Mike nodded. “That’s the only right answer.”
They stood like that for a long moment. “You know Dante’s going back in, right?”
Shannon froze. Just slightly.
Mike kept going. “They’re rotating Bravo forward. Intel’s heating up again in the Sahel. Sean requested Dante rejoin theunit. Said they’ll need someone who can move in two worlds. Ian signed off this morning.”
Shannon blinked, not because she didn’t know this was coming. But because it still hurt anyway. “When?”
“Soon as you finish your evaluations.”
She didn’t ask why. She already knew. Dante had stayed behind to help her heal. And now that she’d proven she could stand again, they were asking him to go.
Shannon swallowed hard. “Will he leave without saying goodbye?”
Mike’s tone softened. “Not unless you ask him to.”
Shannon stared out at the horizon again. The gold had turned to bruised orange. Another day closing. “I’m not done with him,” she whispered.
Mike answered, “Then make sure he knows.”
CHASE SECURITY FIELD OUTPOST – SAHEL REGION, WEST AFRICA – 0118Z
The base was quiet, too quiet for the kind of chatter usually pulsing through ops after a supply drop. Inside the forward tent, Bravo Team wasn’t sleeping. They were planning.
Sean stood over a portable holo-map glowing dim in red hues, lines of satellite pings and intercepted comms feeding in from three Chase recon nodes across the region.
“They’re not staging anymore,” said Sabra, crouched low over a decrypted packet from a courier drone. “This isn’tpositioning for regional dominance. This is threat prep. They're moving high-value assets.”
“Interlink just flagged this from last night’s burst. There’s movement through the Talba corridor. Three trucks, one small vehicle. Standard formation except…” he tapped the screen, “one truck never stops for checks. Ever. Heat signature’s weird. Shielded.”
“Shielding a heat source and cutting transponder? They’re hiding something big.”
Sabra’s eyes narrowed. “I ran it through the old foreign military sales pipeline. One match came up.”
She pulled up a grainy black-and-white photo, years old, digitally enhanced, and timestamped from a defunct nuclear intelligence sweep. It was the outline of a known Russian suitcase nuke.
“Jesus.”
Sean didn’t blink. “It fits the radiation shadow our long-range drone caught.” He turned to the satellite feed. “This is why Krueger tried to disappear. It’s not just weapons they’re selling.”
He paused to key the encrypted comms node beside the map. “Patch me to Ian Chase.”
The link crackled to life, and Ian’s voice came through, low and clear. “Go.”
“We’ve got heat signatures in Talba that suggest a contained nuclear device. Looks like a Gen-3 suitcase nuke. It’s mobile. Confirmed convoy. Intel lines up with chatter Krueger dropped about a second front being prepped.”
Ian didn’t curse. He never did. “Are you operational?”
“We can move within twelve. But we’re light.”
The call went silent before Ian said, “You need Olivetti.”
Sean blew out a deep breath. “He’s the only one who’s run recon on Krueger’s behavioral patterns. And he knows this terrain. We need him.”
Ian was quiet again.
“Done deal.” The line went dead.
