Chapter 18 #2
Breakfast passes in a blur of conversation and the controlled chaos of people who live and work together in close quarters.
Lucas charms everyone at the table with stories about Odin's tricks and questions about the equipment he's seen around the base.
Khalid fields most of the technical questions with patience while the team treats my son like he belongs here.
It's almost normal. Almost safe. Almost like we could stay here forever and nothing bad would ever touch us again.
Then Kane appears in the doorway and the illusion shatters.
"Operations center, ten minutes," he says. "Everyone."
The team moves immediately, clearing plates and heading toward their stations. I stand on instinct, but Khalid is already there.
"I've got Lucas," he says. "We'll hang out in the gym with Odin. He's been wanting to show me this new soccer trick."
Lucas looks between me and Kane, reading the tension in a way that breaks my heart. "Is it about the bad guys again?"
"It's about keeping you safe," I tell him, which is truth without being the whole truth. "I'll come find you as soon as we're done, okay?"
He nods slowly and takes Khalid's offered hand. Odin presses against his other side, and the three of them head down the corridor toward the gym. I watch until they disappear around the corner before following the team toward operations.
The operations center is already set up for a briefing when we arrive.
Kane stands at the tactical display with Tommy at the console.
Sarah coordinates communications. Mercer leans against the wall despite his injuries, and Dylan has claimed a chair that Reagan pulled out for him.
Willa positions herself near, ready for whatever comes next.
Stryker takes position near the back wall where he can see everything. I move to stand beside him, needing the anchor of his presence even if I'm not ready to name what that means.
Kane pulls up files on the main display. "Cross came through. She's arranged discrete federal contact for Lucas's testimony. Prosecutor with the authority to secure witness statements and the discretion to keep them protected from Committee infiltration."
The logic makes sense in the same cold, tactical way everything these people do makes sense. But the reality of putting my six-year-old son through that process sends bile rising in my throat.
"He's six years old," I say. "You're asking him to relive the worst thing he's ever seen. To describe a murder in enough detail that it holds up legally. To identify the man who did it knowing that man wanted to kill him."
"I know," Kane says, and something in his voice suggests he understands exactly what he's asking. "But it's the best option we have for keeping him alive long-term."
Before I can argue further, Tommy's console chimes. He glances at the screen and his face goes still.
"We have incoming," he announces. "Friendly signature, Cross's encryption. Should I let them through?"
Kane nods. "Open the primary entrance. Prepare for visitor."
The massive doors grind open somewhere deeper in the facility. Minutes tick by in tense silence. Then footsteps echo down the corridor, and a man appears in the doorway.
I know him immediately despite the years that have passed.
Micah Hawthorne. Older than I remember, his dark hair showing grey at the temples, but the same intense focus in his eyes.
The same competent presence that made me trust him that night when he talked me into opening the bathroom door while gunfire raged through Mateo's compound.
He sees me and stops. Guilt and relief and recognition war across his face.
"Rachel," he says, and my name in his voice carries weight I don't know how to hold.
I cross the room without conscious decision, closing the distance between us. He meets me halfway, and when his arms come around me in a careful embrace, relief breaks open inside me.
"You're okay," he says against my hair. "I've been tracking you through Cross's network. Knew you were in trouble but couldn't reach you until now."
"You saved us," I manage, pulling back to look at him properly. "You got us out. Lucas and me both. You saved us."
"I should have found you sooner. Should have realized what Mateo really was before—" His jaw tightens. "I carry that, Rachel. Should have acted sooner."
"You couldn't have known. I didn't know, and I lived with him." I grip his arms, making him look at me. "You came when it mattered. You got us out alive. That's what counts."
Hawthorne's expression eases slightly. He glances around the operations center, taking in the assembled team with professional assessment. His eyes linger on Stryker for a moment—mutual recognition passing between them.
"I hear you've found yourself some decent backup," Hawthorne says, a slight smile touching his mouth.
"They're good people," I confirm.
Kane steps forward, extending a hand. "Hawthorne. Appreciate you coming personally."
They shake, and something in the gesture speaks to mutual respect between professionals who operate in similar worlds.
"Cross said you needed help with witness testimony," Hawthorne says, getting straight to business. "I brought everything. Federal prosecutor on standby, secure recording equipment, protocols for witness protection if necessary."
"The witness is six years old," Kane says bluntly.
