“Maybe.” My watch read 01:12. “Give it another twenty minutes. If nothing happens, we move to our secondary location.”
The radio was silent except for periodic check-ins. I heard the CIA woman’s voice,Thomas’s voice, and the Baroness coordinating from the farmhouse. Each time I heard Thomas, something in my chest flinched.
At 01:23, Eddie’s voice came through my earpiece: “Movement. East approach. One vehicle with lights off. Go radio silent.”
I raised my camera and scanned the darkness.
There—a van, rolling slowly along the access road, its headlights dark. It stopped fifty meters from the perimeter fence.
“I see it,” I breathed. “Danny, be ready to move.”
Three men climbed out of the van. They moved quickly, pulling what looked like long wire cutters out of the back. One man hefted a heavy bag that clanked when he lifted it.
I started photographing.
Snap.
Wind the film.
Snap.
Wind the film.
The men approached the fence.
One kneeled and began cutting through the chain link while others kept watch. Through my viewfinder, I could see their faces—grim, focused, intent on their work.
“Can you get a plate number on that van?”
Danny squinted through the windshield. “Can’t make it out. Eddie’ll get it if he has the angle.”
The fence was opened.
The men slipped through, leaving their van outside.
They marched toward a transformer station at the edge of the facility. I tracked them with my camera, capturing their progress and documenting every step.
Then one of them pulled something from the heavy bag.
An explosive charge.
Magnified through my lens, it looked compact and professional, the kind used by a nation’s military, not some rogue faction. It also looked like a device designed to destroy equipment without leveling buildings.
They were going to blow the transformer.
“Base, mobile.” I kept my voice steady, though my pulse was racing. “We have three men inside the perimeter with explosives. They’re targeting the main transformer.”
“Mobile team, base. Copy.” The Baroness’s voice was calm. “Document but do not engage. Repeat. Donotengage.”
I understood the logic. We were here to gather evidence, not fight, but watching the men plant that charge while knowing what it would do, knowing people might die in the chaos that followed . . .
The transformer was in clear view.
I snapped photos of them placing the explosive.
Photographed them running the detonator wire back toward the fence.
Photographed their retreat to the van.
