41. Sunset Watch
41
SUNSET WATCH
The command vehicle’s air conditioning struggled against the late afternoon heat. Ronan swiped a hand over his sweaty forehead and shifted in the passenger seat, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate his wound. Two days wasn’t nearly enough healing time, but no way he’d sit this out. Not with Maya there.
Through the windshield, he watched Ethan setting up the drone equipment, muttering about sight lines and thermal imaging. The van was parked in what looked like an ordinary scenic overlook, offering a clear view of both the Golden Gate Bridge and the converted Nike missile site. Tourists came and went, snapping photos, completely unaware of the fortress beneath their feet.
“I mean, seriously?” Ethan’s voice crackled through the comms. “Underground lair. Secret passages. Probably has a white cat somewhere in there.”
The driver’s side door opened and Maya slid in, bringing a wave of fresh air and tension with her. “Deke’s team is in position,” she reported, all business. “They’ve found the maintenance tunnel entrance.”
Ronan nodded, pulling up the thermal imaging on his tablet. His arm protested the movement, and he couldn’t quite hide the wince.
Maya noticed—of course she did. “Should you be?—”
“I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than intended. He softened his tone. “Christian’s team?”
“Moving into tourist cover now.” She pulled up her own tablet, careful to maintain the professional distance between them in the confined space. “Axel’s complaining about the hiking boots.”
“Of course he is.”
They settled into an awkward silence, watching the feeds as their teams took position. The sun was starting to set, painting the bay in colors too beautiful for a mission like this. Tourist traffic was thinning out.
Ronan knew he should focus entirely on the operation, on monitoring their teams, on watching for threats. Instead, he found himself asking, “What’s next for you? After this is over?”
He felt rather than saw her surprise at the question. “Assuming we survive your tech billionaire’s Bond villain basement?”
“Assuming.”
Maya was quiet for a moment, studying the feeds. “There’s work to be done at Hope Landing. Real work, not just cleaning up Richardson’s mess.” She paused. “The whole team could do good there. You all could.”
The suggestion caught him off guard. “My team’s not a thing. Not anymore.”
“You should be. You’re good for each other.”
Before he could process that—or his unexpected reaction to it—Christian’s voice cut through on comms.
The sun had nearly set now, painting the command vehicle’s interior in deepening shadows. In the dim light, it was harder to maintain the careful distance between them. Harder to ignore the familiar way she analyzed data, the quick insights he’d come to rely on these past few days.
“Maya ...” he started, not sure what he was going to say.
Her tablet chirped. “Movement in the tunnel,” she reported, instantly professional. “Deke’s team has contact.”
The mission was starting. Whatever he’d been about to say would have to wait.
It always did.
They watched Deke’s body cam footage as his team moved through the maintenance tunnel. The infrastructure was pure Cold War—thick concrete walls, heavy blast doors, emergency lighting that cast everything in sickly green.
“Point team reaching first junction,” Deke whispered. “No contact.”
Ronan frowned at the thermal imaging. “Too quiet. We should be seeing patrols.”
“Underground’s clear,” Christian reported from his position. “Moving to phase two.”
Maya suddenly sat forward. “Wait. Pull up the power grid readings.”
Ronan did, his shoulder protesting. The numbers scrolled across his screen.
“Look at the usage patterns,” she said. “For a facility this size, running this much security ...” She pointed to specific sections. “These sectors are drawing almost no power.”
“Because they’re empty,” Ronan realized. He studied the tactical overlay with fresh eyes. “They’re not defending the facility. They’re ...” His military training kicked in. “ All teams, hold position. This isn’t a defense pattern—it’s an evacuation.”
“What?” Jack’s voice crackled through comms.
“They’re pulling out,” Ronan explained. “Leaving just enough security to make it look normal from the outside. The real action’s somewhere else.”
Maya was already pulling up the building schematics. “There has to be another exit. Something not on the plans ...”
“All that matters is Pantone’s still here,” Christian cut in. “Thermal’s showing a cluster of heat signatures in the main command center. Has to be him.”
