“The hydroelectric grid,” Whisper cuts in again. “I’ve been tracking unusual power draw from the southwestern infrastructure for months. Massive energy consumption routed through shell utilities to coordinates in the Nevada desert. The draw is consistent with large-scale server operations.”
“Phoenix needs a new home.” Diego pulls up a map on the central screen—Nevada highlighted, a red dot marking the estimated facility location. “Since Chicago, it’s been distributed across the cloud. Fragmented. Vulnerable. We’ve seen the glitches—the latency in response times. It’s desperate to reconstitute itself. It needs a centralized server farm to regainfull functionality. If it gets this facility online, powered by the grid … It won’t just be back. It’ll be unstoppable. Whatever it’s doing with ML-273 becomes a global nightmare.”
“And the satellite network,” I add. “We found evidence of integration protocols with the NRO network.”
The room goes quiet.
Ghost’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his posture. A tension that wasn’t there before.
“The National Reconnaissance Office?” He studies the map. “Phoenix is attempting to hijack our satellite surveillance infrastructure.”
“That’s our assessment.” I spread my hands. “If it succeeds, it would have access to global surveillance coverage. Real-time tracking of anyone, anywhere. No more blind spots. No more hiding.”
“No more running.” Fuse goes still against the table, the pain in his hip forgotten.
“No more running,” I agree. “For anyone.”
“Which brings us to Sarah Vance.” Diego pulls up a photograph—a woman in military dress uniform. Dark hair pulled back severely. Sharp features. “Director of the National Reconnaissance Office. She controls the satellite infrastructure Phoenix is trying to compromise.”
“Vance.” Brass’s stylus taps against the table. “Related to Senator Marcus Vance?”
“His daughter. Estranged for years.” Diego zooms in on the image. “Whatever happened between them, it was bad enough to sever ties completely.”
“The King’s daughter.” Ghost studies the image. “Either loyal to her father or she isn’t.”
“That’s the question we need to answer.” I lean forward. “If she’s compromised, contact tips off Phoenix. If she’s not,she might be our best chance at denying Phoenix the satellite network—or getting access to Nevada’s defenses.”
“The facility is a kill box,” Diego adds. “AI-controlled drones, automated targeting systems, almost certainly countermeasures we haven’t anticipated. A direct assault would be suicide without inside help or precise insertion.”
“Precise insertion.” Torque stops pacing. “That’s where I come in.”
“Can you do it?”
Torque’s grin is sharp. Dangerous. “Can I thread a team through an AI-controlled drone defense grid into a hardened facility in the Nevada desert?” He cracks his knuckles. “Ghost, remember that extraction in Yemen? The one with the blinding sandstorm, the RPG fire, and the engine failure? This is a Sunday drive compared to that. The question isn’t if I can get you in. It’s who’s going in.”
Ghost stands. Moves to the central screen. Stares at the map for a long moment.
“The assault team.” He keeps his back to us. “Halo. Fuse is out until medical clears him, which won’t be in time.”
“I can be ready,” Fuse argues weakly.
“No.” Ghost stays facing the screens. “Brass stays on comms—he’s officially dead, we can’t risk exposure. Whisper, you’re on overwatch.” He turns, his steel-gray gaze landing on Thorne. “That just leaves you. I know you’re new to the team, and this might be sending you out a little too soon. But you did good with Halo. What do you say?”
At the back wall, Thorne speaks up. “My daughter needs a world worth growing up in. If Phoenix wins, there isn’t one. So hell yeah, count me in.”
“Good.” Ghost turns to the room. “Nevada team: Halo, Whisper, Thorne. Torque on insertion and extraction.”
Fuse looks at Thorne. “You got any specialty? Experience with ballistics or explosives?”
“Yeah.” Thorne nods. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Good.” Fuse rubs his hands together, wincing slightly as the movement pulls on his injury. “Get with me during planning. I’ll show you some really cool stuff. Fill the gap.”
He turns to Diego. “You’re gonna need him as a good luck charm. This is a crappy mission. Chances of success are low. You’re gonna need all the guardian angel energy you can get.”
Everyone laughs, a tension-breaking sound.
“Forty-eight hours to mission launch.” Ghost turns back to the screens. “Rest while you can. When we go, we go hard.”
