Carolina has disabled the secondary triggers she believes are causing the problem, bypassed several fail-safes, and isolated the primary timer mechanism.
Sweat beads on her forehead despite the cool air, and her hands are steady through pure concentration. She's workingwithout the pressure plate and trembler complications from Device Three, but Greer has compensated by deliberately making the circuit path confusing, with redundant connections that could be vital or decoys.
My radio crackles softly. "Flint, we have a vehicle approaching from the south access road. Single occupant, not responding to hails."
I key the mic, keeping my voice low to avoid distracting Carolina. "Stop them at the perimeter. If they attempt to breach, disable the vehicle."
"Copy."
But something about it feels wrong. A single vehicle, not responding to challenges, is heading directly toward us?
It could be a lost civilian, could be port security who didn't get the message, or could be exactly what I'm afraid it is—Greer's partner making one last attempt to complete the mission.
"Carolina," I say quietly. "We might have company."
"How long can you keep them away?" Her voice is tight with concentration, hands moving delicately through a nest of wires.
"As long as you need." I move toward the terminal entrance, positioning myself where I can see outside while still covering her position. "Don't rush. Do it right."
Through the terminal's grimy windows, lights approach—a vehicle moving fast, too fast for someone who's supposed to stop at the perimeter. Guardian HRS operators are positioning to intercept, but the vehicle swerves around their roadblock and heads directly for the terminal building.
"Vehicle in pursuit, attempting to ram the perimeter," comes over the radio.
"Engage." Confirmation comes over the comms from command
I raise my weapon, sighting on the approaching vehicle.
Guardian operators open fire, controlled bursts aimed at the engine and tires. The vehicle—a port authority utility truck—swerves violently but keeps coming. The driver is committed and willing to take rounds to reach the terminal. That level of dedication means true believer, fanatic, someone who'll die to complete Greer's plan.
The truck crashes through a chain-link fence, momentum carrying it into the terminal parking area. The driver's door opens before the vehicle fully stops, and a figure emerges firing a rifle. I return fire immediately, three controlled pairs center mass, and see the figure stumble but stay up.
Body armor, same as the shooters in the wilderness.
"Hostile in the terminal yard," I broadcast. "Armed and armored, moving toward the building."
I shift position to get a better angle, and something tears in my chest—not the ribs themselves but the soft tissue around them. Hot pain lances through me, but I keep firing. Two more rounds, and the hostile goes down.
This time, he goes down, rifle skittering across asphalt.
Movement to my left—a second figure, moving fast through the shadows. I track them, but my breathing is getting harder, each inhalation like knives in my chest. The compression wrap is helping but not enough. I squeeze the trigger, and the hostile drops.
They were in the truck too, using the driver as a distraction while they flanked around. Classic two-man assault, and I fell for it.
"Hostiles neutralized," I manage into the radio, though my voice sounds strained even to me. "Continuing security."
Carolina's voice cuts through the radio chatter, sharp with fear. "Flint?—"
"I'm okay. Stay on the device. Don't look at me, don't stop working."
Operators flood into the terminal area, securing the fallen hostiles, checking for additional threats.
Carolina hasn't looked away from the device, hasn't let the firefight behind her break her concentration. That kind of focus is remarkable, the ability to maintain precision while chaos erupts around her.
But I can see the cost in the set of her shoulders, the too-fast rhythm of her breathing. She's running on adrenaline and determination, and both of those resources are finite.
"Talk to me, Carolina," I call, trying to keep my voice steady despite the increasing difficulty breathing. "Where are we?"
"Almost there." Her voice is tight. "I've bypassed the secondary circuits and disabled the remote trigger. Just the primary left, and it's..." She trails off, studying something intently. "It's different from the others. He's changed the configuration."
