I wanted to believe Thomas was out there, slipping through shadows, staying one step ahead of whatever was chasing him, but the silence from the radio was a void that swallowed every hopeful thought.
The drive back felt endless.
Every minute stretched, every second weighted with dread.
I watched the streets of Bern slide past. They were all dark now, the streetlights blind in whole sections of the city. The Order’s handiwork was spreading like a stain.
Or a disease.
At 02:47, the radio crackled.
“—peat, primary team. Does . . . copy?”
It was the CIA woman’s voice.
I grabbed for the radio.
“Primary, mobile. We copy. Status?”
A pause.
Static.
Then: “En route to extraction. Marcus is with me. We have the photographs.”
Marcus?
Not Thomas.
“What about Condor?” My voice cracked on his name. “Where’s Condor?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Long enough for my heart to stop.
“Condor was compromised. He signaled he was heading for extraction, but . . .” The woman’s voice was steady, but there was deep unease beneath it. “He took fire from one hostile in pursuit. We haven’t been able to raise him.”
My world tilted.
“What do you mean? Where is he? Why aren’t you pulling him out?”
“I don’t know.” For the first time, something slipped in her voice. “We tried to reach him, but more hostiles arrived. We had to get our evidence out—”
“You left him?”
“Mission before men. He would have done the same.”
Mission? Fuck the mission!
Thomas was out there in the darkness and freezing cold. He could be shot, bleeding, maybe dying, and they’d left him because of protocol?
“We’re going back,” I said. “Danny, turn the car around.”
“Emu—” Eddie started.
“Turn the goddamned car around!”
