Chapter 8 Connections #2
Sloane continued, her voice calm but firm, the voice of someone who'd built an organization from nothing and wasn't about to watch it get destroyed by good intentions.
"We don't do this kind of work. We extract trafficking victims. Women and children who have no one else coming for them.
We don't run combat rescue missions in hostile territory against armed militants holding trained special operations soldiers. "
"So we do nothing," Mara said flatly.
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
Sloane leaned back in her chair. "I'm saying we need to think this through. Really think it through. Not just react because you feel guilty."
"I don't feel guilty." The lie tasted bitter in her mouth. Because it wasn't just guilt. It was the way he'd looked at her. The way his voice had sounded. The way something had started in that compound that she didn't have words for.
"Yes, you do. But guilt is a terrible basis for operational planning." Sloane's eyes softened. "You made the right call in Mosul. You prioritized the mission. Got Amira and Karim out alive. That's what we do."
"And if the operator dies because of that call?"
"Then he dies the way soldiers sometimes do. Making the sacrifice play." Sloane's voice was gentle but unyielding. "That's not on you. That's on whoever sent him in without proper intelligence."
"Doesn't make it easier."
"No. It doesn't." Sloane paused, letting the weight of the moment settle before continuing. "But it does make it not our problem."
The room fell silent again, but this time the silence was different, heavier with the knowledge that they were all wrestling with the same question even if they couldn't quite articulate it.
Mara could hear the hum of Quinn's computers, the faint sound of voices from the medical wing where Harper was probably still processing Amira and Karim, the chirp of insects outside in the bayou.
All the normal sounds of L'Abri S?r. Of home.
Of the place they'd built to be a sanctuary for survivors.
Quinn pulled up satellite imagery on the main screen. "I've been tracking communications intercepts from the Mosul area since you landed. There's been a spike in encrypted traffic between known Nazari associates."
Nadia asked, "About what?"
"Can't decrypt it all, but I caught fragments. References to 'the American.' To 'valuable cargo.' To negotiations."
"Ransom," Reese said, and the single word carried the weight of understanding, the knowledge that Steele was a commodity now, something to be traded or sold or leveraged.
Quinn zoomed in on several locations. "Or leverage. I've identified three possible holding sites based on pattern-of-life analysis and known Nazari properties. All within ten kilometers of the original compound."
Mara's eyes locked on the screen. Three locations.
Three chances that Steele was still alive, still breathing, still waiting for someone to come get him.
The red markers on the map burned into her vision.
One of those locations held the man with the dark eyes and the calm voice.
The man who'd looked at her like he'd seen something worth dying for.
Sloane watched her carefully. "This is personal for you." It wasn't a question.
Mara didn't answer immediately. She thought about the way Steele had looked at her behind that overturned SUV.
The way he'd made her choose. The way something had shifted in that moment that had nothing to do with tactics and everything to do with the pull she'd felt when their eyes met.
The way she couldn't stop thinking about him even though she didn't know his name.
"He helped us," she said finally. "Whether he meant to or not, he created the opening we needed to get Amira and Karim out. If we'd been alone in that compound when Nazari's men flooded in, we might not have made it."
"That's not an answer," Sloane said.
"It's the only one I can give you." Because the real answer was too complicated. Too raw. Too new to put into words.
[Continue with Nadia's "I'm in" and the rest of the scene as written, then add to Mara's final response:]
Sloane's voice was steel. "Alright. We do this, we do it perfect.
No trace. No trail. No connection back to L'Abri S?r.
Quinn, I want every piece of intelligence you can pull on those three sites.
Blueprints if they exist. Guard rotations.
Recent activity. Everything. Nadia, start working tactical plans for each location.
Reese, flight logistics. I want options for insertion and extraction that don't ping any radar between here and Iraq.
Winter, equipment and supplies. Kira, medical prep for worst-case scenarios. "
Mara stood. "And me?"
"You get four hours of sleep. Then you start figuring out how we find one American operator in a city of two million people before Nazari decides he's worth more dead than alive."
Mara nodded, but sleep felt impossible. Not when she could still see his eyes. Not when she could still hear his voice. Not when the thought of him in pain made her chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with tactical concerns and everything to do with something she wasn't ready to name.
