"Which means they might know Victoria's network is compromised. They might know we're hunting for the leak." I save all the data, encrypt it with protocols only Echo Ridge can access. "We need to report this to Kane."
But Masters is in his vehicle pulling away from the warehouse before I can reach for my secure phone. It's heading north, toward Kalispell. Toward that coffee shop where he sends encrypted messages every couple of weeks.
The Committee running counter-surveillance means they're aware someone is investigating. They're checking their sources, verifying security, possibly preparing to shut down compromised channels.
We're running out of time to catch them in the act.
And sitting in this cabin with Micah, building cases like we used to, falling into rhythms that feel dangerously familiar despite years of silence and betrayal, is getting harder to compartmentalize by the hour.
The encrypted message on my screen blinks. His vehicle disappears around a curve in the valley road.
"He's moving." Micah's voice cuts through my thoughts. "We need to decide. Follow him or maintain position and monitor communications."
It's a tactical decision, an operational priority—the kind of call we used to make together when cases demanded split-second choices and trust was absolute.
I look at Micah across the cabin. His expression is controlled, waiting for my assessment. He's trusting my judgment like he used to trust me with everything before he disappeared and silence replaced the partnership we'd built.
"We follow him. If the Committee's running counter-surveillance, Masters might be meeting his handler. We get visual confirmation, we prove the connection."
Micah gathers his equipment. "I'll drive. You monitor communications."
We move with practiced efficiency, packing gear and coordinating protocols. Old patterns, muscle memory, the partnership we built surfacing despite everything that's happened between us.
I grab my laptop and receiver. Micah's at the door.
The Committee knows someone's investigating. Masters is moving toward what might be a face-to-face meeting with his handler.
And I'm following Micah into tactical situations that require the kind of trust I swore I'd never give him again.
11
MICAH
Masters's vehicle winds down toward Kalispell through switchbacks that drop us from ridge country into valley floor. The rental I picked up this morning handles the mountain curves better than I expected, maintaining enough separation to avoid detection while keeping visual contact.
Sarah monitors communications from the passenger seat, laptop balanced on her knees, receiver tracking Masters's phone signals. Afternoon sun slants through the windshield, turning the valley golden.
"Still heading toward the coffee shop," she says, eyes on her screen. "No deviation from pattern."
An empty road fills the rearview mirror—nothing suspicious matching our speed or holding consistent intervals. The Committee's encrypted message to Masters suggested counter-surveillance, but so far we're undetected.
Paranoia kept me alive when one mistake would have ended everything. The kind Sarah probably thinks I should have applied to staying in contact.
"Communications?"
"Silent since the warehouse. He's not making calls or sending messages." She adjusts the receiver's frequency. "Phone's still active, pinging towers along this route."
They can track him the same way we are. Can see him driving toward Kalispell, calculate his probable destination, position assets to intercept. Can realize we're following if they're watching closely enough.
I push into the next curve faster, testing the vehicle's handling and clearing sight lines. The rental performs adequately for civilian transport but lacks what I'd prefer for operational work. No armor plating, no run-flat tires, no enhanced engine.
We're exposed if this deteriorates.
A glance from Sarah, but no comment on the speed. She knows what I'm doing. Knows how I think about escape routes because we spent months working operations together when threat assessment was as natural as breathing.
"Secondary route?" she asks.
"The highway south if we need space. Forest service roads if we need concealment." The area's road network is memorized, alternatives and chokepoints marked. "There's a logging road ahead that connects to back routes toward Echo Base."
