Chapter 4
"Nobody authorized Chloe Evans, structural engineer, to be here," I said. "Because she doesn't exist. I'm Major Chloe Reyes, DIA special activities division. I've been embedded here six weeks confirming that this facility has been quietly diverting Javelin systems to exactly the militia currently trying to overrun it. The tower I told you was structurally compromised really was compromised, Captain, because I sabotaged it myself two days ago, in case I needed a fast way to create a diversion. I didn't expect to need it quite this fast."
Thorne's jaw worked. "You're telling me you weakened our own defensive position."
"I'm telling you I weakened a tower this site's own weapons buyers already knew the layout of," I said, "which is exactly why they hit it first. They think they're finishing a job somebody on the inside started for them. What they don't know is that the woman who supposedly sabotaged their target just called in an incoming Reaper strike with full authorization to level this entire ridge." I looked back through the scope. Two more mercenaries had dropped behind cover, watching the armored vehicles close the distance. "You have maybe six minutes until that support arrives. I need you both alive to confirm the chain of custody on this operation when it's over. So stay down, stay behind that concrete, and let me do the part of this job I'm actually trained for."
Briggs, still catching his breath, managed a short, disbelieving laugh. "Pocket-protector."
"Sergeant."
"I called you pocket-protector for six weeks."
"You did," I said, sighting in on the lead armored vehicle's driver-side viewport. "Cover me anyway."
The Reaper arrived four minutes later, well ahead of schedule, and the resulting silence on that ridge was more thorough than anything either of Thorne's men could have managed alone. By the time the extraction helicopter touched down in the flattened dust of what used to be the observation tower's shadow, Thorne had stopped bleeding through his tourniquet, Briggs had stopped calling me anything at all, and I had already started drafting, in my head, the after-action report that would end with a black site quietly being decommissioned and three men in a Pentagon conference room finally getting the confirmation they'd sent me six weeks to gather.
May you like
Briggs helped me lift Thorne onto the helicopter, and as the rotors kicked dust into a final furious spiral, he leaned close enough to be heard over the noise. "For what it's worth, Major. I'm sorry about the clipboard."
I almost smiled. "Buy me a new one when we land, Sergeant. Then we'll call it even."
