Chapter 9
NINE
It was delivered without drama. Just a line on the whiteboard in the squad bay. No one else received a summons.
Mia read it twice. “They haven’t posted a rotation for standards interviews.”
Shannon finished tying her boots. “Probably follow-up from the dorm incident.”
“You were cleared.”
Shannon stood and adjusted her collar. “That doesn’t mean they’re done with me.”
Mia looked at her. “You want me to walk with you?”
Shannon shook her head. “No. I’ll be back before drill.”
She wasn’t. By 1300, Shannon’s bed hadn’t been touched. Her gear was still stowed. Her boots were gone. Her name was still on the board.
At first, no one noticed. By 1400, Mia checked the admin wing. They hadn’t seen her.
She checked the infirmary. Nothing. She asked one of the logistics cadre, who checked the digital log. No entry for McKenna since morning chow.
That was when Mia stopped asking questions and started making noise.
Dante was in the field reviewing training reports when the message came through a secure channel.
PRIVATE LOG: CADET MCKENNA – Location: UNCONFIRMED – Status PENDING
He stopped reading and pulled the system log. No sign-out. No contact. She had vanished inside a system designed to track every breath. He walked out of the field office without a word.
Shannon came to in the dark. Her head ached, not sharp but deep. She felt a throb near the base of her skull. Her wrists were bound in front of her with heavy zip ties, cutting into her skin.
She tried to move but couldn’t. The air was cold and wet, not humid but more like underground damp. Concrete. Oil. Metal. A garage, maybe. Or a bunker. There was no sound at first.
Then footsteps. He stepped into the light like it was a stage.
Krueger.
He was calm, his hair perfect. His uniform was gone, replaced by plain clothes and surgical gloves. “Still awake?” he asked as if she’d overslept an appointment.
Shannon stared up at him, blood in her mouth from where she’d bitten her lip. She didn’t speak.
He crouched beside her. “You know, this didn’t have to happen,” he said conversationally. “I gave you off-ramps.”
She turned her head.
“You could’ve walked. You could’ve kept your mouth shut. You could’ve played the game like everyone else.”
His tone was so relaxed, it felt obscene. “But you couldn’t help yourself. You just had to talk.”
He ran a gloved thumb along the edge of her face, then flicked it away like brushing dust. “It’s a shame. You’re a legacy. They would’ve protected you if you hadn’t pushed.”
Shannon’s voice cracked out of her throat. “You’re going to lose.”
He smiled. “I’ve already won. No one’s looking for you. And even if they are, by the time they find what’s left, it’ll be long past inconvenient.”
He stood. “You made this personal,” he said. “So now I’m going to make it permanent.”
Dante hit the admin doors at a dead sprint. “Where is she?” he barked.
A junior staffer turned, startled. “Who?”
“McKenna. Cadet McKenna.”
The officer checked a log. “She had an appointment this morning. There’s no sign-out record.”
“Then she didn’t leave on her own.” Dante pulled up his secure tablet. It showed the map overlay. Her comms chip had stopped pinging. It was in a dead zone in the middle of the maintenance sector.
His voice dropped. “You have five minutes to clear a search protocol, or I go in without one.”
Krueger dragged her by the collar through the service tunnel. Her legs scraped the concrete. Her head lolled once, then lifted. She was still conscious and still fighting.
He didn’t like that.
He stopped by the edge of the ravine where runoff from the old plumbing system pooled in a narrow trench. The water was icy black, a dozen feet deep, maybe more.
He knelt, hands around her throat. “Shhh.”
Her body jerked.
He squeezed her throat tightly one more time.
Cold.
That was the first thing. No breath. No light. No surface.
Just cold.
It slammed her lungs shut and dragged her down, icy water smashing her chest like a wall. The world vanished into dark current and pressure. Her arms were bound. Her hands wouldn’t move—zip ties. Her legs kicked uselessly.
She couldn’t breathe. No up. No down. Just the roar of blood in her ears and the fire in her chest. Then something. Felt like concrete? Was it a pipe? It struck her ribs, jolted her. She rolled her shoulder, aimed for motion. Anything.
She kicked again. Her lungs were done.
Her head broke the surface with a violent splash, and air punched down her throat like a fist. She coughed, choked, flailed. Water crashed over her face again, and for a second, she thought she’d go under.
No.
She spotted the ledge. A narrow concrete lip, slim enough for her to wedge a shoulder. She kicked toward it, arms bound, hands frozen, blood in her mouth. Her chest hit the edge.
And she stayed there.
Alive. Still drowning in air.
Her body shook uncontrollably. The cold wasn’t just cold anymore. It had crawled into her bones. Her muscles seized, heart slowing.
Mom, help. She thought of all the times her mom was there for her. She needed her now.
Focus. The ties. She twisted her arms, angled her wrists against the chipped ledge, and started sawing. Back and forth.
Again.
Again.
Plastic cut through her skin. Warm blood spilled down her wrists. She didn’t care.
It wasn’t enough. She bit her lip so hard, she tasted copper again. She sawed harder.
Again.
The tie gave.
She pulled her hands apart and collapsed backward onto the concrete. She couldn’t feel her legs. Or her face.
The last thing she saw was a shape running toward her through the fog. A voice calling, low and urgent, “Shannon.”
Dante dropped to his knees beside her. She was barely hanging on. Her arms were slick with blood and river sludge. Her skin was white, not pale. Waxy. Pulse thready.
He stripped his jacket and wrapped it around her, then lifted her and radioed command. “Olivo Actual to Ops. Code Black. Cadet down. Hypothermic, pulse weak, unresponsive. Immediate evac.” He gave their position.
“Copy, Olivo. Ambulance inbound. ETA seven minutes.”
“She doesn’t have seven minutes.” He rocked her against him.
She made a sound. Barely. “Kru… ger.”
“Shannon, stay with me.”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Didn’t shiver anymore. That scared him more than the blood.
The ambulance skidded into a stop, and the crew ran to meet him. Dante helped them lift her.
Shannon’s eyes flickered open for half a second. “You… came,” she whispered.
“I never left,” he said.
She gave the faintest smile before the medic slammed the door. The ambulance tore out into the night.
Dante stood there, fists clenched at his sides. Then he turned and walked back toward the ravine. Someone was going to answer for this. And it was going to start tonight.
But first he had to make the phone call he dreaded. He’d need to admit he failed.
PENTAGON SCIF
Martin Bailey pointed to convoy trails across Mali and Niger. “Six trucks missing. Gear’s bleeding into the Sahel. Some of it’s American. Some Russian. All of it ends up in proxy hands.”
Mike Johnson studied the digital topography.
Bailey continued, “Mr. Secretary, we need eyes on the ground. Africa’s becoming the board.”
The door cracked open, and a security aide stepped in. “Sir, apologies. Internal asset emergency from Chase Security for Mr. Johnson. A Mr. Cox is outside.”
Mike stood before the man finished.
Ford’s voice was low. “Shannon’s been hurt. Holland’s already in the air in the helo. We’re moving her off base as soon as she’s stable.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve got your go bag. Tate’s mobilizing the jet. It’s waiting on the tarmac.”
Mike nodded once.