Flint is already moving, checking weapons, keying his radio to alert Guardian HRS. "Transport time to Los Angeles?"
"Ninety minutes by helicopter," Parker says, already walking toward the exit. "We'll coordinate with LAPD and Port Authority en route. Ms. Sutton, you're with me. Morrison, Guardian HRS can follow in separate?—"
"Same vehicle," Flint and I say simultaneously, and there's no room for argument in either of our voices.
Parker doesn't bother fighting it this time. We move as a unit toward the waiting helicopter, the evening air cool on my face, stars beginning to emerge overhead. Somewhere to the south, Device Four is counting down toward detonation, and Greer is waiting to see if I'm smart enough, fast enough, brave enough to stop it.
I climb into the helicopter with Flint right behind me, his hand finding mine as soon as we're seated, and I hold on tight. We're not done yet. The real test is still waiting.
But I'm not alone anymore.
NINE
FLINT
The helicopter cutsthrough the night at full speed, the lights of Los Angeles sprawling beneath us like a vast constellation of gold and white. From this altitude, the city looks peaceful, orderly, but I know the reality is chaos barely contained—eight million people going about their lives with no idea that somewhere in the port district, a device is counting down toward catastrophe.
Carolina sits beside me, tablet on her lap, scrolling through satellite imagery of the Port of Los Angeles while conferring over a headset with FBI analysts.
She's been at it for the entire ninety-minute flight, narrowing down possible locations based on Greer's cryptic message and her understanding of his psychology. Dark circles under her eyes speak to exhaustion that goes beyond just today—this is years of carrying guilt and trauma, now compounded by hours of adrenaline and fear.
I want to tell her to rest, to close her eyes for ten minutes, but I know she won't.
Can't.
Not while the clock is ticking and people's lives depend on her being sharp enough to outthink a man who's had three years to plan his revenge.
My chest is a constant throb of pain despite the cocktail of drugs the medics loaded me with. The compression wrap helps hold everything together, but I can feel the cracked ribs protesting every movement, every breath.
I've been through worse, but those injuries came with the luxury of time to heal afterward. This one I need to function through for at least another eight hours, maybe more.
The paracord bracelet on my wrist catches my attention as I adjust my weapons for the third time.
The weave is blood-stained now, dark patches from where I held Carolina's hand in the helicopter during her extraction from the wilderness, from where I pressed it against wounds in the field. Another layer of meaning added to a talisman already heavy with failure and regret. But this time, maybe the blood represents something different.
Not failure.
Not being too late.
But being exactly on time, exactly where I need to be to keep someone alive.
"I think I've got it," Carolina says suddenly, pulling up a specific section of satellite imagery and expanding it. "Terminal 206, near the bulk cargo storage area. Look at this—there's a maintenance schedule showing electrical work was done two days ago, but Port Authority has no record of authorizing it. Someone got access under false pretenses."
Agent Parker leans in to study the image, her expression sharpening. "That area handles chemical shipments and industrial machinery. A device there could trigger secondary explosions, possibly take out multiple terminals."
"And it fits Greer's profile," Carolina adds. "Maximum disruption, maximum casualties, and it forces me to work near volatile materials. If I make a mistake disarming it, the blast could trigger a chain reaction."
"Can you disarm it without triggering anything?" Parker asks.
Carolina's silence is answer enough.
She doesn't know.
Won't know until she's looking at the device, assessing the threats, making split-second decisions that could save or end hundreds of lives.
"We'll get it done," I say quietly, and her eyes find mine across the cramped helicopter cabin. I see fear there, exhaustion, doubt. But also determination.
She'll face this because she has to, because no one else can, because running from her failures hasn't worked, and maybe confronting them will.
