PART 2 FULL — THE MEN WAITING AT THE AIRPORT

Cameron’s history had made him perfect.

Nobody would question it.

A monster everyone was willing to believe had committed one more crime.

Hale lifted something toward the camera.

Emily’s wedding photograph.

“Your wife complicated things.”

My vision narrowed.

“Blake,” Rook said quietly.

I didn’t respond.

Hale continued.

“The wafer belongs to people who will burn governments to recover it.”

Monroe whispered, “What’s on it?”

Hale answered as if he had heard her.

“You don’t even know what you stole, do you?”

The video shifted.

Someone carried the camera toward the attic.

Toward the wooden box.

I stopped breathing.

They opened it.

Medals.

Photographs.

Patches.

Coins.

But no wafer.

Hale stared into the box.

His expression changed.

Confusion.

Then rage.

He turned toward the camera.

“Where is it?”

I was just as confused.

I hadn’t moved it.

Nobody knew about it.

Nobody except—

Emily.

The video suddenly glitched.

For half a second, another image appeared.

A white hospital room.

Emily sitting upright in bed.

She wasn’t alone.

A woman stood beside her.

A nurse.

The same nurse who had called me crying.

Only now she wasn’t crying.

She was holding the tiny black data wafer between two fingers.

Emily looked directly into the camera.

Awake.

Focused.

Nothing like the frightened woman from moments earlier.

Then she said six words that made my entire world tilt.

“Blake, you were never the target.”

The video ended.

Nobody in the truck spoke.

Rain hammered the windshield.

Behind us, the pursuing SUVs were getting closer.

I stared at the blank phone.

Rook finally asked the question none of us wanted answered.

“Then who was?”

My phone buzzed one last time.

A message from Emily.

Three words.

I KNOW EVERYTHING.

Then coordinates appeared beneath them.

Not the hospital.

Not our house.

An airfield.

Private.

And beside the coordinates was a photograph taken four years earlier in Syria.

Six members of Ghost Squad standing beside a helicopter.

Me.

Rook.

Santos.

Pike.

Two dead brothers.

And General Hale.

But someone had circled one man in red.

Not Hale.

Not me.

Rook.

I slowly raised my eyes.

Rook was still driving.

Santos saw the photograph.

Then Pike.

The atmosphere inside the truck changed instantly.

Rook looked at us in the mirror.

“What?”

Nobody answered.

His smile vanished.

“Blake?”

The black SUVs closed in behind us.

My hand tightened around the pistol.

I looked at the man who had saved my life more times than I could count.

The man who had crossed an ocean to help rescue my wife.

Then I looked at Emily’s message beneath the photograph.

A final sentence appeared.

DON’T TRUST THE MAN DRIVING.

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