Chapter 26 - The Highway Shadow
Damon didn't wait for sunset. By 4:30 PM, Sarah’s small Honda crossover was packed with two suitcases, a cooler of food, and Evan’s schoolbooks. Damon gave Sarah an untraceable satellite phone with three pre-programmed numbers.
"Drive the state routes," Damon instructed, leaning into the driver’s window. "No toll roads. If I haven't contacted you by tomorrow at noon, you open the red envelope inside the spare tire compartment and follow the instructions to Montreal."
Sarah grabbed his collar, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. "You come back to us, Damon. Do you hear me? Evan needs a father. I need my husband."
"I’ll be there for breakfast," Damon whispered. He kissed her deeply, then backed away.
Sarah put the car in reverse, backed down the drive, and drove away toward the north highway. Damon stood in the driveway, watching until the red taillights vanished beyond the crest of the hill. The house behind him was empty now. The warmth was gone. The sanctuary had been stripped down to its bare bones: an isolated tactical structure surrounded by clear lines of sight.
Damon turned around and walked back into the garage. He stripped off his flannel shirt and denim jeans, replacing them with dark charcoal tactical trousers, a reinforced combat shirt, and lightweight combat boots. Over his chest, he slipped a minimalist plate carrier fitted with Level IV ceramic strike plates.
He unlocked the safe. He slid the HK416 onto a single-point sling, racked a round into the chamber, and flicked the safety on. He checked his sidearm, slotted two knives into hidden sheaths at his hip and chest, and clipped the handheld scanner to his tactical vest.
He turned on the scanner.
The screen flickered. The digital needle surged instantly, locking onto a frequency at 462.550 MHz. It was emitting a repeating digital chirp from less than two miles away, near the abandoned grain silos at the edge of the industrial park.
A voice suddenly crackled through the scanner’s tiny speaker. It was heavily modulated, stripped of pitch, but the syntax was unmistakable.
*"Ghost-Six. We know you moved the package. Good protocol. Now come talk to your old commander. Or we turn this county into a target range."*
May you like
Damon did not reply. He clicked the radio off, stepped out into the descending twilight, and merged into the shadows of the woods.
***
