Chapter 14 Tag
TAG
After Nightingale left, everything felt wrong, though I couldn’t say why.
I called Typhon within minutes of the vehicle disappearing down the drive. “The Viper assignment. I want details.”
“MacTaggert.” His tone gave nothing away. “She’s handling op specifics on this one.”
“Since when does she handle routine reconnaissance personally?”
“Given what happened in London, extra precautions seemed warranted,” he responded.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m authorized to give.” There was something he wasn’t saying. I was certain of it. Was it an apology? A warning? “Trust that Nightingale’s safety is the priority.”
“If her safety was the priority, she’d be here. Not running thermal reconnaissance with Vanguard under mysterious circumstances that no one will properly explain.”
“Tag—” He paused as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. “If anything develops, you’ll be informed immediately.”
The careful phrasing set alarms off in my head. “If anything develops.” Not “when they report in.”
My next call was to Viper, but her assistant claimed she was in a classified briefing. For two hours. Then another meeting. Then unavailable.
While Douglas and I spent the rest of the afternoon documenting what we’d found in the tunnels—critical intelligence requiring immediate analysis that should have consumed my attention—I was distracted, checking my mobile every few minutes.
Thus far, I hadn’t received a message from Nightingale. That wasn’t unusual when operatives were in the field. Silence was standard when working reconnaissance. But everything felt different this time. Heavy. Like the pressure drop before a storm.
“Sir?” Douglas’s voice jarred me from my reverie. “The measurements for the eastern passage?”
I forced my attention back to our work, tracing the route we’d marked earlier. “Approximately forty meters from the junction to the first branch point. Stone construction consistent with eighteenth-century work.”
Douglas glanced up at me, frowning. “Everything all right, sir?”
“Fine.” The word came out sharper than intended.
His expression said he didn’t believe me, but he had the good sense not to press.
I checked my mobile again ten minutes later, then thirty, muttering under my breath each time there were no alerts. Not that I cared about anyone other than Nightingale.
She was with Vanguard—I told myself. Following up on thermal signatures in the Highlands, checking potential estate connections. She said they’d be gone two days, possibly three. It was routine intelligence gathering that shouldn’t require constant contact. So why did her absence feel like a wound?
Douglas gathered his notes, sensing I was done being useful. “I’ll compile these for your review, sir.”
After I thanked him, he closed the door behind him, leaving me surrounded by the evidence of a conspiracy that threatened national security, and all I could think about was the way Nightingale had looked at me before she left—as though she was saying goodbye.
Not “see you in a few days.” Not the casual departure of an operative heading out for routine work. Goodbye.
I’d dismissed it at the time, too focused on maintaining distance between us, on not reaching for her the way every instinct screamed at me to do.
But the look haunted me now. The sadness in her hazel eyes, the set of her shoulders, the way she’d paused before walking away. What had I missed?
As evening settled over Glenshadow. I walked the corridors, checking systems that didn’t need to be. At one point, I stood outside her room. The door was closed, of course, no light shining beneath it. God, how I wished she were behind it.
No matter how many times I told myself she was fine, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest said otherwise.
I poured whiskey I didn’t drink, stared at maps I’d grown sick of looking at, and waited for a message that didn’t come.
I marked the passage of time by each chime of the clock on the mantel.
At twenty-one thirty, my mobile rang with a call from Typhon. My heart hammered as I lunged to answer it. “MacTaggert.”
“Tag, listen.” My breath caught when I heard an urgency to his words. “Nightingale and Vanguard infiltrated a gala Dalgleish hosted at Brodick Castle on the Isle of Arran—”
“Arran? She’s supposed to be—”
“I know what we told you. Viper and I...bent the truth. Nightingale came to us with time-sensitive intelligence. She knew you’d stop her from acting on it, and frankly, she was right. We made a judgment call.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. “You lied to me.”
“We compartmentalized, and right now, that distinction doesn’t matter because her emergency beacon just activated. Her cover is blown, and MI6 backup support lost contact with her as well as Vanguard four minutes ago. I’m mobilizing now.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m already moving,” I said, grabbing my vest from the cabinet.
“MacTaggert, she came to me because—”
“We’ll discuss how this happened after I fucking get her out,” I barked, ending the call. I pulled up emergency contacts on my phone and sent a group message. Code Icarus. Brodick Castle. Isle of Arran. Rally point follows. I hit send, broadcasting the emergency to every member of the team.
Responses came within seconds:
Con: Inbound. Arran ETA 25 minutes.
Ash: On our way. 22 minutes.
Archon: Approaching. Holding for orders.
Renegade: En route with Prima.
“Sir?” Douglas appeared in the doorway, gear already on, reading the situation with the instinct of a man who’d spent twenty years in special forces. “The helicopter will be here in four minutes.”
It wasn’t fucking fast enough.
But I nodded and finished my weapons check.
My Glock was in my shoulder holster, my backup piece was secured at my ankle, and my knife at my belt.
The pocket in my vest held extra magazines and comms equipment.
I had everything I’d need to breach a medieval castle and extract an agent from hostile custody.
Not an agent—Nightingale. Leila. The woman I loved, who’d lied to my face earlier today.
