medical kit from beneath the rear seat.
“Give me your arm.”
“It’s fine.”
“Excellent. Then you won’t complain while I treat it.”
Rook held out his arm.
The fabric had melted against the edge of the burn.
Reef cut the sleeve away, cleaned the injury, and covered it with a sterile dressing.
Sniper touched the cut above his eyebrow.
“Do I get one?”
Reef handed him a bandage.
Sniper stared at it. “That’s it?”
“You’re not pretty enough to save.”
Falcon started the van.
For one second, no one spoke.
Then Sniper laughed.
A real laugh.
Short.
Unexpected.
Painful.
Rook felt something loosen inside his chest.
Those voices belonged together.
They reminded him of the team before the mountain.
Before six photographs replaced six men.
The feeling disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
They weren’t rebuilding what had been lost.
Nothing could do that.
They were creating something new.
Something the people behind the mountain wouldn’t understand until it was too late.
The warehouse door closed behind them nearly two hours later.
Fathom came down the stairs before Rook removed his wet jacket.
One look at them told him enough.
“What happened?”
“Remote-detonated explosive beneath the truck,” Rook said. “Placed while Sniper was inside the diner.”
“How did they know which vehicle was yours?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Fathom looked at the dressing on Rook’s arm.
“How bad?”
“Minor.”
“And Sniper?”
“Tragically, still alive,” Reef answered.
Sniper dropped into a chair. “Nobody appreciates me.”
Falcon locked the warehouse door behind them and activated the security system.
Fathom’s attention returned to Rook.
“The woman warned you?”
“Seconds before the explosion.”
“Then she was watching whoever planted it.”
“Or whoever triggered it.”
Rook removed his damaged phone and placed it on the table.
The screen had cracked, but the messages remained visible.
THEY FOUND YOU.
BOMB UNDER TRUCK.
DO NOT START THE ENGINE.
Fathom picked up the phone.
“I’ll see if I can trace the sender.”
“You won’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because one day she might make a mistake.”
Rook thought about the woman looking directly into a hidden government camera.
“Don’t count on it.”
Fathom connected the phone to an isolated computer.
Lines of information appeared.
Reef walked to the coffee pot, looked inside, and recoiled.
“How old is this?”
“I made it this morning,” Fathom said.
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Rook stepped beside the central table.
“Start at the beginning. How did they arrange the meeting?”
“The first message entered through one of the channels we’ve been using to contact former intelligence personnel.”
“Was the channel compromised?”
“It is now.”
“Before tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer bothered Fathom more than anyone.
He trusted systems because systems followed rules.
Someone had found a way around his.
“The supposed source claimed to have information about Walter Graves,” Fathom continued. “Specifically, the authorization used to access your mission package.”
“They knew exactly what lead would get us out of the warehouse,” Sniper said.
Rook nodded.
The meeting hadn’t been hastily arranged.
Someone had studied their investigation.
Their priorities.
Their weaknesses.
“They didn’t find us by accident,” Rook said. “They knew what we were looking for and used it against us.”
Falcon leaned against the table.
“Does that mean they know about the warehouse?”
“No,” Rook answered. “If they knew this location, they wouldn’t need to lure us to Anchorage.”
The distinction mattered.
The enemy had found a way into their investigation.
They hadn’t found their headquarters.
Not yet.
Fathom pulled up the traffic camera recording near the diner.
A black sedan appeared across the highway moments before the explosion.
“Is that them?” he asked.
Rook studied the image.
“The passenger had something in his hand when the truck detonated.”
Fathom advanced the footage frame by frame.
The sedan’s license plate came into view.
He enlarged it.
“Alaska plate.”
“Stolen?” Reef asked.
“Probably.”
“Run it.”
“I already am.”
A result appeared seconds later.
The plate belonged to a blue station wagon registered to a retired teacher in Fairbanks.
Fathom searched the surrounding cameras.
The black sedan traveled east for four blocks before entering a parking garage.
It never exited.
Falcon studied the footage. “Vehicle switch.”
Fathom accessed the garage cameras.
Nothing.
Every camera had stopped recording six minutes before the sedan arrived.
“They planned the escape route,” Rook said.
“And they had access to the city camera network,” Fathom added.
Reef folded his arms.
“That sounds like government resources.”
“Or someone who knows how to imitate them.”
Fathom brought up another image.
A man stood beside the sedan near the diner.
Rain and distance concealed most of his face.
But the camera captured a small emblem on the collar of his jacket.
A black circle crossed by a single white line.
Rook moved closer.
“Do you recognize it?”
Fathom searched the image.
“No military match. No intelligence insignia. No known security company.”
“Then find out what it means.”
“I’m trying.”
Rook looked toward the seven suspects displayed on the far wall.
One of them had realized Shadow Division was getting close.
Or someone outside the seven had.
Either way, the investigation was working.
People didn’t plant truck bombs to protect worthless information.
They did it when someone threatened the truth.
The side entrance opened.
Weapons appeared throughout the warehouse.
Rook’s pistol came up.
Falcon moved toward the nearest cover.
Sniper rose from the chair despite the blood running down his temple.
Two men entered with their hands visible.
Dean “Maverick” Johnson came first.
Scott “Shark” Cooper followed.
Both had served under Rook before leaving the Navy the previous year.
