Chapter 15 Fort Liberty, North Carolina
FORT LIBERTY, NORTH CAROLINA
The SUV's tires hummed against the asphalt as they approached the main gate of Fort Liberty, the familiar sight of razor wire and guard towers did nothing to ease the knot in Lark's stomach.
She'd been through this hundreds of times over the years, but never like this.
Never knowing she was walking into a trap with her eyes wide open.
Beside her, in the passenger seat, Specs clutched her laptop bag like a lifeline, her knuckles white against the black nylon. She'd been quiet during the flight from New Mexico, lost in whatever mental preparations she needed to make for what lay ahead.
"You good?" Lark asked as they slowed for the checkpoint.
"Define good," Specs muttered, but there was steel in her voice that hadn't been there a week ago. "I'm ready to end this."
The MP at the gate checked their IDs with the bored efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. He glanced at the orders on his clipboard, made a mark, and waved them through without a second look.
Too easy. It was all too damn easy.
Lark navigated the familiar streets of the base, past the commissary and the housing units, toward the cluster of administrative buildings where Lorre's office waited. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, and sweat gathered at the base of her neck despite the SUV's air conditioning.
"Remember the plan," she said quietly as they pulled into the parking lot. "You get to the comm array, I keep Lorre talking. We find out what he knows, who else is involved, and where this goes from here."
"And if it all goes to hell?"
"Then we improvise." Lark killed the engine and turned to face her friend. "Specs, I need you to know—whatever happens in there, you've got this. You're not the same person who was curled up in that hotel room a week ago."
Specs managed a wan smile. "Neither are you."
They walked across the parking lot in silence, two women who'd been through hell together and had come out the other side changed. The building loomed ahead, all concrete and government-issue efficiency, but Lark felt like she was approaching a temple where sacrifices were made.
The lobby was mercifully cool, filled with the quiet bustle of administrative work. Soldiers and civilians moved with purpose, carrying files and checking phones, completely unaware that their base was about to become a battlefield.
"Colonel Lorre is expecting you," the receptionist said with a bright smile. "Third floor, suite 312. The elevator's just down the hall."
As if they didn’t know.
The ride up felt endless. Lark watched the numbers climb—one, two, three—and tried to center herself for what was coming.
She knew Kawan and the others were moving into position around the building according to their predetermined timeline, but going in dark meant she'd have no way to communicate with them once things started.
No backup, no coordination, no safety net except Specs and whatever digital magic she could work from inside Lorre's office.
Knowing the team was out there helped, but not enough.
The elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open.
"Showtime," Lark murmured.
Colonel Graham Lorre's office was exactly the same—sterile, efficient, designed to intimidate.
Awards and commendations lined the walls, along with photos of Lorre shaking hands with various military and political figures.
His desk was positioned to catch the afternoon light, casting him in sharp relief as he stood to greet them.
"Strattan," he said, his voice carrying that familiar note of barely controlled irritation. "About damn time. I thought I was going to have to send a few MPs and have you arrested. Now, have a seat."
Through the open door behind them, Lark caught a glimpse of two MPs moving into position in the hallway. Jesus, that was overkill.
Lorre closed the door with a soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet office.
Lark remained standing. "You ordered me back.”
“You left me with no choice,” Lorre gestured to the chairs facing his desk. "Sit down. We have a lot to discuss."
Lark and Specs took the offered seats. Specs set up her laptop, fingers moving with practiced efficiency as she powered up the system and connected to the base's network.
“What are you doing?” Lorre asked. “What is she doing?”
“Accessing mission notes,” Specs said.
“Does this mean you finally have your after-action report?” Lorre asked, settling behind his desk. "I've been waiting for it for days."
"The mission parameters changed multiple times in the field," Lark said carefully, hyperaware that Specs' fingers flew across the keyboard. "We wanted to ensure our report was comprehensive and accurate—considering lives were lost as well as the AI tech.”
"The mission was a complete disaster," Lorre said bluntly. "Three dead, two missing from our side, and one from Senatrix, and our prototype technology is in the wind. I need to know exactly what went wrong, so I can figure out how the fuck to fix it.”