Ronan’s instincts screamed trap, but they couldn’t risk losing their only lead to Richardson. His shoulder throbbed, reminding him he was stuck here while the teams went in.
“Proceed with infiltration,” he ordered. “But watch your backs. Something’s not right.”
Maya looked at him, and he saw his own concern mirrored in her eyes. They both knew what happened when things seemed too easy.
His arm burned. He shifted again, catching Maya’s quick glance.
“You should take something for that,” she said quietly.
“I’m fine.” But he couldn’t quite hide his wince as he reached for the comm controls. “Deke, status?”
“Approaching command center from the west. Still no resistance.”
“Christian?”
“East corridor secured. Something’s hinky here. These security measures look active, but ...”
“But they’re not actually protecting anything,” Ronan finished. He’d seen enough military operations to recognize the signs. “They’re for show.”
On the thermal imaging, the heat signatures in the command center remained stationary. Too stationary.
“Contact, east wing!” Christian’s voice cut through comms. “Ethan, I need eyes on that corner!”
“On it.” Through the drone feed, they watched Ethan smoothly redirect his surveillance. “Two tangos, moving tactical. Wait—confirmed Sentinel gear.”
“Taking them,” Jack reported. “Austin, cover that exit.”
Multiple shots fired, precise and controlled.
“Tangos down,” Christian said. “But these guys are definitely Sentinel. Professional training, top-tier gear.”
“More movement,” Deke reported. “They’re falling back to the command center.”
“Ethan,” Jack cut in, “get me thermal on the north corridor.”
“Already scanning. Got multiple signatures converging on your position.”
Maya grabbed Ronan’s good arm. “Look at the power signatures in the sub-basement.”
He saw it immediately. While everyone was focused on the command center, something was drawing power three levels down. “It’s a diversion,” he said. “Deke, hold position. Christian, get eyes on that sub-basement. Jack?—”
“Taking fire!” Austin’s voice. “Heavy resistance from the west.”
“Moving to support,” Ethan reported. “Christian, watch your six.”
“I see Pantone,” Jack called out. “He’s running. Ethan, can you track him?”
“Negative, too much interference. Christian?”
“I’ve got him,” Christian confirmed. “Moving to intercept.”
Then a single shot. Different from the others. Deeper.
Then silence.
“Report,” Ronan demanded. “Someone report.”
“Pantone’s down,” Christian’s voice was tight. “Sniper round. Professional.”
“What?” Maya leaned forward. “From where?”
“Unknown shooter,” Jack said. “But that wasn’t us.”
“Whoever took that shot knew exactly what they were doing,” Austin added.
Ronan stared at the feeds, at Pantone’s crumpled form, at their only link to Richardson lying dead on cold concrete. Around him, his team’s voices continued reporting positions, movements, threats—the smooth coordination of highly trained operators.
But none of it mattered now. “Who just shot our only lead?”
Kenji was examining something—a uniform patch. “I grabbed this off one of the guys in the group that shot Pantone.”
“What is that?” Maya asked.
Austin glanced over, his expression hardening. “That’s a Sentinel Security identifier. Executive protection division.”
“His own security detail killed him?” Christian’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “Why would they take out their boss?”
“Richardson’s dirty,” Ethan finally said, looking up from his tablet. “Has to be. No other reason for this level of cleanup.”
That felt right. Of course. Pantone was the number two guy at Sentinel. No way his own people took him out without orders from higher up. And they all knew there was only one guy above him …
The van’s interior lights cast harsh shadows as Jack pulled out his secured sat phone.
“Sir,” Jack said into the phone. “Mission completed, but with complications.” He paused, listening. “Yes sir. Pantone’s dead. But there’s more—it was his own security detail that took the shot.”
“Tell him about the patch,” Christian suggested, but Jack was already shaking his head at something the admiral was saying.
“Sir?” Jack’s voice changed subtly. Everyone in the van noticed. “Sir, what’s wrong?”
“When?” Jack demanded. “How many—” He broke off, listening. “Yes, sir. We’ll head back immediately.”
Jack’s haunted expression made Ronan’s chest tighten.
“What is it?”
Jaw hard, Jack swallowed. “The admiral’s wife is missing.”