Shannon rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the small lift in her chest, unfamiliar in the best way.
Peters tapped his boot against hers. “You fly clean. Your mom would’ve been proud of that pickup.”
Shannon stiffened. “You know my mom was a pilot?”
Keating sighed. “Johnson, we’re small but tight. We know you’re a legacy pilot. Both your parents flew.” He tossed an MREat her. “Eat. You’re one of us now. That means suffering through chili mac with the rest of the degenerates.”
A ripple of laughter broke out.
Calder, one of the fixed-wing guys, wandered over with a metal mug. “Heard Falcon here threaded her hawk through a crosswind that would’ve grounded half the trainers at Novosel.”
Shannon shrugged. “Lucky break.”
“Bullshit,” Calder said cheerfully. “You flew the hell out of that machine. Even the captain radioed that you handled the dust devils like you’d been flying this AO for years.”
Umeh elbowed her. “You hear that? You’re officially interesting.”
Shannon shook her head, fighting a smile. For the first time since she’d set foot in-country a few days earlier, she wasn’t just functioning. She was belonging.
Neema leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs. “You did good today, Falcon.”
Keating chimed in, mouth full of MRE, “You keep flying like that, and we’ll let you pick music for the next sortie. Maybe.”
Shannon laughed—unexpected, sharp-edged, and almost startling. “I’ll try not to let that power go to my head.”
Peters tapped his water bottle against hers. “No promises. But welcome to the team, Johnson.”
FORTY
NORTHERN NIGER – SAFEHOUSE
Dante leaned over a dusty metal table littered with maps, satellite printouts, and a half-disassembled radio transceiver. He adjusted the scanning dial with hands that looked calm but weren’t. He felt a pulse, then another.
Ford looked up, instantly alert. “You got something?”
Dante lowered the receiver. “The device is on the move.”
Ford swore under his breath. “How fast?”
“Two vehicles. Moving north-by-northeast at military spacing.”
Ford grabbed the topographical map. “That puts them on a path toward… shit… toward the Agadez corridor.”
“That’s toward us.” Dante had no idea Shannon was there too.
Ford closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. “Khalil is accelerating the sale. We’re running out of time.”
A soft triple-click sounded from outside.
Dante stiffened. “That’s Bravo’s signal.”
Ford stood. “Then let’s see how bad it’s gotten.”
THE COMPOUND
Krueger leaned one shoulder against a stack of cracked wooden crates, arms folded loosely, posture casual in the way only a man with a plan and a grudge could be. The warehouse air was thick with diesel fumes and dust, the bare bulb above flickering like it wanted out.
Two of the arms dealer’s men pried open a steel case. Inside lay disassembled AK variants, oil-slicked and immaculate, stacked neatly beside boxes of ammunition stenciled with Cyrillic letters.
