36. Alan Madow
ALAN MADOW
The mountain trembled beneath the storm.
Snow hammered the reinforced observation windows.
Wind screamed across the ridgeline.
Director Alan Madow stood inside the command center and watched the darkness.
A dozen monitors filled the wall in front of him.
Security feeds.
Perimeter cameras.
Thermal sensors.
Motion detectors.
Every entrance to Black Site Theta had been under constant surveillance for years.
Exactly as it should be.
Control.
Everything was about control.
Madow had spent decades mastering it.
He hadn’t built his career by being the loudest man in a room.
He had built it by knowing which men could be bought, which could be frightened, and which had to disappear.
Wade Parker should have disappeared five years ago.
Taking the SEAL team alive had been Colonel Reeves’s decision. Reeves believed the prisoners possessed information too valuable to lose.
Madow had allowed the interrogations to continue.
For five years, the prisoners had given them nothing.
Then Marcus Lane failed to eliminate Shadow Division.
Worse, he allowed himself to be captured.
Now Sarah Parker had found Rook.
Rook had found the mountain.
And Marcus was sitting inside an Alaskan warehouse with enough knowledge to destroy them all.
One mistake after another.
Tonight, Madow would correct them.
Behind him, Colonel Jonathan Reeves entered the command center.
“The transport teams are ready.”
Madow didn’t turn.
“The prisoners?”
“Being removed from their cells now.”
“And the evidence?”
“Anything we can’t carry is being destroyed.”
Madow watched snow swallow one of the exterior cameras.
“The graves?”
Reeves hesitated.
“Nearly finished.”
Madow finally looked at him.
Reeves had been a decorated officer once.
Respected.
Trusted.
The kind of commander good men followed without question.
Now unease showed beneath his carefully controlled expression.
“Are you having second thoughts, Colonel?”
“No.”
“Then why did you hesitate?”
Reeves glanced toward the security feeds.
“Wade was one of mine.”
“Not anymore.”
“He trusted me.”
Madow’s expression remained empty.
“That is why the operation succeeded.”
Reeves said nothing.
Guilt was a weakness.
Madow had never understood men who carried it.
“The prisoners are witnesses,” he said. “Marcus is compromised. Shadow Division knows the location of this facility. By sunrise, Black Site Theta must cease to exist.”
Reeves nodded.
It was the only answer Madow would accept.
“Take them to the eastern ravine,” Madow continued. “Kill them. Burn the bodies. Collapse the access tunnel after the convoy returns.”
“And the personnel?”
“Only those on the evacuation list leave the mountain.”
Reeves stared at him.
“There are nearly forty men assigned to this facility.”
“There are twelve names on the evacuation list.”
Understanding moved across Reeves’s face.
“You’re going to bury our own people inside.”
Madow turned back to the monitors.
“I’m going to protect the program.”
Deep beneath the mountain, Wade sat against the wall.
The facility grew louder by the minute.
Men running.
Doors opening.
Vehicles starting.
The entire prison was moving.
And movement meant opportunity.
He tapped three times.
Three taps came back.
Then another.
Another.
Another.
His men were ready.
A siren sounded.
Not an emergency alarm.
The steady, pulsing tone used during internal prisoner movement.
Wade rose.
His heartbeat accelerated.
This was it.
The transfer.
The lie.
The execution.
One way or another, the waiting was over.
In the command center, a technician looked up from his station.
He was frowning.
Madow noticed immediately.
“What?”
The technician hesitated.
Never a good sign.
“We lost Camera Seven.”
Madow stared at him.
“Weather?”
The technician checked the diagnostic feed.
“No, sir.”
“Equipment failure?”
Another pause.
“No, sir.”
Madow stepped closer.
“Then why is it offline?”
The technician swallowed.
“The transmission cable was cut.”
The command center went silent.
Reeves moved toward the screens.
“Send a team.”
“Checkpoint Four is closest,” the technician said.
Madow’s gaze moved to the feed from that position.
Two guards stood beneath the shelter, rifles slung across their chests.
Nothing appeared unusual.
“Contact them,” Reeves ordered.
The technician keyed the radio.
“Checkpoint Four, report.”
Static answered.
He tried again.
“Checkpoint Four, report.”
No response.
The technician looked up.
His face had gone pale.
Two miles from Black Site Theta, a guard lay face down in the snow.
Alive.
Unconscious.
Finished with the fight.
Nearby, his partner sat secured against a tree with his own restraints. Tape covered his mouth.
Terror filled his eyes.
Neither man had seen the attackers.
One moment, they had been watching the perimeter.
The next, ghosts had emerged from the storm.
I crouched behind a snow-covered boulder.
The world glowed green through my night vision.
Black Site Theta rose ahead of us.
Concrete.
Steel.
Guard towers.
Floodlights.
Enough security to protect a small army.
Not enough to stop mine.
Sarah settled beside me.
Falcon took position on her left.
The rest of Shadow Division spread across the ridgeline.
Invisible.
Patient.
Hunting.
I touched my headset.
“Status.”
The answers came one by one.
“Falcon set.”
“Sniper at maintenance access.”
“Shark ready.”
“Reef ready.”
Then Cobra’s voice.
“Trying very hard not to blow anything up.”
A pause.
“No promises.”
Even at the edge of hell, Cobra was still Cobra.
Fathom’s voice followed.
“I found the transport route.”
I shifted my attention toward the eastern side of the mountain.
“What do you have?”
“Prisoner convoy exits through the lower vehicle tunnel. Three armored transports and six escort vehicles.”
Keys clicked through the transmission.
“The first transport is moving into position now.”
Sarah went still beside me.
“How long?” I asked.
“Forty-five minutes at most.”
Sarah’s breath caught.
Forty-five minutes.
Wade was that close to being taken into the mountains and erased forever.
I looked at her.
“We’ll stop them.”
She nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on the facility.
“You’d better.”
The steel door to Wade’s cell opened.
Four guards entered.
Not two.
Not three.
Four.
Weapons raised.
Body armor secured.
One pointed toward the hallway.
“On your feet.”
Wade slowly stood.
The lead guard refused to meet his eyes.
Guilty men avoided eye contact.
And these men looked guilty as hell.
Wade hid the metal bolt along his forearm.
Not yet.
He needed to see where they put his team.
He needed the guards close together.
He needed one mistake.
The men behind Project Nightfall had made plenty.
Tonight, one would be their last.
Madow stared at the security screens.
Something felt wrong.
Experience had taught him to trust that instinct.
It was the voice that whispered before governments fell and bodies disappeared.
Another technician spoke.
“Sir…”
Madow turned.
The man had gone pale.
“What now?”
The technician pointed at a perimeter camera.
Snow.
Trees.
Darkness.
Nothing unusual.
Then movement flickered at the edge of the image.
A figure stepped into view for less than a second.
Large.
Armed.
Moving with practiced control.
Then he vanished into the storm.
The technician checked the feeds.
“We’ve lost four checkpoints.”
Silence filled the command center.
Reeves reached for his sidearm.
Madow didn’t move.
For the first time all night, something cold entered his blood.
Not panic.
Madow didn’t panic.
But he understood danger.
Shadow Division wasn’t coming.
Shadow Division was already there.
“Lock down the facility,” he ordered.
The technicians began working.
“Seal every entrance. Move the prisoners now.”
Reeves turned toward the door.
Madow stopped him.
“Colonel.”
Reeves looked back.
“If Rook reaches the prison wing, collapse it.”
“With our men inside?”
“With everyone inside.”
Reeves stared at him.
Then walked out.
Madow faced the screens again.
The mountain had protected his secrets for years.
Tonight, it would become a tomb.
One way or another.