A cold sensation moved through me.
Monroe’s expression changed.
“When were you in Syria?” she whispered.
I ignored her.
“Emily, listen to me. Did they mention Cameron?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
There was a long silence.
Then Emily whispered:
“They said Cameron was the reason they could do this without anyone asking questions.”
My mind began rearranging the pieces.
Cameron wasn’t the center.
He was camouflage.
A spoiled billionaire’s violent son was the perfect explanation.
Police corruption.
Witness intimidation.
Money.
Everyone would look there.
Nobody would look toward classified military operations.
“Emily,” I said carefully, “the man at the hospital. The one who took the phone.”
“Yes.”
“Was that Cameron?”
Silence.
Then:
“I don’t know.”
My heart stopped.
“You don’t know?”
“I never saw Cameron clearly in the parking garage. He was across the garage when the girl was attacked. Police showed me a picture later.”
Monroe suddenly turned toward the other agent.
“Who showed her the picture?”
I asked Emily.
“Who told you the attacker was Cameron?”
“A deputy.”
“What deputy?”
“I don’t remember his name.”
Monroe swore quietly.
Emily began breathing faster.
“Blake…”
“I’m here.”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The man at the hospital…”
She swallowed.
“He said something before he took the phone.”
“What?”
“He thought the nurse couldn’t hear.”
I waited.
Emily whispered:
“He said, ‘Tell Hale his dog is coming home.’”
The room disappeared around me.
For twelve years, General Hale had been more than my commander.
He had pulled me from a burning vehicle in Mosul.
He had recommended me for promotion.
He had sat beside me after three teammates died.
He had attended my wedding.
Emily called him Uncle Marcus.
Monroe stared at me.
“Dog?”
I barely heard her.
Because suddenly I remembered Syria.
Four years earlier.
A raid in Deir ez-Zor.
An underground compound.
No official intelligence ever explained what we had been sent to recover.
We found six dead men.
A burned server room.
And one hardened encrypted drive sealed inside a steel container.
Hale himself had taken custody of it.
At least…
I had believed he had.
Then I remembered the evacuation.
The helicopter taking fire.
Equipment scattered.
My pack torn open.
Weeks later, back in Germany, I found something inside the lining.
A tiny black data wafer.
I had assumed it was debris from a shattered comms system.
I brought it home unintentionally.
And because I didn’t know what it was, I placed it inside an old wooden box with medals, patches, photographs, and souvenirs from deployment.
In our attic.
I looked at Monroe.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
“They weren’t looking for something Emily had.”
My voice sounded distant.
“They were looking for something I have.”
My phone beeped.
Call ended.
“Emily?”
I dialed back.
Nothing.
Monroe immediately called someone.
“Check the transport. Now.”
Her younger agent moved toward the door.
Then the lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the building.
Monroe drew her pistol.
“Down.”
I dropped behind the table.
Outside, an engine roared.
Gunshots exploded against the metal wall.
The younger agent screamed.
Glass shattered.
Monroe fired twice toward the entrance.
I crawled to the agent.
Blood covered his shoulder.
Alive.
“Stay down.”
Another burst tore through the doorway.
Professional spacing.
Controlled.
Not panicked deputies.
Not billionaire bodyguards.
Someone trained.
I grabbed the injured agent’s spare weapon after he nodded permission.
Monroe looked at me.
“This is your definition of not being an operation?”
“I’m improvising.”
A shadow crossed the broken window.
I fired once.
The figure disappeared.
Then headlights swept across the yard.
A truck smashed through the chain-link gate.
Rook.
Of course.
The passenger window lowered.
Santos leaned out.
“Need a ride?”
Monroe stared at me.
“You told them to stay away.”
“I told them you told me to come alone.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Ghost Squad has interpretation issues.”
Smoke rolled through the doorway.
Not smoke.
Gas.
“Move!”
We dragged the wounded agent outside.
Pike opened the rear door.
Bullets struck the truck.
Rook accelerated before I was completely inside.
The vehicle fishtailed across wet pavement.
Monroe fired through the rear window.
A black SUV pursued us.
Then another.
Santos looked back.
“Three vehicles.”
“Any markings?” I asked.
“No.”
Rook grinned tightly.
“Finally, some privacy.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“That removes most of my skill set.”
He turned hard down an industrial road.
The SUVs followed.
Pike worked on the wounded agent.
Monroe called federal backup.
No response.
She tried another channel.
Static.
“Jammed,” Santos said.
That confirmed it.
Whoever was coming for us had equipment far beyond local criminals.
My phone vibrated again.
Unknown number.
A video file.
I opened it.
My house.
Live footage.
The camera moved through our living room.
Up the stairs.
Toward the attic.
Someone was inside.
Then a voice spoke behind the camera.
“Come home, Blake.”
I knew that voice.
I had heard it through sandstorms.
Gunfire.
Night raids.
Funerals.
General Marcus Hale.
Rook glanced back.
“Is that…”
“Yes.”
The video continued.
Hale climbed into view.
He wore civilian clothes.
No uniform.
He looked directly into the camera.
“I tried to keep you out of this.”
My throat tightened.
He continued.
“Give me the wafer, and Emily lives.”
Monroe leaned closer.
“What wafer?”
I didn’t answer.
Hale smiled sadly.
“You were always the one soldier I could count on to follow orders.”
Then another man stepped into the frame.
Sheriff Nathan Cole.
Except Cole wasn’t restrained.
He wasn’t frightened.
He shook Hale’s hand.
Monroe whispered, “Damn.”
But the next person who appeared changed everything.
Cameron Voss.
His face was bruised.
One eye swollen shut.
His hands were bound.
He looked terrified.
This wasn’t the laughing man from the hospital.
This was a prisoner.
Cameron stumbled toward the camera.
“Dean!”
Hale grabbed his shoulder.
Cameron shouted desperately.
“I never touched your wife!”
Someone struck him.
He collapsed.
Hale crouched beside him.
Then looked into the camera again.
“You were supposed to blame him.”
My stomach turned.
All the surveillance.
The hospital call.
The threats.
The sheriff.
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