Chapter 13
ALEX
Kane stares at Delaney for three full seconds before he speaks.
"On our terms," he repeats. "You want to elaborate on that?"
We are standing in the command center now. Tommy sits at the main terminal with surveillance feeds cycling across six monitors. Willa leans against the weapons rack, arms crossed. Everyone is watching Delaney, waiting to see if she can back up the bold statement she just made.
I should be the one talking. Should be formulating a tactical response to the Committee's containment protocol. Instead, I am watching her. The way she holds Kane's gaze without flinching. The set of her shoulders. The certainty in her voice when she speaks.
"They are using the BOLO to justify flooding the area with operatives," Delaney says. "Which means they are looking for me specifically. So we give them a sighting. Controlled. At a location we choose. Draw them away from Echo Base."
"A decoy operation," Tommy says, fingers already moving across his keyboard. "Use you as bait to pull Committee assets out of position."
"Exactly."
Kane shakes his head. "Too risky. Committee knows what you look like. The moment they confirm visual identification, they will converge with overwhelming force."
"That is the point," Delaney says. "We want them to converge. Just not on Echo Base."
I step forward before Kane can shut her down. "She's right. We're boxed in. Committee has sixty assets creating a net around our position. We stay dark, we're trapped. We move, we risk detection. But if we give them a target somewhere else, we create operational freedom."
Kane turns his attention to me. "And you think sending Delaney out there as bait is the smart play?"
"I think it's the only play we have right now."
Silence settles over the command center. Willa pushes off from the weapons rack, moving closer. "If we do this, it needs to be surgical. One sighting, controlled exit, zero contact."
"Agreed," I say. "We stage it in a public location. Gas station, convenience store. Somewhere with security cameras that feed into systems Tommy can access. Committee sees her on camera, mobilizes assets to that location, we extract before they arrive."
Tommy nods slowly. "I can make that work. Plant the footage in law enforcement databases, make it look like a legitimate sighting. Committee will pick it up within minutes."
"And when they realize it was a decoy?" Kane asks.
"By then we have already relocated Delaney to a secure position and regained operational mobility," I say. "It buys us time."
Kane looks at each of us in turn. Then he nods once.
"Alright. But we do this right. Full tactical planning.
Multiple contingencies. And Delaney does not go out there without proper training first." He focuses on her.
"Which means you are grounded until you complete weapons qualifications and tactical protocols. Could be days. Maybe a week."
"Understood," Delaney says.
"Tommy, start working up locations. I want three options by morning. Alex, debrief the team on what the Committee knows. If we are running ops, everyone needs full picture." Kane is already moving toward the exit. "Get some rest. We start planning at zero-six-hundred."
He leaves. Willa follows, but not before giving Delaney a small nod of approval. Tommy turns back to his monitors, muttering about database access protocols and camera feeds.
That leaves me standing with Delaney in the command center.
"You didn't have to back me up," she says quietly.
"You were right. Kane knows it. He just needed to hear someone else say it."
"Someone he trusts."
I meet her eyes. "Someone operational. You are still FBI in his head. Not one of us yet."
The words land harder than I intend. I watch her jaw tighten slightly. "Right. Of course."
"Delaney—"
"It's fine. I should get some rest like Kane said." She is already moving toward the tunnel that leads to quarters. "See you at the debrief."
She disappears before I can say anything else.
I stand there for a moment, feeling the weight of what I just did. Pushed her away again. Put operational necessity ahead of everything else. It is what I am trained to do. What I am good at.
It feels like shit.
"You're an idiot," Tommy says without looking up from his screens.
"Excuse me?"
"She just went toe-to-toe with Kane. No prep. No backup. And you're over here keeping your distance like it's tactical protocol." He glances at me. "You know what your problem is? You're better at tactical planning than being human."
"I'm keeping things professional."
"You're keeping things distant. There's a difference." He returns his attention to the monitors. "Just saying. Some of us would kill for what you're pushing away."
I do not have a response to that. So I leave the command center and head to the briefing room where the rest of the team is waiting.
Stryker and Rourke are already there. Two men I have known for years. Brothers in every way that matters. They stand when I enter, and I see the concern in their faces before they hide it behind operational masks.
