“You want to explain to me what the hell happened?” Lorre asked, voice low and sharp. His gaze didn’t waver.
“We were compromised.”
“I gathered that from the fucking body count,” he said with a clenched jaw. “Care to explain how that happened?”
Lark didn’t flinch, but her pulse raged like a rabid raccoon. “Our asset never confirmed the location change until it was too late. Comms hijacked. Surveillance rerouted. Our field teams picked off one by one. We tried to abort, but?—”
“And why was a SEAL team on my mission? I had an evac team in place… after the mission was complete.”
She met his eyes. His gaze was flat and unapologetic. “Support and extraction. Authorized through proper channels.”
“Don’t feed me bureaucratic bullshit, Strattan. I didn’t sign off on that. They weren’t supposed to be in the village. Hell, they weren’t supposed to be there at all.”
Shit. She’d been in precarious situations before with command, but nothing like this. She had no idea what to say or how to say it.
“Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I received orders for support and evac,” she said. “I used the resources I had. Perhaps we need to take this higher up the chain.”
Lorre's face flushed red, a vein pulsing at his temple.
Well, shit. That wasn’t too smart, but it was the truth and her only play.
Lorre stepped into her space, breath hot, nostrils flaring. “Those orders didn’t come from me, and I’m your commanding officer on this op. I’m the only one that matters.” His jaw flexed. “I want a copy of whoever sent the orders.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But that’s not possible.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” Lorre said. “You fucked up, and I want to know who permitted you to do so. So does the congressional committee, which trusted you with a prototype AI system worth more than most black budgets. And now it’s gone. You think this looks good on either of us?”
“No,” she said simply. “But you’re not the one who watched your team die.”
Something flickered in his expression. Regret? Doubt? It didn’t matter.
“I’m truly sorry about Wes, Mina, Alverez… they were good operatives.” Lorre wiped a hand across his brow. “We’ve got two other men missing, and Senatrix is going nuts about Bradford. Unfortunately, that puts you in the hot seat since you were the one calling the shots. You were the one who accepted changes in the plan. Brought on the SEAL team…” Lorre’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Strattan, until the review board completes its investigation, you’re on administrative leave. Effective immediately. I want the after-action reports on my desk as soon as possible, along with any intel you’ve gathered. I also want Specs’ equipment.”
“What?” Her breath caught in her chest. “You can’t do that. Not yet. I need time to go through things. To examine every detail.”
“Not your problem anymore.”
“Don’t sideline me,” she pleaded. “I have to find out what happened to my team and why. I need access to files. To surveillance. I need to be able?—”
“You and Specs are benched. I expect you to turn over everything within the next twenty-four hours.” He turned on his heel and marched down the hall, the echo of his boots vanishing into the sterile quiet.
Lark didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Only when Specs’ hand touched her arm a few moments later did she stir.
“We’ll figure it out,” Specs said quietly.
Lark thought about that message from Grady.
NOT SECURE. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS. NEED TO TALK.
Yeah.
They needed to talk.
Hotel Luna Mar, San Antonio, Texas