Both had fought beside the six men buried at Arlington.
Maverick looked much the same as Rook remembered him.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
A permanent glint of trouble in his eyes.
Shark was quieter. Harder. The kind of man who could stand motionless in a crowded room and still know where every exit was.
Reef stepped forward.
“They’re clear.”
Rook didn’t lower his weapon.
“Fathom?”
Fathom glanced at his monitor.
“Travel history checks out. No unexplained deposits. No contact with anyone on our list. Both men followed the routes Reef provided and changed vehicles twice.”
“Three times,” Shark corrected.
Fathom looked at him.
“The motorcycle?”
“You missed that?”
A dangerous silence followed.
Sniper winced. “Now he’ll be awake for a week.”
Fathom returned to his computer.
“I’ll find it.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Only then did Rook lower his pistol.
Falcon’s attention moved toward the memorial table.
His faint smile vanished.
Shark stopped beside him.
Neither man spoke as they approached the six photographs.
Maverick touched Bishop’s challenge coin.
“He taught me how to shoot.”
Sniper wiped blood from his eyebrow. “Bishop taught everybody how to shoot.”
“No. He taught everybody else.” Maverick glanced at them. “He tried to teach you.”
Sniper almost smiled.
Shark looked at Ghost’s photograph.
“Ghost saved my life in Yemen.”
“He saved all of us at least once,” Rook said.
Shark nodded.
His gaze shifted to Tex and his daughter.
“He should be here.”
“They all should,” Rook answered.
Silence settled across the warehouse.
Finally, Maverick looked toward the burned fabric hanging from Rook’s sleeve.
“What happened?”
“Truck bomb,” Reef told him.
Maverick’s eyebrows rose.
“How close?”
“Seconds,” Sniper said.
Shark’s expression hardened. “Who warned you?”
Rook removed the silver sword coin from his pocket and placed it on the table.
Neither newcomer appeared surprised.
“You received one,” Rook said.
It wasn’t a question.
Maverick reached beneath his jacket and removed an identical coin.
Shark did the same.
They placed both beside Rook’s.
Three silver swords gleamed beneath the overhead lights.
“She sent you here,” Rook said.
“So it’s a woman. She sent coordinates,” Shark replied.
“And copies of the casualty report,” Maverick added. “Including sections that weren’t in the report released to the families.”
“What sections?”
“Recovery times. Missing drone footage. The order to end the search.”
Rook’s jaw tightened.
The woman knew more than she had revealed.
Much more.
“Why did you come?” he asked.
Maverick looked toward the memorial table.
“For them.”
Shark met Rook’s eyes.
“And because if someone inside our government arranged that ambush, they won’t stop with one team.”
That was the right answer.
Not revenge alone.
Prevention.
Whoever had constructed the network was still operating. Still moving weapons. Still sacrificing lives to protect powerful people.
The mountain wouldn’t be the last grave they built.
Not unless Shadow Division stopped them.
“If you join us, you disappear,” Rook warned. “You follow my orders. You tell no one we survived. No family, friends, or former teammates. You become Shadow Division.”
Maverick nodded.
Shark didn’t hesitate.
“If anyone inside this warehouse compromises the team,” Rook continued, “I remove them.”
“Understood,” Shark said.
Maverick extended his hand.
“When do we start?”
Rook looked around the warehouse.
Sniper.
Fathom.
Reef.
Falcon.
Maverick.
Shark.
Seven men now.
Seven operators.
Seven ghosts.
Cobra was still being investigated. Until Fathom completed the background check, he would remain out of the circle.
Rook clasped Maverick’s hand.
“Right now.”
A notification sounded from Fathom’s workstation.
Everyone turned.
Fathom stared at the isolated computer attached to Rook’s phone.
“What?” Rook asked.
“She answered.”
Rook crossed the warehouse.
A new message filled the screen.
THE WAREHOUSE IS STILL SAFE.
Several men glanced toward the walls.
A second message appeared.
THE MEETING WAS COMPROMISED FROM INSIDE THE GOVERNMENT.
Then a third.
ONE OF THE SEVEN KNOWS YOU SURVIVED.
Rook stared at the words.
“Can you respond?” he asked.
Fathom nodded.
Rook leaned over the keyboard and typed.
WHICH ONE?
The cursor blinked.
Waiting.
The answer appeared.
FIND MAC STENSON.
The message vanished.
Every trace of the connection disappeared with it.
Rook looked toward Stenson’s photograph.
The intelligence officer accused of betraying the mission.
The only suspect who hadn’t profited.
The man someone had tried to frame.
Sniper stepped beside him.
“You think she’s telling the truth?”
“I think someone tried to kill us before we could meet a source offering information about Graves.”
Rook removed Mac Stenson’s photograph from the wall.
“And now she’s pointing us toward the man everyone wants us to believe is guilty.”
“What do we do?” Reef asked.
Rook studied Stenson’s face.
Months of investigating accounts and documents had gotten them close enough to frighten the enemy.
Now it was time to stop chasing records.
“Find him.”
Fathom began typing.
Shark and Maverick moved toward the equipment lockers.
Falcon locked down the warehouse.
Reef spread a map across the central table.
For the first time since the mountain, Rook had more than an investigation.
He had a team.
Outside, rain swept across the harbor.
Inside, seven dead men prepared to hunt for the truth.