Hawthorne's expression doesn't change, but his eyes shift to me with understanding. "Your son. The murder he witnessed."
"Lucas saw Kessler execute a man in an alley behind Martinez Grocery in Tucson," Kane explains. "The victim was David Hernandez, former guard at a Protocol Seven black site. Your task force helped dismantle that facility years ago."
Darkness crosses Hawthorne's face. "Protocol Seven. Christ. Hernandez kept evidence?"
"We believe so," Tommy says from his console. "The Committee sent Kessler to eliminate him before he could talk."
Hawthorne processes this information with the kind of speed that comes from years in intelligence work. "And now the Committee wants the kid dead before he can identify Kessler."
"Kessler's dead," Stryker says from his position against the wall. "We eliminated him two days ago."
"Which is why Webb deployed Reeve," Kane adds.
Hawthorne goes very still. "Reeve is involved?"
"Confirmed through Cross's intelligence," Kane says. "He's in the region. Tracking with significantly more patience than Kessler demonstrated."
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. Hawthorne's expression hardens into something professional and deadly.
"Reeve doesn't fail," he says quietly. "He's patient enough to wait months if necessary. Smart enough to recognize traps. Brutal enough to eliminate anyone who stands between him and his target."
"Which is why we need Lucas's testimony secured now," Kane says. "Before Reeve gets close enough to act."
Hawthorne looks at me again. "This has to be your call, Rachel. I can facilitate everything. The prosecutor I've vetted is solid, no Committee connections. The recording will be secured with people I personally trust. But it's your son. Your decision."
Every instinct screams to protect Lucas from this. To find another way, any other way, that doesn't require him to relive that trauma. But standing in this operations center surrounded by people who've dedicated themselves to fighting the Committee, I understand the reality we're facing.
Reeve won't stop. The Committee won't stop. And Lucas will never be safe as long as his testimony remains a threat they can eliminate by eliminating him.
"What would the process involve?" I ask, hating how steady my voice sounds.
"Gentle interview format. Age-appropriate questions.
We record everything with you present. Lucas describes what he saw in his own words.
We document identifying details about the perpetrator and the victim.
The whole thing takes maybe an hour at most." Hawthorne's voice is calm and professional.
"Then the recording gets secured in multiple locations with federal protection.
If anything happens to Lucas, the testimony still exists. "
"Making him worthless as a target," I say, understanding the logic even as it makes me sick.
"Making him a witness with protected testimony instead of a liability that can be silenced," Hawthorne corrects gently.
I look at Stryker, needing something I can't name. He pushes off the wall and crosses to stand beside me, his hand finding the small of my back in a gesture of support that grounds me.
"It's the right call," he says quietly. "I know it's hard. But it's what keeps him alive."
I close my eyes and think about Lucas in the gym with Khalid and Odin, playing soccer and being a normal kid. Think about the nightmares that wake him screaming. Think about the men who want him dead for witnessing something he never should have seen.
"Okay," I say, opening my eyes. "Let's do it. But I'm there the entire time. If Lucas gets upset or scared, we stop immediately."
"Agreed," Hawthorne says. "Your rules. Your son."
Kane nods once. "Tommy, set up the secure recording equipment in conference room two. Make sure everything's isolated from external networks. Sarah, coordinate with Cross's prosecutor. Hawthorne, you'll conduct the interview?"
"If Rachel's comfortable with that," Hawthorne says, looking at me for confirmation.
I nod. Lucas knows Hawthorne. Trusts him as much as a six-year-old can trust someone from fragmented memories of that terrible night. If anyone can make this process less traumatic, it's the man who carried him to safety while I was still in shock.
The team mobilizes with practiced efficiency. Tommy disappears to set up equipment. Sarah coordinates communications. Kane pulls up files on Protocol Seven while Mercer and Dylan discuss tactical considerations for what comes after.
I stand in the center of organized chaos, trying to prepare myself for watching my son describe a murder.
Stryker's hand is still at my back, steady and warm. "This is the right call."
"Doesn't feel right."
"Because you're his mother. Protecting him is your job. But sometimes protecting means making the hard choices." He turns me gently to face him. "You're not failing him, Rachel. You're keeping him alive."
I want to believe that. Need to believe it. But the tension doesn't ease.
Tommy returns within minutes, confirming the recording equipment is ready. Hawthorne has his notes prepared. Kane gives the go-ahead.
Time to get my son and ask him to relive his worst nightmare.