47. Wade
WADE
The cargo aircraft climbed into the dawn.
Wade sat strapped into a web seat with his back against the fuselage and Sarah pressed against his side.
His father occupied the seat directly across from him.
Jack hadn’t looked away in almost ten minutes.
Wade finally raised an eyebrow.
“You planning to stare at me all the way to Alaska?”
His father’s mouth tightened.
“I might.”
“That could get uncomfortable.”
“I spent five years staring at a photograph. You’ll survive.”
The words struck deeper than Wade expected.
Five years.
The number still didn’t feel real.
Inside Black Site Theta, time had been measured in scratches on a wall.
Days survived.
Interrogations endured.
Men who went missing and never returned.
Out here, the world had continued moving.
Sarah looked older.
His father’s hair had turned gray.
And Wade was forty years old.
He had entered that mountain at thirty-five.
A different man.
A different life.
Sarah leaned closer.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I missed your thirtieth birthday.”
“You missed five birthdays.”
“I owe you presents.”
“You owe me explanations.”
“I was imprisoned inside a mountain.”
“Fine. You owe me four explanations.”
A laugh escaped him.
It felt strange in his chest.
Unfamiliar.
But good.
Sarah smiled.
She kept touching him.
His arm.
His wrist.
His shoulder.
As if she needed constant proof that he was real.
Wade understood.
He felt the same way every time he looked at her.
Across the cargo bay, medical personnel worked on Eric Hale. Luke Dawson remained beside him, refusing to move even after the medic promised Hale’s injuries weren’t immediately life-threatening.
Grant Barrett sat wrapped in a thermal blanket.
Jackson Cole held a cup of water in both hands.
He stared at it.
Not drinking.
Just staring.
Wade unfastened his harness and crossed the aircraft.
He sat beside Jackson.
“You all right?”
Jackson looked at the water.
“It’s cold.”
Wade waited.
“I forgot water could be cold without tasting like metal.”
Wade looked down at his own cup.
Five years of recycled water.
Stale air.
Food that barely qualified as food.
Things other men ignored felt like miracles now.
“Drink slowly,” he said.
Jackson took a small sip.
His eyes closed.
“Damn.”
Grant looked over.
“You planning to marry it?”
“Maybe.”
“It could do better.”
Jackson smiled.
Wade looked around at his men.
Five survivors.
They had entered the mountain with eight.
Three weren’t sitting inside the aircraft.
Daniel Price had died during their first year of captivity.
Nathan Brooks survived almost three.
Tommy Walsh disappeared after an interrogation and never returned.
Wade had memorized the dates.
The final words.
The sounds of doors closing.
He would carry them forever.
Grant read his expression.
“We got them out too.”
Wade looked at him.
“The files,” Grant continued. “Their names. Proof of what happened. Their families will finally know.”
“It isn’t the same as bringing them home.”
“No.”
Grant’s voice softened.
“But it’s something.”
Wade nodded.
For five years, he had believed all eight of them would disappear without leaving a trace.
Now the world would learn the truth.
Price.
Brooks.
Walsh.
They would no longer be missing operators buried inside a classified lie.
They would have graves.
Names.
Families who knew they hadn’t been forgotten.
A hand settled on Wade’s shoulder.
Rook stood behind him.
“Pilot needs to make an emergency refueling stop.”
Wade looked toward the cockpit.
“I thought we had enough fuel.”
“We did before evasive maneuvers and the early takeoff.”
“How far?”
“Contingency airfield in eastern Kazakhstan. Thirty minutes.”
“Secure?”
Rook’s expression gave him the answer.
“Sam found it through one of his old contacts. It’s privately operated and not on our filed route.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“No,” Rook admitted. “We don’t know whether it’s secure.”
Wade looked toward Madow and Reeves.
Both men sat restrained beneath armed guard.
“If Nightfall can track us, they’ll know we need fuel.”
“Yes.”
“And they’ll know where we can get it.”
“Yes.”
Wade stood.
His body protested.
Every muscle hurt.
His legs remained weak from years of confinement, but the old instincts were returning faster than his strength.
“Give me a weapon.”
Rook studied him.
“You need medical attention.”
“So does everyone else.”
“You’re not part of Shadow Division.”
“I’m a Navy SEAL.”
“You’ve been imprisoned for five years.”
“And somehow I still know when someone is avoiding my request.”
Rook stared at him.
Wade stared back.
Sarah sighed from across the cargo bay.
“This is going to be exhausting.”
Sniper laughed.
“I warned you. Two most stubborn men alive.”
Rook removed a sidearm from his vest.
He checked it and handed it to Wade.
“Last resort.”
“Of course.”
“That means you stay on the aircraft unless we need you.”
“Absolutely.”
Rook narrowed his eyes.
“That sounded suspiciously easy.”
Wade secured the weapon.
“I’m weak, not stupid.”
Jackson snorted.
“That is open to debate.”
The aircraft began descending.
Through the small window, Wade saw endless grasslands, low mountains, and morning light stretching across a world he had almost forgotten.
Freedom remained strange.
Fragile.
Dangerous.
He looked at Sarah.
Then his father.
Then the four men who had survived beside him.
Nightfall had already stolen five years.
Wade wasn’t giving it another minute.
The cargo aircraft landed on a narrow runway surrounded by empty plains.
A fuel truck waited beside a weathered hangar.
Nothing else moved.
No military vehicles.
No guards.
No welcoming committee.
Rook remained suspicious.
That was probably why he was still alive.
Shadow Division deployed before the rear ramp touched the ground.
Falcon and Reef secured the hangar.
Sniper moved toward the fuel truck with Shark.
Cobra circled the aircraft, studying everything with far too much interest.
Fathom connected to a portable satellite terminal.
Wade remained near the open ramp with Sarah and Jack.
The morning air touched his face.
He breathed deeply.
Dust.
Fuel.
Cold grass.
The world.
Sarah watched him.
“You okay?”
“I can smell the air.”
She smiled.
“It isn’t particularly good air.”
“It’s perfect.”
The refueling crew connected the hose.
Rook checked his watch.
“How long?”
The crew chief answered.
“Twenty minutes.”
Rook didn’t like that.
Neither did Wade.
Ten minutes into the refueling, Fathom looked up sharply.
“Vehicles approaching.”
Every weapon came up.
“Direction?” Rook demanded.
“North and east.”
The aircraft’s ramp began rising.
Then headlights appeared beyond the airfield.
Black armored trucks.
Military transports.
Portable floodlights.
Too many vehicles.
Far too many.
They surrounded the runway before the cargo aircraft could move.
The cleanup team had found them.