12. Evie
EVIE
The compound erupts.
Rook reaches the southern fence before the guards understand they’re under attack. He takes the first man down with one brutal strike and drives the second into the fence.
The third raises his rifle.
Caleb fires.
The weapon flies from the guard’s hands as the bullet strikes its receiver.
The man stares at the twisted metal in disbelief.
Caleb could have killed him.
He chose not to.
Cobra crashes through the gate like controlled destruction. An enormous mercenary charges him, and they collide against a parked vehicle hard enough to dent its door.
Cobra remains standing.
The mercenary does not.
Fathom moves behind them, plugging small devices into exterior access panels. Cameras rotate away from Shadow Division. Electronic locks spring open. Radios fill with static.
Each man has a purpose.
Each trusts the others completely.
It’s beautiful.
Terrifying.
And impossibly efficient.
Gunfire tears through the trees below us.
Caleb remains motionless behind his rifle.
Watching.
Waiting.
His breathing never changes.
But blood continues spreading along his side.
“You need pressure on that wound.”
“I’m working.”
“You can bleed and work simultaneously.”
“I’m aware.”
I remove a compression bandage from his medical kit.
Before I can touch him, he catches my wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Preventing you from passing out.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
“That’s wonderful. Hold still.”
For a moment, I think he’ll argue.
Then he returns his attention to the scope and raises his left arm enough for me to reach the wound.
I open his torn jacket.
The bullet carved a bloody path along his ribs.
It isn’t deep.
But it’s longer than he admitted.
“This is not a scratch.”
“It didn’t penetrate.”
“That doesn’t make it a scratch.”
I press the bandage against his side.
His muscles tighten.
He doesn’t make a sound.
An operator runs from behind a Humvee and raises his weapon toward Cobra.
“Caleb.”
“I see him.”
The rifle fires.
The operator’s weapon spins away before he can pull the trigger.
Cobra looks toward the ridge.
“Thanks, brother.”
Then he tackles the stunned man into the dirt.
I secure the bandage around Caleb and sit back.
“You really do see everything.”
“I try.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You were watching Cobra, Rook, Mac, Graves, and the towers. You still noticed someone behind that vehicle.”
“I wasn’t watching.”
“What?”
“I was remembering.”
I stare at him.
“I already know where everyone is supposed to be,” he explains.
“You memorized the entire compound?”
“Most of it.”
“Caleb.”
“I missed one storage building.”
A laugh escapes me. “You missed one?”
“It bothers me.”
The radio crackles.
Fathom’s voice comes through. “Bunker access is open.”
Rook answers. “Status?”
“I’m entering now.”
Mac is still in the yard.
One guard holds him by the shirt while another raises his rifle.
Before Caleb can fire, Mac swings the broken chain around the guard’s throat. He drives his elbow into the second man’s face, tears the pistol from his holster, and points it at Rook as he approaches.
My breath catches.
Rook doesn’t slow.
Even from this distance, I see his weapon aimed directly at Mac’s heart.
The two men face each other.
Mac lowers his pistol first.
Rook takes the last few steps and says something I can’t hear.
Mac answers.
Then Rook hands him a second magazine.
“He trusts him,” I say.
“No.”
Caleb moves his scope toward the bunker.
“He trusts Mac to understand the consequences if he betrays us.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
Walter Graves emerges from the bunker with two bodyguards.
He no longer looks composed.
His suit is dirty. His tie is gone, and his silver hair has fallen across his forehead.
He points toward the helicopter and shouts an order.
“They’re trying to move him,” I say.
“I see.”
Walter runs toward the aircraft.
The pilot starts the engines.
Caleb adjusts his rifle.
“What are you aiming at?”
“The helicopter.”
“You can’t shoot the pilot.”
“I’m not.”
He fires.
The round strikes a hydraulic line near the landing assembly. Fluid sprays across the pad, and alarms scream inside the cockpit.
The helicopter lists to one side.
The pilot immediately shuts down the engines.
Walter stares at the crippled aircraft.
Then he turns toward our mountain.
Even from this distance, I feel his fury.
Caleb has stranded one of the most powerful men in Washington.
I watch Walter lift his radio.
“He’s calling reinforcements.”
“Probably.”
“What happens when they arrive?”
“We leave before they do.”
Fathom’s voice breaks through the radio.
“You’re all going to want to see this.”
Something in his tone silences everyone.
Rook answers first. “What did you find?”
“Evidence that Black Banner is older than we thought.”
“How old?”
“I’m looking at a photograph taken nearly fifty years ago.”
My skin goes cold.
“Who’s in it?” I ask.
Several seconds pass.
Then Fathom says, “Walter Graves.”
“That’s impossible.”
“He’s young, but it’s him. He’s standing with six senior intelligence officers outside an old training facility.”
Caleb lowers his rifle slightly.
“Anything written on it?”
“Yes.”
Fathom’s voice becomes quiet.
“The First Circle.”
Before any of us can respond, a shot strikes the rocks beside Caleb’s head.
The second sniper has found us again.