Specs looked up from her laptop. "Sir, I'm accessing our encrypted mission files now. Some irregularities in the communication logs might explain what happened."
"What kind of irregularities?" Lorre's attention shifted to her.
"Someone was monitoring our frequencies," Specs said, her fingers continuing to work while she spoke. "Not just listening—actively interfering with our communications. It's why we lost contact with parts of the team."
Lark watched Lorre's face carefully. No surprise, no confusion. Just a slight tightening around his eyes that told her he already knew what Specs was talking about.
"That's... concerning," he said finally. "Do you have any idea who might have had that capability?"
“I’ve been working on it day and night, sir,” Specs replied. "The good news is, I've managed to establish a secure link to our backup systems. I should be able to trace the interference back to its source."
What she was really doing, Lark knew, was creating a communication bridge that would allow Kawan and the others to monitor everything happening in this office. But Lorre didn't need to know that.
"Sir," Lark said, "I have to ask—why did the location change at the last minute? That deviation from the original plan put my team in an exposed position."
"The location change came from the asset inside Senatrix," Lorre said. "We had no choice but to adapt."
"But why wasn't I informed until the last possible moment?" Lark asked.
"Because we weren't sure the communication was legitimate," Lorre replied smoothly. "For all we knew, it could have been a trap."
"It was," Lark said quietly. "Just not the kind we expected."
Something flickered in Lorre's expression. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means someone knew exactly where we'd be and when we'd be there," Specs said without looking up from her screen. "Someone with access to our mission parameters and communication protocols."
"Are you suggesting—"
"I'm stating facts," Specs interrupted. "The interference pattern matches military-grade equipment. This wasn't some cartel operation or foreign intelligence service. This was someone with access to our own technology."
The room fell silent except for the soft clicking of Specs' keyboard and the distant hum of the building's air conditioning.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. "Colonel," Lark said finally. "I need you to be straight with me. What really happened to my team?"
Lorre leaned back in his chair, studying her with cold calculation. "Your team walked into an ambush because someone betrayed the mission. The question is whether that someone was one of your people, or someone higher up the chain."
"Someone like you?" Lark asked.
"Careful, Strattan," Lorre said, his voice dropping register. "That sounds dangerously close to insubordination."
"It sounds like someone asking questions that need answers," Lark shot back. "My people are dead. I want to know why."
"Your people aren’t dead, and they weren’t your people to begin with,” came a voice from behind them.
Lark spun around, her blood turning to ice.
Wes Lantham stood in the doorway, very much alive, flanked by a figure that made her heart stop completely.
Mina Bakari stepped into the office beside him, her weapon drawn and pointed directly at Lark's chest.
"Miss us?" Wes asked, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
But there was something different about him now—something cold and calculating that hadn't been there before. This wasn’t the same man who used to love playing pranks on everyone.
Or taking the team's money during poker games.
"We thought you died," Specs whispered.
"That was the point," Wes admitted. "But as you can see, reports of our deaths have been greatly exaggerated."
Lark stared at two of the people she'd considered family, searching for some sign of the teammates she'd known. "How long?"
"How long what?" Mina asked, her voice carrying that familiar accent but none of the warmth Lark remembered.
"How long have you been working against us?" Lark asked.
Wes and Mina exchanged a look. Then Wes shrugged. "Define 'against.' Because from where I'm standing, we're on the right side of this thing."
"The right side?" Lark's voice was barely controlled. "You betrayed your team. Your country."
"We served our country," Mina said simply. "Just not the way you think."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Specs asked.
Lorre stood slowly, moving around his desk to join the others. "It means there are larger forces at work here, Strattan. Operations that go far beyond your clearance level."
"Operations that required people like Alverez to die?”
“We both know he’s not dead.” Lorre arched a brow. “I just can’t find him, but that little tech genius of yours is going to help me.”
“Over my dead body,” Specs muttered.
“That will be arranged… eventually.” Lorre smiled.