Reed settled back in his seat, watching the Seattle skyline fall away beneath them. Beside him, Elena was reviewing architectural plans on her laptop. There were worry lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there five years ago. Across from them, his brothers were checking weapons and communications equipment with the methodical precision of men preparing for war.
The landscape changed below them as they crossed into Canada, dense forests giving way to mountain ranges, then gradually flattening toward Vancouver’s urban sprawl. Reed found himself thinking about the last time he’d been in a helicopter heading toward a dangerous situation. Afghanistan, 2019. That mission had ended with him carrying Ray’s body to the extraction point.
He pushed the memory away and focused on the present. This time was different. This time, he was fighting for something that mattered on a personal level, not just following orders from people who’d never seen combat themselves.
“Landing in ten minutes,” Marcus announced.
Their destination was a private airfield forty minutes outside of Vancouver, where Reed had arranged for ground transportation and temporary lodging through contacts who specialized in discretion. The safe house was a nondescript cabin on twenty acres of forested land, isolated enough for privacy but close enough to the city for rapid movement when the time came.
Elena was quiet during the drive to the cabin, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery. Reed could see her mind working through scenarios, contingencies, all the ways their mission could go sideways. He wanted to reach for her hand, to offer some gesture of comfort, but his brothers were watching, and this wasn’t the time for personal moments.
The cabin was exactly what Reed had requested—functional, secure, and equipped with everything they’d need for their final preparations. By mid-afternoon, they’d established communications protocols, verified their equipment, and reviewed the mission timeline one more time.
“Reconnaissance run,” Walker announced, checking his watch. “We should get eyes on the target while there’s still daylight.”
The Blackwood Estate was everything Elena’s intelligence had suggested and more. Positioned on a bluff overlooking the water, the main house was a sprawling mansion that screamed old money and unlimited resources. Even from their observation point half a mile away, Reed counted multiple security checkpoints, roving patrols, and enough surveillance equipment to monitor a small city.
“Webb’s not taking any chances,” James observed, studying the compound through his binoculars.
“Neither can we,” Elena replied, making notes on her tablet. “The catering trucks arrive at four PM tomorrow. Security sweep happens at five. Guests start arriving at seven.”
“Window of opportunity?” Reed asked.
“Between eight and nine PM,” Elena said. “After the auction presentations begin but before they start the actual bidding. That’s when everyone will be focused on the main event.”
Terrel lowered his binoculars. “And if we’re compromised?”
Elena was quiet for a moment. “Then we improvise.”
They spent another hour observing guard rotations and mapping entry points before returning to the cabin as darkness fell. Reed noticed Elena’s mood growing more somber as the reality of tomorrow’s mission settled over all of them.
Dinner was a quiet affair—takeout from a local restaurant that none of them really tasted. They ate mechanically, each lost in their own thoughts about what the next twenty-four hours might bring.
It was Walker who finally broke the silence.
“My network’s been pretty diligent in trying to find Elena,” he said, setting down his fork. “The contract’s got a lot of people interested.”
Reed’s jaw tightened. “How interested?”
“Interested enough that I’m hearing chatter from guys I served with. Ex-military types who keep their ears open aboutthis kind of thing.” Walker’s expression was grim. “The word is spreading fast through certain circles.”
James looked up from his untouched meal. “What kind of circles?”
“The kind where people know contractors,” Walker said carefully. “Guys who take jobs that don’t officially exist.”
Elena went very still. “Contractors?”
“Private operators,” Terrel said quietly. “Off-the-books specialists who handle problems for people with enough money.”
Her face went pale. “How many are we talking about?”
“Maybe one or two have already been activated,” Walker continued. “But if Webb’s willing to pay half a million, there could be a dozen more mobilizing by tomorrow.”
Terrel set down his water glass with deliberate precision. “I have a buddy who doesn’t admit to it, but our whole SEAL team knows what he does now. Contracts like this one—they attract the worst kind of attention.”
“What do you mean?” Elena asked, though Reed could tell she already knew.
“The kind of guys who don’t just kill targets,” Terrel said. “They eliminate anyone who gets in their way. Family, friends, witnesses. They make problems disappear completely.”