Erbil Air Base, Iraq Same Time
Hawk sat in the team bay staring at satellite imagery that didn't tell him anything useful.
The compound outside Mosul looked the same as it had twelve hours ago.
Empty. Burned. A tactical disaster frozen in digital resolution.
Steele wasn't there. That much was obvious.
The question was where he'd gone after Nazari's men had taken him.
The door opened and Bulldog walked in carrying two cups of coffee that had probably been sitting on a burner for six hours. He set one in front of Hawk without comment.
"Anything?" Bulldog asked.
"Nothing." Hawk took the coffee. It tasted like burnt motor oil but the caffeine was welcome. "Thermal shows the compound's been abandoned. No vehicle traffic. No personnel. Nazari's people cleared out fast."
"Smart."
"Yeah."
They sat in silence for a minute. Outside, the base continued its normal operations. Aircraft taking off. Trucks moving supplies. Soldiers going about their business like six hours ago one of the best team leaders in Delta Force hadn't vanished into the Iraqi night.
Ghost walked in next, tablet in hand, looking like he hadn't slept. He probably hadn't. "Still no comms from Steele's tracker."
"It's dead," Hawk said.
"Or disabled."
"Same result."
Joker appeared in the doorway. "Colonel wants an update in thirty minutes."
Bulldog's voice was flat. "Update on what? We're sitting here with our thumbs up our ass waiting for permission to do our job."
"Standing down is our job right now."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
Joker didn't argue. Just leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, the frustration visible in the set of his shoulders.
Risk walked in last, medical pack still slung over his shoulder like he was ready to move at a moment's notice. "Any word from CTS? Iraqi intelligence? Anyone who might have eyes on Nazari's network?"
Ghost said, "CTS is being cooperative. Which means they're telling us what we want to hear while doing exactly nothing."
Bulldog stood and started pacing. The man had too much energy to sit still when things were going wrong.
"So we've got no leads, no intel, and no authorization to act.
Meanwhile Steele's somewhere in Mosul getting interrogated by an arms dealer who knows exactly how valuable a captured Delta operator is. "
The words hung heavy in the small room, each one a reminder of their failure and their helplessness.
Hawk set down his coffee. "There has to be something we can do."
"Like what?" Joker asked. "Colonel was pretty clear. No operations until we have confirmation of status and location."
"So we find status and location."
"How? We don't have assets in Mosul. Can't exactly walk the streets asking if anyone's seen an American prisoner."
Ghost pulled up a map on his tablet. "I've been monitoring communications intercepts. There's been increased encrypted traffic between known Nazari associates but I can't break it. Whatever encryption they're using is better than what I can crack with the tools I have here."
Risk asked, "What about satellite?"
"Patterns of life analysis shows activity at three locations that might be relevant. But 'might be' isn't good enough for a rescue operation."
Bulldog stopped pacing. "What about the other team?"
Everyone looked at him, the question hanging in the air like possibility.
"The team that was in the compound," he continued. "The ones who extracted the civilians. They were there. They saw what happened. Maybe they know something we don't."
"We don't know who they were," Hawk said.
"So we find out."
"How?"
Bulldog was quiet for a moment, then ran a hand over his head. "I might know someone who can help."
Ghost raised an eyebrow. "Someone?"
"Yeah. Friend of mine back in Texas. Cade Turner. Goes by Sledge. Firefighter. Good guy. We met years ago, stayed in touch."
Joker asked, "And he can help us how?"
"His girlfriend. Beth. She's..." Bulldog paused, choosing his words carefully. "She went through some bad shit a few years ago. Kidnapping. Real ugly situation. Got rescued but it left her pretty messed up. Agoraphobia. The whole nine yards."
Risk leaned forward. "What does that have to do with finding the team?"
"She moved to Texas for a fresh start. Met Sledge.
They've been together about a year now." Bulldog looked around at them.
"But here's the thing. Because of what happened to her, because of how she got out, she knows things.
Connected with people who do the kind of work most people don't even know exists. "
"You're being vague," Hawk said.