"Good to see you upright," Stryker says. "Four days with Kessler's people. Hell of a thing."
"Tell me about it."
"What did they want?" Rourke asks. "What were they fishing for?"
I sit at the head of the table. They take seats around me. This is the part I have been dreading. Not because they will question whether I broke—they won't. But because of what it means that Kessler knew enough to ask the right questions.
"They were fishing for location," I say. "Kessler wanted coordinates. Access routes. Vulnerabilities in our defenses."
"How close did he get?" Stryker asks.
"Not close enough. But he had good intel to start with. Knew about our command structure. Knew Kane was running operations. Had details about my deployment that are classified above Top Secret." I lean forward. "The Committee has access at levels we didn't anticipate."
Stryker curses under his breath. "That means they could know about our safe houses. Contacts."
"Possibly. Which is why Kane is implementing full lockdown protocol. No external communications. No movement outside Echo Base unless mission critical. We go dark until we assess the threat."
"What about the FBI agent?" Rourke asks. "She connected to this?"
"No. The Committee orchestrated having the FBI send her to arrest me.
They told her I was a domestic terrorist. Set us both up.
They wanted her to find me at that Wyoming safe house, then planned to kill us both.
" I keep my voice even. Professional. "She figured it out when the kill team showed up.
Saved my life. Got us both out. She's burned now.
Has federal charges against her. But she's also a resource.
Profiler with eight years FBI experience. "
"Kane trusts her?" Stryker asks.
"Kane is evaluating her."
"But you trust her." It's not a question. Stryker is watching me with the kind of attention that misses nothing.
"I do."
"That's personal, not tactical," Stryker says.
"Maybe. But she saved my life. Multiple times. She walked away from her career to get us both out. That counts for something."
Stryker nods slowly. "Fair enough. What do we need to know about the facility? Does the Committee even know about it, or is it Kessler's personal operation?"
I spend the next hour walking them through everything. The facility layout. Guard rotations. Security protocols. Kessler's interrogation methods. The tech they used. Every detail I remember from those four days.
They listen. Ask questions. Take notes. This is what we do. Debrief. Analyze. Plan. Turn bad situations into actionable intelligence.
When I finish, Stryker stands. "Get some rest. You look like hell."
"Thanks."
"I mean it." He grips my shoulder. "You've been through it. Take time to process before you go operational again."
They file out. Rourke lingers at the door. "The FBI agent. Delaney. She's more than just a resource, right?"
I do not answer immediately.
"Thought so," he says. "Just be careful. This life doesn't mix well with relationships. Trust me on that."
He leaves before I can respond.
I sit alone in the briefing room for a long time. The walls feel like they are closing in. The air tastes stale. I need to move. Need to work the tension out of my system before it consumes me.
The gym is empty when I arrive. Small space carved out of the rock. Punching bag hanging from a reinforced beam. Weights stacked against the wall. Pull-up bar bolted into stone.
I strip off my shirt, moving carefully around the cracked ribs. The bruising has spread across my torso in shades of purple and black. Kessler's people were thorough. Professional. They knew exactly how to inflict maximum pain without causing permanent damage.
I start with bodyweight exercises. Push-ups. Sit-ups. The movements are familiar. Comforting. Each rep is a count. A rhythm. Something I can control when everything else feels like it is spiraling.
The ribs scream with every movement. Good. The pain grounds me. Reminds me I am still here. Still alive. Still capable of pushing through.
I'm halfway through my third set when I sense her presence.
Delaney stands in the doorway, watching. Silent. Waiting with her arms crossed.
"You should be resting," I say without stopping.
"So should you."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
I glance down. She's right. The stitches on my side have opened slightly. Blood seeps through in a thin line. I wipe it away and keep going.
"Alex—"
"I said I'm fine."
She crosses the gym floor. Stands directly in front of me. Forces me to stop or push through her. I stop.
"You're going to reopen those wounds," she says.
"I already knew that."
"Then why are you doing it?"
"Because I need to." The words come out harder than I intend. "I need to know I can still function. That I'm not broken."
"You're not broken."
"Four days with Kessler says otherwise."