“You’re compromised,” Ghost says. “Brass should take the point.”
“She’s my principal.” Jackson’s voice drops, hard and flat. “Nobody guards her but me.”
The room goes silent. The guys exchange looks. Torque grins. Brass shakes his head.
Ghost studies Jackson for a long beat. “Compromised,” he repeats softly. But there’s no judgment in it. Just acknowledgment. “Fine. Fuse and Singh on infiltration. Torque, extraction. Whisper, high ground. Halo, cyber overwatch. Brass and I take the front door and make noise.”
“How much noise?” Brass asks.
Ghost smiles. It’s a terrifying expression. “All of it.”
2200 Hours.
We gear up.
The transformation is absolute. The joking stops. The banter dies. They pull on tactical vests, check comms, and load magazines with efficient, jerky movements.
They become machines.
Jackson hands me a vest. “Put this on. Ceramic plates. Heavy, but it stops a rifle round.”
I pull it over my head and strap it tight. “I feel like a turtle.”
“A bulletproof turtle.” He hands me my Glock, cleaned and oiled. “Stay behind me. If I say move, you move. If I say run, you run. Do not hesitate.”
“I won’t.”
“Mount up,” Ghost orders.
We file out to the loading dock. The night air is cool and damp. The city lights of Chicago reflect off the low clouds in an orange haze.
I climb into the back of the blacked-out SUV with Jackson. Whisper takes the front. Halo sets up his mobile command center in the third row.
The convoy rolls out. Torque leads in the van.
“Comms check,” Ghost says.
“Brass, green.”
“Halo, green.”
“Whisper, green.”
“Torque, green.”
“Fuse, green.”
I tap my earpiece. “Singh, green.”
“Two miles to target,” Halo says from the back. “Nexus grid is active. They’ve reinforced the perimeter. I’m reading thermal signatures on the roof and in the lobby. They’re expecting trouble.”
“They’re expecting an intrusion,” Jackson says, his hand finding mine in the dark. “They aren’t expecting an assault.”
“Approaching the substation,” Torque says. “Charges set. Waiting on your mark.”
“Hold,” Ghost commands. “Wait for Fuse to be in position.”
We park three blocks out. The street is empty. The Nexus tower looms ahead, a monolith of black glass. It looks impenetrable.
