11. Caleb
CALEB
The helicopter turns toward us.
Its side door is open.
A gunner kneels behind a mounted weapon, searching the ridge while the black case remains strapped to the bench behind him.
Evie drops beside me.
“Does he see us?”
“Not yet.”
The helicopter descends, sweeping low across the trees.
The gunner’s weapon begins turning toward our position.
He sees movement.
Not us.
The coat I left hanging from the branch.
His hand closes around the trigger.
I settle behind my rifle.
Wind.
Distance.
Speed.
Angle.
The world narrows to a circle of glass.
I fire.
The round strikes the mounting bracket beneath the weapon. Metal fragments burst through the open doorway as the gun jerks sideways.
The gunner falls backward.
The pilot banks hard, pulling away from the ridge.
Evie watches through the binoculars. “The case is still aboard.”
“I know.”
“You can’t let it leave.”
“It isn’t leaving.”
The helicopter is no longer heading out of the valley. It turns back toward the compound and begins descending.
I keyed my radio the moment I saw the aircraft change direction.
“Fathom, can you identify that case?”
“Working on it.”
“Fast.”
“Helpful.”
The helicopter lands inside the eastern perimeter.
Four operators rush forward and remove the case. Instead of carrying it toward a vehicle, they take it into the bunker.
Evie lowers the binoculars.
“They brought it back.”
“The pilot lost his air support.”
“Because you broke the gun.”
“Yes.”
“That pilot had an entire mountain to fly around.”
“He doesn’t know how many shooters are on it.”
Evie looks at me.
“There’s only one.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Her mouth curves.
Then her expression hardens as she looks back at the compound. “What if the case contains the Black Banner archive?”
“It doesn’t.”
“How can you know?”
“Graves wouldn’t put the only copy of something that valuable aboard an exposed aircraft.”
“Then why let us see it?”
“Bait.”
Fathom’s voice cuts through the radio. “Sniper’s right. Thermal scan shows an active transmitter inside the case. They wanted us to track it.”
Evie exhales. “The helicopter was supposed to lead us away from the real evidence.”
“While Graves destroyed it beneath the compound.”
“Can you stop the purge?” I ask.
“If I get inside.”
I study the facility for another thirty seconds.
Walter has shifted most of his remaining operators toward the underground bunker. The prison building and southern perimeter are lightly guarded now.
Graves believes the evidence beneath his feet is more valuable than Mac Stenson.
He’s right.
He simply doesn’t understand that Shadow Division intends to take both.
I key the radio. “Rook.”
“I’m here.”
“I have your entry.”
“Talk to me.”
“South fence. Three guards and one tower. The tower rotates away from the tree line every forty seconds.”
Cobra laughs quietly over the radio. “You counted that?”
“I counted everything.”
Beside me, Evie watches through the binoculars.
“I think I finally understand you.”
I keep my eye against the scope. “Do you?”
“You aren’t searching for an opportunity.”
“No.”
“You’re waiting for everyone else to create one.”
I glance at her.
She smiles faintly. “I analyze people.”
“I know.”
“And right now, you’re already fighting a battle that hasn’t started.”
“Yes.”
Fathom joins the channel. “I have the exterior cameras.”
“How many?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Can you loop them?”
“I already did.”
“When?”
“Three minutes ago.”
A grin pulls at my mouth. “Show-off.”
“I learned from Cobra.”
“Don’t insult me,” Cobra protests.
A guard walks out of the prison building carrying a cup of coffee. He stretches and looks toward the bunker, unaware that Shadow Division is studying his every movement.
Evie lowers the binoculars. “They look so normal.”
“They think they’re safe.”
“They have no idea you’re watching them.”
“No.”
Two guards emerge from the prison building.
Four more join them.
They drag Mac into the open.
His wrists are chained. His face is bruised, and one eye is almost swollen shut. He stumbles as they force him toward the bunker.
One guard shoves him to his knees.
Evie’s voice drops to a whisper. “They’ve been torturing him.”
“Yes.”
“For the emergency codes?”
“And anything else he knows about us.”
Another guard strikes Mac across the ribs with his rifle.
Mac folds forward.
Then he laughs.
The guard hesitates.
Mac laughs again.
Louder.
I smile.
Evie notices. “What?”
“I know that laugh.”
“You do?”
“He’s lying.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because that’s what Mac does when he has something valuable.”
“What?”
“He makes people angry enough to ask the wrong questions.”
The guard hits him again.
Mac’s laughter continues.
They haven’t broken him.
They may not have turned him either.
Rook’s voice comes through the radio.
“We’re in position.”
I look toward the southern tree line.
I don’t see them.
Exactly as it should be.
“Cobra?”
“Ready.”
“Fathom?”
“Watching everything.”
Mac is forced back to his feet.
One of the guards takes hold of his chains and turns him toward the bunker.
If Mac crosses that threshold, we may never get him back.
I position the crosshairs over the steel link between his wrists.
Eight hundred and twelve yards.
Crosswind moving left.
Humidity rising.
Evie sees where I’m aiming.
“You’re not shooting at Mac.”
“No.”
“You’re aiming at the chain.”
“Yes.”
“From here?”
“Yes.”
“Caleb, that’s impossible.”
I slow my breathing.
“No. It’s difficult.”
The bunker door begins to open.
Mac takes one reluctant step.
Rook’s voice comes through the radio.
“Shadow Division…”
A pause.
“Execute.”
I squeeze the trigger.
The rifle strikes my shoulder.
Eight hundred yards away, the chain between Mac’s wrists explodes into fragments of steel.
For one stunned heartbeat, no one moves.
Not Mac.
Not his guards.
Not the men in the towers.
That heartbeat is all Shadow Division needs.
Rook, Cobra, and Fathom burst from the tree line as alarms begin screaming through the compound.
The rescue has begun.