Chapter 11
ELI
Federal backup won't reach us in time. Evacuating Traci to a secure location means exposing her on the road. We fortify what we have and prepare to hold the line when Graves comes with everything left in his arsenal.
I'm moving through Finn's compound, cataloging defensive positions. The northern approach first—most likely attack vector given the terrain. Natural choke point where the access road narrows between two rock outcroppings. Good kill box if we position correctly.
Finn's already out there, adjusting motion sensors and checking sight lines. Former MEDEVAC pilot who can't fly anymore but still thinks like someone who used to extract casualties under fire. Angles, exposure, how terrain shapes survival—he understands all of it.
"Range markers every twenty meters." He points to reflective tape on trees. "Sensors are live. Anything moving triggers alerts to the main console."
I nod. "Overlapping fields of fire from the upper windows?"
"Yeah. Two positions—east and west sides of the main building. Clear lanes down the northern approach and into the clearing."
Zeke's inside coordinating communications with federal prosecutors. Getting Traci's testimony and Cara's evidence uploaded to multiple secure servers. Making sure if we don't survive these next hours, our case against Graves survives us.
Cara's setting up her laptop in the communications room. Her former FBI experience means she knows how to coordinate defensive operations. She'll monitor sensors, manage communications, provide backup fire if needed.
Four of us against however many contractors Graves mobilized. Helena and Traci stay in the infirmary—the most defensible interior position with reinforced walls and a single entry point.
The odds in a defensive position aren't terrible. Terrain favors us. We know this ground. They're coming to us, exposed during approach. Standard asymmetric advantage if we use it right.
But Graves has resources. Federal-grade equipment. Operatives who do this for money, which means they're experienced enough not to make stupid mistakes.
Amateurs with shotguns would be manageable. What's coming will be a coordinated assault by people who know how to breach hardened positions.
I head back inside. Traci's in the infirmary with Helena. Vitals get checked, movements efficient and calm from years of trauma work. She glances up when I enter, and even now—even with combat coming—my body registers her presence. The way she moves. The competence in those hands.
Not the time. Push it down.
"How is she?"
"Stable. Resting." Helena's voice stays level but tension lives in her shoulders. Awareness sits there too—in hours this compound becomes a battlefield and her job shifts from gathering testimony to treating casualties. "Zeke said the evidence is uploaded?"
"Multiple servers. Redundant backups. Even if they breach, our case survives."
"That's not particularly comforting."
"Wasn't meant to be comforting. Was meant to be tactical reality."
She studies my face. Looking for something—reassurance maybe, or certainty that we'll make it through. I don't give her either because I learned long ago not to make promises the field might force me to break.
What I give her instead is truth. "When they come, you stay in here with Traci.
The infirmary's the most defensible interior position.
Reinforced walls, single entry point, clear fields of fire from the doorway.
If they breach the outer perimeter, you fall back to the reinforced storage room.
If they breach that, you take Traci through the emergency exit—workshop connects to a trail into the forest. Cara showed her the routes. "
"And if they get past all of that?"
"Use the Glock you brought with you and don't hesitate… Chest shots. Multiple rounds. Don't stop until the threat's down."
Helena picks up the weapon. Her hands know what to do—proper grip, trigger discipline, muzzle awareness. She's not comfortable with it, but she's competent. That'll have to be enough.
"I've never shot anyone," she says quietly.
"You will if they get past us. And you won't regret it because whoever comes through that door won't be here to negotiate." I hold her gaze. I let her see exactly what I'm capable of. What I'm about to become when those contractors arrive. "This is survival. Nothing more complicated."
She nods. Sets the Glock within reach but not where Traci might see it when she wakes. We maintain professional distance even now, both of us compartmentalizing what happened between us because the situation requires it.
Doesn't stop the awareness. Her pulse jumping when I'm close. Her breathing changes too—quick and shallow, tells me last night's still right there under the surface despite the tactical mask she's wearing. Heat pools low in my gut. Memory of exactly how her skin tastes.
Later. If we survive, there's later.
I force myself to move. Put space between us before I do something stupid like pull her against me right here in the infirmary.
