Chapter 11 #2
“You’re a contractor for one of the best-funded agencies in the world. Of course, you're on comms.” She started packing up the demolition components with careful precision. “I'd do the same thing if I had reliable contact with my people.”
“Speaking of which—” Con's voice in his ear again.
“Guardian's located an aviation fuel source. Small airstrip forty miles north. Cartel-owned but lightly guarded. Single tanker truck, maybe two thousand gallons. We can feed you real-time intel if you want to make a move. No way I can drop you fuel in your current location. The cartel would zero in on you in less than a minute.”
Levi held up a finger to Willow and responded, “When?”
“Arrives in three days. You've got a six-hour window before they move it inland.”
“Copy that. Send coordinates.”
He turned back to find Willow watching him. “Good news?”
“Aviation fuel. Three days from now. Guardian found a source.”
Her face lit up with actual joy. Her smile was unguarded and beautiful. “How much?”
“Two thousand gallons.”
“That's enough for—” She did quick mental math. “Enough for the Beaver plus reserves. Multiple missions. Levi, that's—”
“I know.” He was grinning now, too, caught up in her excitement. “We get that fuel, we're operational.”
She nodded. “We need to plan the fuel extraction. If it's cartel-guarded—”
“We make it quick. In and out before they know we're there.” He walked to the map on the wall and tapped the area about forty miles north.
“Or we blow something up and steal it in the chaos.”
“Now you're thinking like a demo expert.” He moved back to the table, pulled out a different map. “Let's plan this properly. Guardian's sending real-time intel, so we'll know exactly when—”
“Wait.” Willow held up a hand. “Guardian's helping us? “
“Yeah, my company treats everyone as indispensable, and that isn’t just lip service,” he said carefully.
“And what about my mission? The CIA's interests?”
He looked at her. He really looked, trying to read what she was thinking behind those sharp eyes. “What are you asking, Willow?”
“I'm asking if Guardian knows I'm CIA. And if they do, what do they plan to do about it?”
The truth would complicate things. But the lies between them were getting harder to maintain.
“Tell her that our plans take priority, and her supervisor has been told to back the fuck off.”
“They know,” Levi said. “And your supervisor has been told to back off.”
“Then what? What am I supposed to do?”
“She assists you, or she’s of no use to us.” Con’s answer almost made him sneer. That was absolute bullshit.
“You’re my partner. We figure it out.” He held her gaze. “Together.”
She studied him for a long moment, weighing trust against survival, partnership against mission parameters. Finally, she nodded.
“Oh, Z, don’t tell me you’ve gone and found feelings?” Con chided him. He tapped his ear, muting Con. Not that the man couldn’t unmute himself, but they had always respected each other’s space.
“Okay. Together.” She turned back to the map. “Now, show me how to steal two thousand gallons of aviation fuel without getting killed.”
Day Seven
Willow's encrypted radio sat on the table between them like a loaded weapon.
“I need to check in,” she said. “It's been over a week. They'll start asking questions if I don't.”
“You going to tell them the truth?”
“Hell no.” She was already setting up the equipment, adjusting frequencies. “I'm going to lie my ass off, same as I've been doing for months. He’s a bastard.”
“You don't like your handler.”
It wasn't a question. She'd made it clear in a dozen small and large ways. He saw it in the way her jaw tightened when she mentioned him, the tension in her shoulders when she prepared to make contact.
“Mike Reeves is a political animal,” she said flatly. “He cares about his career more than his people. Takes unnecessary risks because a big win looks good on his record, and if an asset gets burned …” She shrugged. “There's always another contractor.”
“Sounds like a piece of work.”
“That's being generous.” She reached for the radio. “But he's my handler, and I need to check in.”
The radio crackled, and Levi stepped back, giving her space as she radioed her handler. But he could hear everything, and Con was recording it anyway, feeding it back to Guardian for analysis.
“Eagle, this is Overwatch.” Reeves's voice was clipped and impatient. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Working,” Willow said, her voice going flat, professional. “Morales went to ground after the airstrip explosion. I've been tracking movements, following supply chains.”
“Any progress on locating his primary compound?”
Levi frowned. From what Guardian said, the guy should be pulling her off the case, but he wasn’t. He tapped his ear. Con answered. “I’m listening. Sounds like this guy is going a little rogue.”
Willow’s eyebrows lifted impossibly high.