She’d looked me in the eye and told me she was doing reconnaissance work. She even let me walk her out to the vehicle where Vanguard waited. Every word she spoke had been a calculated deception. Every moment planned to get around me.
Because she’d known I’d stop her. Known I’d refuse the op. Known I’d insist on going myself, or lock her down at Glenshadow—anything to keep her safe.
And she’d been right.
The thought sliced deep. She’d gone to Typhon and Viper because I couldn’t be trusted to put the mission first where she was concerned. Because of my promise to Idris, my fear of losing her, my inability to separate professional duty from personal terror—all of it made me a liability.
So she’d cut me out entirely.
The sound of the helicopter grew louder as it approached. I grabbed my go-bag and headed for the door.
Douglas fell into step beside me. “Do you want me to come with you, sir?”
“No. Stay here. Secure the estate.”
“Roger that.”
I emerged onto the east lawn as the blade touched down, whipping the Highland grass into a frenzy. I ran toward it, bent low, and climbed in. “Go. Push it as hard as you can,” I shouted.
The pilot nodded once. “Aye, sir. Arran in twenty minutes.”
As we lifted off, Glenshadow was swallowed by darkness.
I turned up the comms and patched into the response Typhon was coordinating. Multiple voices overlapped—team leaders checking in, Viper coordinating with MI6, Typhon directing the assault.
“Infidel here.” Con’s voice was steady and calm. “Tag, if you’re listening, Lex is with me.”
Good. I registered it distantly. Lex—we’d need her if this went sideways.
“Savior and Orion inbound.” Ash’s voice carried the same controlled readiness. Knowing him and Gus the way I did, the two of them were probably pushing their helicopter to its limits.
“Renegade, Prima, and I are approaching the castle perimeter.” Archon’s transmission crackled with interference.
“All teams, converge on Brodick Castle,” Viper commanded. “Stealth approach. The gala is still in progress, which means we have civilian presence to consider. We need this contained.”
“Archon, your priority is finding Vanguard,” said Typhon. “His signal went dark, but he’s still on premises.”
“Roger that.”
Through all the chatter, my mind got stuck on one thing.
This was my fault. If I hadn’t pushed her away at Dunravin.
If I hadn’t thrown what we had back in her face.
If I hadn’t been so terrified of becoming my parents that I’d destroyed us both, then she wouldn’t have gone behind my back. Wouldn’t have taken this risk.
Except that was bullshit, and I knew it.
This wasn’t about me. It had never been about me.
This was about justice. About stopping the people who’d killed Idris. She would have gone after Dalgleish whether I’d broken her heart or not.
I closed my eyes. Keep her alive. Let me get there in time. The prayer surprised me—it had been eighteen years since my father’s funeral, when I stopped believing in a higher power. Now, though, I meant every word.
“Sir, Arran’s ahead. Five minutes to landing.”
I opened my eyes and looked to the island that rose as a dark mass against darker water. The castle was visible on the eastern shore.
The comms crackled again. “Archon here. We’re in. Moving through east wing.”
“Infidel, your ETA?” Typhon’s voice demanded.
“Four minutes.”
“Savior here. Six minutes out.”
Everyone was converging like we always had. A team. Except this time one of our own—my own—was in peril.
The chopper descended toward the eastern lawn, away from the main entrance. I unbuckled before we’d fully landed, the rotors still spinning as my feet hit the ground.
Another blade touched down thirty meters away. Con emerged first with Lex right behind him, both in tactical gear with weapons ready. Con’s eyes found mine across the darkness. No words were needed.
A third chopper landed, and Ash and Gus jumped out.
We moved in, using the gardens for cover, and the comms crackled again.
“We found Vanguard.” Archon’s voice was tight with urgency. “North wing, service corridor. He’s unconscious but breathing. Head wound. Getting him out now.”
“Wait. He’s trying to speak,” said Prima. “I think he’s saying ‘north tower.’”
North tower. The beacon signal confirmed it.
“All teams, check in.” Typhon’s voice.
One by one, they did as he commanded.
“Prima and I are extracting Vanguard,” Archon reported last. “Then we’ll join you.”
We moved through the gardens in formation, avoiding the terraces where gala guests still gathered—smoking, laughing, drinking, completely oblivious to the armed operatives passing twenty meters away.
We slipped through a service entrance, into stone corridors lit by medieval torches and modern fixtures.
The four of us in front moved in synchronized silence, weapons ready, every sense alert. We’d done this a thousand times before—Syria, Prague, Beirut, a dozen other cities where violence waited in the dark.
We reached the base of the north tower and went inside. A stone staircase spiraled upward, narrow and steep. Perfectly defensible, terrible for assault. Medieval architects knew their business.
I looked at Con, Ash, and Gus. “We get her out,” I said. “Whatever it takes.”
Con’s eyes met mine. “Whatever it takes.”
Ash and Gus nodded, and we started up the stairs, counting steps. When we hit thirty, I could hear voices, muffled but distinct. Multiple people. Male. Scottish accents.
As we neared the top, we came to a heavy wooden door with light showing beneath. The voices coming from behind it were clearer now, though still indistinct.
I signaled—breach on three.
The team got in position, and my hand grasped the heavy metal latch as Typhon’s voice came through the comms, quiet and clear. “Obsidian has command. All teams: Nightfall. Execute.”