"He was on a training operation in the Alaskan wilderness. Routine navigation exercise." The careful phrasing tells me everything. "He didn't make it to the extraction point. It's been several days. We have search teams deployed, but I wanted to notify you personally given the—given the circumstances."
Training accident. That's what they're calling it.
But I remember the conversations Gabe and I had months ago. Suspicions he'd mentioned about increased surveillance. Questions about whether his team was being monitored. Concerns that someone in his chain of command might be compromised.
All things I dismissed as paranoia when he first brought them up.
"Ms. Andrews? Are you still there?"
"Yes." My voice sounds distant even to my own ears. "Yes, I'm here."
Now, with Harper dead and Committee operatives knowing my name, I realize my brother saw the pattern before I did.
The Committee's reach goes deeper than anyone realized. Deep enough to identify and target NSA analysts. Deep enough to kill section chiefs. Deep enough, maybe, to disappear a Navy SEAL in the Alaskan wilderness and make it look like a training accident.
There’s been nothing in the dead drop where Micah's response should have been and I finally understand exactly how alone I am.
And the official channels that should help me find my brother are the same ones the Committee has infiltrated.
The laptop screen glows in the darkened safe house, casting blue light across my bruised hands. I should sleep. Should let my ribs finish healing. Instead, I'm pulling up months of Committee intercepts, searching for the thread that connects Harper's death to my capture to Gabe disappearing in Alaska.
Somewhere in these intercepts is the pattern. There has to be.
Three hours later, I find it.
Committee communications referencing "Alaska operation" and "SEAL target" in the same forty-eight-hour window Gabe went missing. Mentions of "wilderness deployment" and "containment protocols." Nothing concrete. Nothing definitive. Just fragments that could mean anything.
Or could mean everything.
The intercepts don't tell me if they captured him or if he escaped. Don't tell me if he's alive or dead, injured or whole. Justthat the Committee had active operations in Alaska targeting a SEAL during the exact window my brother vanished.
The same people who killed Harper. Who tortured me. Who are systematically eliminating anyone who threatens their operations.
And I can't go through official channels because I don't know who else is compromised.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number. Encrypted routing that makes my NSA training sit up and take notice.
I almost don't answer. Then I recognize the encryption signature.
Victoria Cross. I know that name.
"Ms. Andrews." Her voice is cool, professional, British-accented. "I believe we have mutual interests to discuss."
"I don't?—"
"Harper spoke highly of you before his unfortunate accident. He mentioned you were tracking Committee communications with remarkable success." A pause. "I'm sorry for your loss. He was a good man in a profession that doesn't reward goodness."
My throat tightens. "How did you get this number?"
"I make it my business to know how to reach people who might need my services. You need something. I can provide it. For the right price."
"I don't have?—"
"Money isn't the only currency, Sarah." She says my name like we're old friends. "Information is. Favors are. Future considerations are. You're NSA signals intelligence with specialized knowledge of Committee operations. That has value."
"What do you want?"
"To help you find your brother. And in exchange, I want your expertise when I have questions about Committee communications patterns. A mutually beneficial arrangement."
