“I know it is.”
The convoy ambush is sloppy—poor angles, too many shooters, zero follow-through. Malenkov doesn’t waste men like that.
Which means—
“He wants us to move,” I say. “Right now. Fast.”
Aaron swears. “And we were about to.”
I nod once. “That’s the trap.”
I pull up the map overlay—routes, response windows, extraction timing. The red zones form a neat funnel toward the Romanian border.
Too neat.
“He expects Delta Five to surge here,” I continue, tapping the screen. “Hit what looks like a collapsing node.”
Miles’ eyes widen. “And while we’re tied up—”
“He relocates the prisoners again,” I finish. “Or worse.”
Silence fills the vehicle.
Aaron exhales sharply. “We were seconds from rolling.”
I lean back, forcing myself to breathe through the adrenaline screaming in my veins.
He almost had me.
Because the instinct to respond—to strike back hard when someone burns assets in your face—is powerful. It’s personal.
It’s emotional.
And Malenkov counted on that.
“Abort the surge,” I say. “Now.”
Aaron relays the order immediately.
A second later, Lena’s voice cuts into the channel—calm, sharp.
“I knew you’d see it.”
I close my eyes briefly. “You were already on it.”
“Yes,” she says. “The fires are misdirection. He’s not reacting—he’s clearing noise.”
“Clearing for what?” Miles asks.
There’s a beat.
Then Lena answers quietly, “For a move that requires silence.”
My grip tightens on the console.
“He’s moving Jonah,” I say.
“Yes,” Lena confirms. “And possibly the others. But Jonah first—he’s already broken once. He’s leverage.”