She was shocked that she hadn’t been pulled either.
“Possible leads. Nothing confirmed yet.” She was good at this.
She was mixing truth with lies, giving him just enough to sound credible.
“I've identified three high-probability locations in the mountain region. I’ll need at least another two weeks to confirm.”
“You don't have that kind of time! I need this wrapped. Either find Morales, or we're pulling you out.”
Levi saw her jaw tighten, the flash of anger in her eyes.
“I'm close,” she said. “Pulling me now wastes six months of work.”
“Six months of expenses, you mean. And me with nothing to show for it.”
“I've mapped his entire air network, identified his key personnel, documented trafficking routes—”
“None of which matters if we don't have Morales in custody,” Reeves ground out, the sound crackling over the connection. “Look, Eagle, I'm trying to help you here. But the brass is losing patience. They want results.”
“They'll get results. I just need time.”
“Time costs money. And you've already burned through your budget with that plane situation. Speaking of which, how's the Cessna holding up?”
“It's … functional.” The lie came smoothly. “Took some damage in the storm, but I've got it patched.”
“Good. Because I’m not authorizing funds for a replacement.” Papers shuffled in the background. “I’m giving you two weeks, Eagle. Find Morales, or you’re done. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“And Eagle? Stay smart. Morales is escalating his security. We’ve verified Guardian involvement. They have someone in the area. Could it be your injured engineer?”
Willow looked up at him and lied through her teeth. “No. That guy didn’t make it. His papers said he was with an Australian firm.”
“Huh, sucks to be him. Well, don't get caught in the crossfire, and get me that fucking location.”
She glanced at Levi. He lifted his middle finger at the radio.
“I’m working on it,” she said.
“See that you are. Overwatch out.”
The connection died.
Willow sat for a moment, staring at the radio, her expression unreadable. Then she stood and walked outside.
Levi found her at the cave entrance, looking out at the meadow and mountains beyond. The sun was setting, painting everything in shades of amber and gold.
“He's rogue,” Levi said.
“Yeah.” She didn't look at him. “I know that, and it sucks for me, but he's not wrong. I've been out here six months with nothing concrete to show for it. The CIA doesn't pay for maybes.”
“You've done good work. Intelligence gathering, reconnaissance—”
“That's not enough for him. He wants Morales in a cell, giving up names, bank accounts, and trafficking routes.” She turned to face him. “He wants a win they can publicize. Proof that American justice reaches everywhere. Fodder for his promotion, I’m sure.”
“He’s toxic. Don’t let him take you down with him.”
“Never.” She leaned against the rock face, exhaustion showing in the lines around her eyes.
“When I started taking these contracts, I thought … hell, I don’t know.
Maybe I thought I could make a difference.
Help bring down someone who actually deserved it.
” She laughed, bitter. “Turns out most of the CIA doesn't care about justice. They care about optics.”
“So, why stay with them?”
“Because someone needs to stop people like him, like Morales.” She met his eyes.
“He’s killed hundreds of people. Thousands and thousands of pounds of drugs are flowing through this country to others.
He’s trafficked thousands. Built an empire on suffering.
And if I walk away because my handler's a bureaucratic asshole, nothing changes. He wins.”
Levi moved to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “You know Guardian employs pilots.”
“Yeah, but it seems Guardian's way is a bullet on this op.” She didn't sound judgmental, just tired. “No trial. No testimony. No chance for his victims to see justice done.”
“That’s actually … wrong. He wouldn’t be identified as my target if he were someone who the world could prosecute in court.
He isn’t. You know it as well as I do. He’s a rat in a hole, and if we find him, he won’t wait for extraction before his legion of loyalists acts.
My way is permanent. He doesn't have the chance to escape.
Doesn't get off on a technicality or buy his way out.”
“I know.” She was quiet for a moment. “That's what scares me. How much sense it makes.”
They stood in silence, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains. The air was cooling, carrying the smell of pine and approaching night.
“Thank you,” Willow said softly.
“For what?”
“For not judging. For understanding why I need to figure everything out.”
“We're partners,” Levi said. “Partners don't judge. They just … figure it out together.”
She looked at him then, and something in her expression made his breath catch. Vulnerable. Open. Like she was letting him see past all the armor she wore.
“Levi—”
He reached up and touched his ear, answering “Yeah?”