Chapter 14 #2
Movement in the trees. Three operatives advance in tactical formation. Professional spacing. They use cover effectively.
"I've got three," I report.
"Two more on my side." Alex's voice is calm. Clinical. "They're setting up a perimeter. Boxing us in before they move."
"How long?"
"Minutes." He doesn't take his eyes off his sector. "They'll coordinate the breach. Come from multiple angles simultaneously."
"What's our play?"
"Make them pay for every inch. Conserve ammunition. Wait for an opening." He glances at me. "And hope Kane doesn't follow protocol."
I understand what he means. By the book, Kane should write us off. Cut losses, preserve the team. But Kane made it clear at the briefing that Echo Ridge doesn't abandon its own.
My comm unit crackles. "Alex. Delaney. Sit rep." Kane's voice cuts through the static.
Alex keys his mic. "Grid November-Seven. Pinned down in old mining structure. At least eight hostiles, possibly more. Low on ammunition. Recommend you get the team clear."
"Negative. We're fifteen minutes out."
"Kane—"
"Echo Ridge doesn't leave its own. Hold position. We're coming."
The comm goes dead. Alex looks at me. His mouth quirks up on one side despite the situation. "Stubborn bastard."
"Good." I settle into firing position. "So are we."
The Committee operatives move closer. They're patient. Deliberate. Taking their time because they know we have nowhere to go.
But they don't know who they're dealing with. They don't know that the FBI agent in here has spent eight years studying how killers think, how they move, how they make mistakes. They don't know that the operator beside me survived four days of torture without breaking.
And they definitely don't know that we'd rather die fighting than let them win.
"Hey," Alex says between shots. "After this is over..."
"After this, we're still alive." I fire twice. "Focus on that."
"Deal."
The first operative breaks cover. Moving fast toward the structure. I track him through my sights. Steady breath. Smooth trigger press.
The shot echoes through the structure. The operative goes down. Immediate return fire from three positions. Rounds punch through the stone walls, send chips of rock flying.
"Here we go."
The world explodes in gunfire.
I fire controlled bursts, force them back into cover. Beside me, Alex does the same. We move in perfect sync. One reloads while the other provides covering fire. Tactical rhythm born from training and trust.
An operative tries to flank left. I put two rounds center mass before he can find cover. He drops. But more are moving in. They're overwhelming us through sheer numbers.
"Magazine," Alex calls, ducking behind cover to reload.
I shift position, covering both our sectors. Three targets visible. I engage the closest, driving him back. The others return fire. A round passes so close to my head I feel the displacement.
"Reloaded." Alex is back up, engaging.
We hold them for minutes that feel like hours. But we're running low. One magazine left for me. Maybe two for Alex. Against at least six remaining hostiles who can afford to wait us out.
"Movement, northeast," Alex reports. "They're repositioning for final assault."
This is it. The moment where we make our stand or die trying.
I meet Alex's eyes across the dim interior. Everything we said and didn't say reflects back. The choice we made. The future we might not have.
"No regrets," I say.
"None." He reaches across the space between us, fingers brushing mine. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Before I can respond, the sound of engines cuts through the gunfire. Heavy. Multiple vehicles. Coming fast.
The Committee operatives outside hesitate. Confused. They weren't expecting reinforcements.
Neither were we.
The first truck explodes through the tree line, pine branches snapping like gunfire. A massive vehicle, pushing fifty miles per hour through terrain that should be impossible. It doesn't slow. Doesn't swerve. Just aims directly at the Committee formation like a battering ram made of steel and fury.
Operatives scatter. One isn't fast enough. The truck's bumper catches him and sends him flying into a tree trunk. The impact makes a sound I'll never forget.
Two SUVs follow, flank the truck. Doors fly open before the vehicles fully stop.
Stryker rolls out, rifle already firing.
Rourke emerges from the other side, lays down suppressing fire that forces the Committee team into cover.
Tommy's behind the wheel of the second SUV.
His usual keyboard precision is replaced with aggressive driving that tears up earth and vegetation.
And Kane. Standing in the open bed of the truck like he doesn't care that he's a target. His rifle barks steady, controlled bursts. "On your feet! We're leaving!"
Committee operatives return fire but they're disorganized now. Caught between Echo Ridge's assault and their broken formation. One tries to flank left. Sarah drops him from the driver's seat of the lead SUV, her shot clean and professional.
Alex and I don't need to be told twice. We're out of the structure. Sprint for the vehicles. My legs burn. My lungs scream. Rounds snap past my head close enough that air displacement brushes my skin.
Rourke provides covering fire, his shots precise despite the chaos. "Move, move, move!"
I'm ten feet from the truck when my foot catches on an exposed root. I go down hard, palms scrape across rock and dirt. Before I can push up, Alex's hand locks around my arm and hauls me vertical. We're running again, his grip never loosens.
We reach the truck. Rourke grabs my vest and physically lifts me inside. I land hard on the metal floor. Alex throws himself in after me, already turning to provide covering fire through the open back.
"Everyone in?" Kane doesn't wait for confirmation. The truck lurches forward.
Stryker and Rourke pile into the SUVs. Engines roar. We're moving, crash back through the forest the way we came. Behind us, Committee operatives are regrouping, trying to mount pursuit. But they're on foot and we're mobile.
"Status?" Kane doesn't take his eyes off the rough terrain ahead.
"Operational," Alex reports, breathing hard. "Zero casualties. Low ammunition."
"They were already waiting for us," I add. "In position before we arrived."
The truck goes silent. Kane's hands tighten on the wheel. In the rearview, Stryker and Rourke exchange looks. Tommy's face on the dashboard comms screen goes pale.
"We planned this operation two hours ago," I continue. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "They shouldn't have had time to position assets. Unless they're running predictive models on our likely movements."
Alex shifts beside me. His shoulder presses against mine in the cramped space. When I meet his eyes, his expression is calculating. Working the problem.
"Or satellite surveillance," he says quietly. "Tracking our vehicles from orbit."
"We discuss this at Echo Base," Kane says. His voice carries finality. "Secure comms only. Until then, assume Committee has better surveillance capabilities than we estimated. Understood?"
"Understood," we echo.
The weight of it settles over the truck. The Committee isn't just powerful. They're everywhere. Watching. Tracking. Always one step ahead.
The truck bounces over rough terrain, putting distance between us and the ambush site. Through the canvas covering, glimpses of Montana wilderness slide past. Beautiful. Deadly. Like everything else in this new reality.
My shoulder throbs where I hit the ground. My palms sting from the scrapes. But I'm alive. Alex is alive. And the Committee just showed us exactly how outmatched we are.
Alex's hand finds mine in the shadows. Squeezes once. When I squeeze back, he relaxes slightly against me.
The truck hits a rut and jostles us both. Nobody speaks. The silence stretches taut, heavy with the realization that we're fighting an enemy who can find us anywhere.
No location is safe. No operation is secure.
And we just barely made it out alive.