Cara's at her laptop coordinating with federal contacts. Screens show encrypted communications, tactical overlays, real-time updates from the sensors Finn deployed. She's got this compound networked like a military operations center.
"DOJ confirms they received everything," she says without looking up. "Federal warrants are being prepared for Graves. But the timeline's still days."
"Won't matter if he eliminates Traci before the warrants execute."
"I know." Her fingers move across the keyboard. "I've also sent everything to three different investigative journalists with instructions to publish if we go dark for more than twenty-four hours. Insurance policy."
Smart. Graves might risk a federal firefight to silence one witness, but he won't risk nationwide media exposure. The publication threat keeps him from disappearing all evidence even if he takes us out.
Zeke enters from outside, snow dusting his shoulders. "The perimeter's locked down. Finn's positioned at the window, I'll take the eastern approach. Cara monitors sensors from the communications room."
"What about the southern route?"
"Too steep for vehicle access and the sensors will catch foot traffic. If they try that approach, we'll have plenty of warning."
I pull up the tactical overlay on Cara's screen.
The compound sits in a natural defensive bowl with limited access points.
The northern approach is the primary threat.
The eastern flank is secondary. The western side butts up against a cliff face that makes assault from that direction nearly impossible.
Standard defensive setup would put shooters covering the primary approach with supporting positions on the secondary vectors. Which is exactly what we've done.
But Graves didn't survive this long by being predictable.
"He'll probe defenses first." I'm thinking through how I'd run this assault from the other side. "Test response, identify positions, look for weak points. Hit us with everything at once after that. Coordinated breach designed to overwhelm multiple positions simultaneously."
Zeke nods. "How do we counter?"
"We don't take the bait during the probe. Hold fire, stay concealed, let them think we're softer than we are. When they commit to the main assault, we hit them in the kill box with overlapping fields of fire before they can establish a foothold."
"And if they bypass the kill box?"
"Fall back to the secondary positions and make them pay for every meter of ground." I look at Zeke, at Cara. "This is going to get ugly. They're skilled operatives. Body armor, suppressed weapons, coordinated movement. We might take casualties."
"Understood," Zeke says.
Cara doesn't respond. Just keeps typing, uploading more evidence, building more redundancy. Making sure even if we all die in these next hours, Graves doesn't walk away clean.
My radio crackles. Finn's voice, low and controlled. "Movement on the northern approach. Two vehicles. Dark SUVs. Stopped about half a klick out."
"Visual on personnel?"
"Negative. Tinted windows. But they're doing exactly what you said—probing. Checking sight lines, looking for defensive positions."
"Hold fire. Let them look."
I move to the window facing north. Can't see the vehicles from here, but I can see the narrow section of access road where they'll have to commit if they want to reach the compound. Perfect chokepoint. Perfect kill box.
My hands remember the weight of an M4. Controlled recoil. Muscle memory of target acquisition and fire discipline that got drilled into me through thousands of repetitions until it became reflex instead of thought.
Been years since I let myself drop fully back into that headspace. Years of isolation. Building control. Managing what the field made me. Keeping the operational mindset locked down where it can't poison everything else.
But right now, with Traci in the infirmary and Helena preparing to defend her and contractors probing our defenses, the walls come down.
The SUVs pull back. Retreat down the access road until they're out of sensor range.
"They're repositioning," Finn reports. "Probably calling for backup or coordinating approach vectors."
"Copy. Maintain position. They'll be back."
The compound settles into tense silence. I move to the weapons cache Finn set up in the corner. AR-15s, hunting rifles with scopes, shotguns for close quarters. Spare magazines, tactical vests, medical supplies. I load magazines, check chamber status on the rifles, verify sight alignment.
Zeke appears beside me. "You good?"
"Yeah."
"You sure? Because you've got that look. The one people get when they're about to go into combat mode."
Combat mode. Close enough. "I'm good. Just getting my head in the right place for what comes next."
"Which is?"
"Keeping Traci alive. Keeping Helena safe. Making sure Graves doesn't walk away from this." I meet his eyes. "By any means."
He nods slowly. "That's good enough for me."