Paulsen’s gaze flicked to Ford behind Dante. “You boys stirred up more shit than you know.”
Ford crossed his arms. “We improvise.”
Paulsen stepped forward, close enough Dante could see the dust caked at the edges of his lashes. “Krueger’s here.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “We know. Tell me how we didn’t know sooner?”
“Looks like he broke his leash,” Paulsen said. “He was spotted two hours ago with Khalil’s secondary unit. They’re converging north of the ridge.”
Ford swore under his breath. “The nuke’s in motion. You need to adjust your perimeter.”
“We are,” Paulsen said. “Crescent Team’s deploying. But there’s something else.”
Paulsen’s eyes locked onto Dante’s. “The Air Force just brought in fresh pilots. One of them picked up a call name—Falcon.”
Dante’s heart slammed. “Shannon?”
Paulsen nodded. “She’s in your operational box.”
Dante’s cover mask cracked for half a second, long enough for Paulsen to understand everything. He stepped in closer. “You keep your head. You lose control now, and you get yourself and Ford killed.”
Dante swallowed. “I won’t.”
Paulsen’s expression softened for only a moment. “I know.”
He nodded at Ford. “And you two? Finish this. Because when that bomb lands in the wrong hands, this region burns.”
Ford nodded sharply. Dante didn’t trust himself to speak.
Paulsen pulled back, fading into the shadow with his men. “Stay dark. And stay alive.” They vanished over the wall in three quick shapes.
AIR BASE 201 – MAINTENANCE HANGAR – 11:11 LOCAL
The HH-60 sat in the center of the hangar like a wounded beast pulled off the kill line, panels removed and wiring exposed. A half-circle of maintainers crouched under her belly.
Shannon stood with Umeh, Touré, Peters, and Keating at her side. Sweat clung to her spine. Her pulse hadn’t settled since she turned the engine over for the second flight of the day and heardthe sound. It was a sound she’d never forget. It was the same sound she heard just before she fell out of the sky.
Chief Warrant Officer Sarr, the senior maintenance officer, crawled out from under the fuselage, wiping grease across her sleeve. Sarr rarely looked rattled. Today she looked furious.
“Lieutenant,” she said, voice low, “something was done to your bird. You have bionic hearing too.”
Shannon’s chest tightened. “Walk me through it.”
Sarr motioned them closer. “Right intake cowling had micro-abrasion patterns. Someone opened that panel with the wrong torque tool.”
“Wrong how?” Touré asked.
“Wrong for anyone who knows what they’re doing.” Sarr pointed to a set of wires she’d carefully laid out on the workbench. “These signal-control lines were nicked with tiny cuts, the size of a sewing needle. Not enough to flame out. Enough to cause intermittent interference.”
Umeh swore. “Sabotage.”
“Almost elegant sabotage,” Sarr corrected sharply. “Whoever did this wanted the malfunction to look random. But they’re too damn clever for their own good.”
Shannon stared at the thin slices in the wires. In her mind, she saw another thin slice and an ampoule cracked in an evidence bag. Her helicopter spiraling. Mara breaking against her harness.
Her hands curled into fists. “Chief, could this sabotage have caused… signal interference?”
Sarr’s expression darkened. “Yes. Exactly that. Somebody wanted your systems confused.”
