Then she stood, straightened her shoulders, and, using her cell phone, scanned the document, attached it to her email, and hit send. The request was delivered to the people who needed to see it. She closed her eyes and said a prayer. It wasn’t just a request for an audit. It was a declaration of war.
CHAPTER 22
The desert air hung thick and oppressive even after sunset. The canyon carried the lingering heat of the day. From his position on the ridgeline, Talon could taste the familiar grit of hot dust on the night breeze. Tonight, it was mixed with the sharp ozone scent that preceded desert storms. Fuck, he hoped it held off.
Riley’s request had activated the right people because, below him, the convoy staging yard was buzzing with activity. He’d called and checked with Riley. Convoys never left at night, and the next one wasn’t supposed to prep for six days. Still, there it was, spread out like a movie being filmed under the harsh glare of security floodlights. There were rows of cargo trucks arranged in perfect formation. Theirshadows cut a sharp pattern across the hard-packed earth.
Everything about the scene looked routine. Drivers were completing their pre-departure inspections. Security guards were walking their bored patterns, and clipboard-carrying supervisors were making their final checks before the convoy rolled out. Normal industrial operations on a not-so-normal Tuesday night.
Talon pressed himself deeper into the shadow cast by the weathered boulder that served as his observation post, the stock of his customized Barrett M107A1 resting comfortably against his shoulder. The rifle was a thing of beauty. It was fifty calibers of precision wrapped in matte black steel and topped with a Schmidt & Bender optic that could see individual rivets on truck panels at eight hundred meters. Not that he expected to need that kind of range tonight, but in his experience, it was better to have capabilities you didn't need than to need capabilities you didn't have.
Through the scope, he could make out every detail of the operation below with absolute clarity. The lead truck was a massive Peterbilt hauling a standard transport trailer. It sat idling near the outer gate. The diesel exhaust shimmered in the floodlightglare. Behind it, three more trucks waited. The drivers went through the ritual of final equipment checks that would soon give way to hours of highway monotony.
Except tonight won't be monotonous,Talon rested his finger lightly outside the trigger guard as he continued to study the preparations.
Wolf's voice came softly over his earpiece. His words compressed into the flat, emotionless cadence of professional military communications. "Overwatch, this is Panther Three. Primary package confirmed. Truck three. The rear drums loaded are marked for expedited processing. I can’t read the barrels in front of them, but I think this will be our vehicle.”
Talon's jaw tightened with grim satisfaction. Wolf, his sniper, was positioned three hundred meters to the northwest. He’d taken up position in a natural depression that gave him a perfect line of sight to the loading dock. His frame was virtually invisible under the ghillie suit they’d custom-tailored to match the local terrain. Wolf was one hundred percent recovered from his accident, and his trained eye could spot discrepancies that would escape most observers.
"Copy, Panther Three," Talon murmured into histhroat mike, his gaze never leaving the convoy yard. "All units, maintain positions until I give the signal. Say again—hold until my mark."
The response came back in a chorus of professional acknowledgments from positions scattered across a two-kilometer perimeter. Each voice carried the controlled tension of operators who had spent months preparing for this moment, who understood that everything they'd trained for was about to be tested under live-fire conditions.
Months of watching the SRF stumble through complex tactical exercises until they stopped tripping over their own equipment and started moving like the professionals they were becoming. Tonight was their final exam, and failure wasn't just an academic concept. Which was explained to them. It meant people would walk free who deserved to face justice for violating their country's requirements and treaties.
“Dude, is Guardian monitoring?”
“Online,” Dude said.
Then he heard, “Ronan and I are here.” His father’s voice came over the comms. “We’ve got you on satellite.”
“Coverage is solid,” Dude said. “Comms are linked to SRF without any degradation of distance.”
“Copy, CCS is ready and holding for your mark.” His dad was the OG operator and knew what was going through Talon’s mind.
Talon felt the warmth of his father’s words. He’d contacted Guardian as soon as he’d made it back to the SRF compound that morning. He wouldn’t put the SRF or his men on the line without Guardian’s approval of the mission he was planning.
Talon shifted slightly, redistributing his weight to maintain circulation in his legs while keeping the rifle's optics trained on the lead vehicle. The Barrett's scope revealed details invisible to the naked eye: the nervous twitch in the lead driver's jaw, the way the security supervisor kept checking his watch, the subtle tension in the body language of men who knew they were carrying more than a regular payload but were trying very hard to pretend otherwise.
"Riley's pressure campaign worked like a charm," Jug added, his voice carrying the low satisfaction of a predator watching prey walk into a carefully prepared trap. "Logistics pushed this shipment out. Word is that Delgado's second is sweating bullets. Wonder why?”
“He’s convinced the new ESG audit is going to expose their entire operation," Hammer said. “Seemsmore people are in on this process than we first thought. At least at ground level.”
Talon allowed himself the faintest curl of a smile. It was the kind of expression that never really reached his eyes and carried all the warmth of a rattlesnake. "Good. Nervous people make mistakes, and we're going to be here to document every single one of them."
Three hundred meterssouth of the convoy staging area, Wolf lay pressed against the desert floor in a shallow depression that had been improved with carefully placed camouflage netting and desert-pattern ghillie material. His M4A1 carbine was equipped with an ACOG scope and an infrared laser designator that painted invisible targeting dots on anything within his sector of responsibility.
Behind him, spread across a fifty-meter front, SRF Team One maintained perfect concealment in positions that had been rehearsed dozens of times during night training exercises. Each man carried the same basic loadout. They had M4 carbines with night vision optics, tactical radios, flex-cuffs, andenough ammunition to sustain a fifteen-minute firefight if everything went sideways.
Which it won't,Talon told himself.
“Remember,” Wolf said, “Murphy's Law applied with particular viciousness to operations that are supposed to be simple.”
“Too right,” Talon agreed. “SRF One, status?”
“In position, sir,” Captain Oumarou said clearly.
Wolf whispered into his radio, watching the convoy through his scope with the patient attention of a hunter waiting for the perfect shot. "Targets identified and ranged. Waiting for green light."
