48. Rook
ROOK
Vehicles spread across both ends of the runway.
Black armored trucks.
Military transports.
Portable barricades.
Dozens of armed men.
Maybe more.
Every one of them stood between us and the sky.
The fuel hose remained connected to our aircraft.
Engines idled.
We couldn’t take off.
Not yet.
Shadow Division formed a defensive perimeter around the cargo plane.
The five survivors remained inside with Sarah and Jack.
Madow and Reeves sat under guard near the forward bulkhead.
I stood at the bottom of the ramp with Sniper, Falcon, and Shark.
Cobra crouched behind a stack of cargo pallets.
He kept looking toward the fuel truck.
That concerned me.
A lot.
The opposing force stopped several hundred yards away.
For nearly a minute, no one fired.
A man stepped out of the lead vehicle.
Tall.
Gray-haired.
Expensive tactical gear that had never seen enough combat to justify the price.
He removed his sunglasses despite the early morning shadows.
Cobra’s voice came through my headset.
“I already hate him.”
“Focus.”
“I can hate him and focus.”
The stranger accepted a loudspeaker from one of his men.
“James Callahan.”
I stepped away from the aircraft.
My rifle hung loosely in my hands.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“You’ve caused a great deal of trouble.”
“Funny. Alan Madow said something similar.”
That got a reaction.
Small.
But noticeable.
The man’s eyes moved toward the aircraft.
“No one needs to die here.”
Behind me, Shark sighed.
“Why do they always say that?”
“Because they’re about to threaten to kill everyone,” Falcon answered.
The stranger continued.
“Director Madow and Colonel Reeves are to be returned to us.”
Madow heard him through the open ramp.
The color drained from his face.
Interesting.
The man wasn’t here to rescue them.
Madow knew it.
“What happens to the survivors?” I asked.
“They remain.”
“And Shadow Division?”
“You leave.”
For one moment, no one spoke.
Then Shark laughed.
Falcon joined him.
Cobra wasn’t far behind.
I looked around as if considering the offer.
“You want us to give you Madow and Reeves, abandon five tortured American operators, and fly away?”
“That is the offer.”
“That’s adorable.”
The stranger’s expression darkened.
“You’re outnumbered.”
I pretended to count the vehicles.
“Maybe.”
His confidence returned.
“You have one aircraft and nowhere to go.”
I touched my radio.
“Fathom, how long until we’re fueled?”
“Eight minutes.”
Too long.
“Sam,” I said.
Captain Cutter answered immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me you have something.”
“I have their identities.”
The stranger’s expression changed.
He was monitoring our communications.
Good.
Sam continued.
“Private military contractors operating through three shell companies. None officially exist.”
“Who hired them?”
“Working on it.”
Fathom entered the channel.
“I have something better.”
“What?”
“A release protocol.”
I looked toward the aircraft.
Fathom stood beside the open ramp with one hand on his portable system.
“I copied the Black Site Theta files to twelve independent servers. If my signal stops—or if any of us fail to check in—the files release simultaneously.”
The stranger’s confidence vanished.
Fathom’s voice carried through the loudspeaker mounted near the aircraft.
“Names. Photographs. Interrogation records. Financial transactions. Everything.”
The men across the runway began exchanging looks.
They had been hired to erase evidence.
Now killing us would release it.
The stranger raised his radio and began arguing with someone.
Good.
Uncertainty spread through his formation.
Madow’s voice came from inside the aircraft.
“He’s bluffing.”
Fathom looked toward him.
“I’m not.”
“You didn’t have time to establish twelve secure archives.”
“I had twenty-one hours on a cargo aircraft and an unusually strong desire not to die.”
Cobra sounded impressed.
“I love it when he gets terrifying.”
The stranger lowered his radio.
His face had hardened.
“Your threat changes nothing.”
“It changes everything,” I said.
“If those files are released, the consequences will reach far beyond you.”
“That sounds like a problem for the people whose names are in them.”
“You don’t know what you’re exposing.”
I took another step forward.
“I know exactly what I’m exposing. Five men who were buried alive. Three who died inside that mountain. Six members of my team murdered to protect it.”
The man’s jaw tightened.
“Final warning, Callahan.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“That’s my final answer.”
The airfield went silent.
Wind moved dust across the runway.
The refueling crew worked behind the aircraft, trying not to attract attention.
Six minutes.
We needed six minutes.
The stranger pressed the radio against his ear.
Someone spoke.
His expression changed.
Anger became frustration.
Then fear.
He looked toward the aircraft.
Directly at Madow.
Madow saw it.
His face went white.
The stranger lowered his radio.
Then raised one arm and pointed toward the open ramp.
“Kill Madow.”
Every weapon on our side came up.
Madow surged to his feet despite his restraints.
“No!”
The stranger dropped his arm.
The runway exploded.