Chapter 35
Consciousness came in waves, each one bringing new flavors of pain.
Griff's head pounded, his shoulder throbbing with each heartbeat.
Pale morning light filtered through a window somewhere to his left.
They'd moved him during the night. He tried to move and discovered his wrists were zip-tied to a bed rail in an empty room.
Where was Sarah?
The last clear memory: her hunched over her laptop, the screen showing the upload at ninety-eight percent. Then the rifle butt to his temple. Then nothing.
They had her. He'd failed to protect her.
Voices drifted through the fog in his skull. Distant. Distorted.
"—confirmed Ghost's location—"
"—classic cocktail, Doc. Midazolam mixed with—"
"—seen this in Kandahar. Keeps them compliant but—"
The voices were inside his head. No—inside his ear. The earbud. Still there.
"Ghost, if you can hear this, don't react. Tap once for yes."
Ronan. That was Ronan's voice.
Griff concentrated every functioning neuron on moving his index finger.
"Got it!" Finn's voice. "Vitals spiked. He's with us."
"Good." Ronan, calm and clinical. "Listen, brother. The drugs they gave you—"
Doc cut in: "Benzodiazepine family mixed with a mild stimulant. Interrogation special. Makes you suggestible, impairs motor control."
"But it metabolizes," Ronan added. "Three, maybe four hours."
"Sarah?" The word came out slurred, barely recognizable.
"She's unharmed," Zara said. "We're tracking both of you."
Alive. The relief hit him physically, followed immediately by rage. They had her because he hadn't been fast enough, strong enough.
The door opened. Two Stillwater contractors entered, not bothering to lower their voices.
"Senator wants him coherent enough to confess but not fight back."
"Tricky balance."
One produced a syringe. "Little more stimulant. Should do it."
The needle went into his arm.
Ronan's voice in his ear: "They're trying to hit the sweet spot. Functional but impaired."
"Like a very public drunk," Doc added. "Believable but controllable."
The new drug didn't clear his head—it made everything worse. They hauled him upright, and the room tilted wildly.
"Shower. Then clothes. Senator wants him presentable."
They cut the zip-ties, dragged him to a bathroom. Cold water, harsh soap, efficient handling. Griff tried to resist but his body wouldn't respond properly. Fine motor control gone. Speech slurred.
"Classic mistake," Ronan murmured in his ear. "Mixing uppers and downers. You'll start clearing in two hours."
Two hours. Could he protect Sarah if he couldn't even stand straight?
They dressed him in a suit—respectable but disheveled, the perfect image of a broken soldier. His shoulder screamed when they forced his arm through the jacket.
"Looking good, Hawkins.” Senator Buckley stood in the doorway, presidential and polished.
Griff tried to form words.
"Eloquent as always." Buckley smiled. "In ninety minutes, you'll confess to planning an assassination. The forensic accountant will be revealed as a Chinese intelligence recruit who seduced you. A grieving soldier manipulated by a greedy woman and foreign powers. The media will devour it."
Buckley turned to someone out of view. "Pemberton, you were right about White. She was getting too close."
David Pemberton stepped into view, immaculate in his Treasury Department suit. The same smug expression from the photos Sarah pulled up.
"Sarah always was too intense about the details," Pemberton said. "I tried to warn her, back when we were together. Some puzzles aren't meant to be solved."
Through the drugs, rage crystallized into something pure and sharp. This was the man who'd betrayed Sarah professionally and personally. Who'd built the financial architecture for mass murder.
"You're... dead," Griff managed to slur out.
Pemberton laughed. "Yeah. Not exactly, bro. I'm going to be a hero. The financial advisor who discovered the terrorist plot, who helped stop Knight Tactical's conspiracy. While you and Sarah..." He shrugged. "Yikes."
Buckley nodded approvingly. "David's been invaluable. His financial expertise helped us identify your team's funding sources."
"She'll... destroy you," Griff forced out.
"Sarah?" Pemberton's smile was condescending. "I don’t think so. She’s great with spreadsheets, I'll admit. But this is the real world. She never understood how things actually work."
Fury built in Griff's chest, but his body wouldn't respond. The cut in his shoulder pulsed. He'd saved Sarah from one bullet only to lead her into another.
They marched him through corridors, Griff stumbling despite the guards' grip. Then he saw her.
Still in yesterday's catering uniform. Her face was pale but unbroken, chin raised despite the guards flanking her.
Their eyes met. Hers held no blame, only faith. She mouthed: "Have faith."
He tried to convey everything—apology, promise, the word he hadn't said. But the guards shoved them in different directions.
"Status report," Ronan said in his ear, voice steady. "Speech starts at three. That's our window."
"Every network's covering it live," Finn added. "Perfect."
"Security's focused on the stage," Zara reported. "Three entry points mapped."
“And on the building perimeter,” Doc said. “They’re expecting you all.”
Griff's mind began to clear slightly—enough to understand. Rescue would come at the lunch. The team planned to use Buckley's own stage against him. His job: stay alive and protect Sarah when chaos erupted.
The ballroom doors opened, revealing Buckley's triumph. Cameras everywhere. Lights that hurt to look at. Hundreds of attendees already seated. A stage with a podium and two chairs—one for him, one for Sarah.
His shoulder burned as they positioned him. In the VIP section, he spotted Pemberton taking his seat, adjusting his cufflinks with the confidence of someone who thought he'd already won.
"Forty Stillwater contractors visible," Izzy said in his ear.
The drugs were metabolizing faster now. Not fast enough, but better. Control returning in increments. Okay. He’d take what he could get. But he’d play it cool. Make them think the drugs were still hitting. Hard.
They brought Sarah to the opposite chair. Twenty feet away, might as well be twenty miles. She looked so small between the guards, but her eyes found his immediately. No fear there. Only trust he didn't deserve.
Then her gaze shifted, finding Pemberton in the VIP section. Something flickered across her face—recognition, betrayal, then determination.
"Another hour until you're fully functional, sport," Ronan said.
No worries. He’d take fifty percent. Adrenaline––and fury––would do the rest.
Buckley was approaching the podium, checking the microphone.
Stage lights glittered off the lenses of the man’s wire glasses. He cleared his throat importantly. "Ladies and gentlemen, what you're about to witness will shock you. But it's necessary for our nation's security."
Through his earbud, Doc's voice: "Buckley ate the entire croissant. I knew he would. Here we go, children. Showtime.”
Griff locked eyes with Sarah across the stage. He couldn't speak, could barely move, but he tried to put everything into that look.
This time I won't fail you.
She seemed to understand. The slightest nod. The hint of a smile.
"Places, team," Buckley commanded. "We're live in sixty seconds."
The red lights on the cameras began to blink. Ready. Waiting.
Griff resisted the urge to tense. He needed them to believe he was still in a stupor. He box-breathed, waiting for the signal he knew would come.
"Thirty seconds," someone called.
In his ear, Ronan's voice, deadly calm: "All teams, stand by."
Sarah straightened in her chair, touching the spot where her cross usually rested. He could see that Buckley’s hired guns had taken it, along with Tank's tags. But faith didn't require symbols.
"Ten seconds."
Second by second, the drugs were losing their grip, clarity returning with agonizing slowness. Not enough. Not yet. But soon.
"Five... four... three... two..."
The red lights went solid.
Buckley smiled at the cameras. The Senator thought he controlled the narrative. But he'd forgotten the first rule of warfare.
No plan survives contact with the enemy.
The man didn’t know it yet, but Knight Tactical had already made contact.