“And the three of you?”Bateman asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.“You guys get your heads out of your asses and admit that there is a future for you all?”
Ty and Oren shared a look.“Well, I am not going to give you all the details,” Ty drawled, “but yes.Each of us had a conversation with a member of the triad from Bravo.Dev sent them over, and I have to say, they talked sense into each of us.Apparently, it was Dev’s idea, and you need to tell him thanks.”
Bateman rolled his eyes.“I am not telling Dev anything that will make him insufferable.”He was half a smile in when something in his face went tight.The three of them heard it at the same time: a thin, electric whine threading the drywall.
Bateman didn’t look out the window.He just said, “With me,” and they were already moving.
They hit the steps hard and broke into the open apron in front of the comms building.The morning had been clean.Now it had a shadow.
The drone hung above the comms roof like a patient mosquito—quieter than the ones they’d been chasing, more deliberate.First time inside their air space.
“Ricky,” Bateman said knowing their comms would now be live, calm like a clock.“You got eyes?”
“Copy that,” came Ricky’s reply from somewhere above.
“Drop it,” Bateman said.
A breath.Then a crack from the roofline.The drone hiccuped, pitched, and lost the argument with gravity.It hit the asphalt in three sad pieces and spun out its last breath.
Oren exhaled.“That’s new.”
“Inside the fence,” Ty said.He felt the hair on his arms shift.
Bateman nodded once, already scanning the tree line, the buildings, the faces.“We pull the card and the log,” he said.“Sam, Nick—perimeter for ten.Ezra, Ricky, roof sweep now.”
Bateman’s phone buzzed on the hip, and he checked his screen, frowned, and answered.“Bateman.”He listened, then glanced at Ty and Oren.“Hold up.I’m putting you on speaker.”He thumbed it over and held the phone out.“You good?”
Hogan’s voice came thin but clear over the speaker, wind in it.“I’m good.No direct contact with Kai yet.He’s still gone dark.But I got a ping back through the old channel—brief, dirty.Enough.”
Oren leaned in.“Enough for what?”
“For Kai to tell us our drone problem isn’t Kavaci,” Hogan said.“It’s personal and from Chechnya against Dale.A father.He watched his son die at Dale’s hands, and he wants to restore their family’s honor or some such shit, through killing Dale.”A beat.“He’s not alone.He brought brothers.Four of them”
Ty felt the ground tilt, just a degree.“How confident are you on this intel?”
“100 percent,” Hogan said.“Kai’s patterning tells me the handle belongs to someone tied to that op.The phrasing matches.He wanted you to know it wasn’t Kavaci.”
Bateman’s jaw worked once.“Copy that.”
Ty looked at the downed drone and then at Oren.The same thought landed in both their expressions almost simultaneously.“Distraction,” they said at the same time.
“Gym,” Ty said.“If Dale’s building lesson plans, he’s in the gym.”
Bateman didn’t argue.“Move.”He killed the call with a two-finger tap.He pocketed the phone and took off at a sprint.Ty and Oren matched his stride.
They cut through the breezeway and shouldered the gym door.Music hit them like a wall—bass up, vocals flattened by volume.The room was empty of people and full of noise.
“Dale!”Ty shouted, already moving left.Nothing answered but a chorus.
Oren swept right, fast scan—racks, mats, mirrors.“Weights,” he said, pointing.
On the far side, a barbell sat loaded and chalked just as if someone was resting between sets.No one would leave these weights out, that was not the protocol here.
Ty’s stomach dropped as they moved closer.He pointed at the rubber tile by the rack.“There.”
Oren crouched.The smear was small, then more.A dark line dragged toward the service door—no puddle, just the kind of mark that meant someone cared enough to keep the mess tidy as they went.
“Blood,” Oren said, no drama.
