“Did they want us to crash?” Keating whispered.
Sarr paused. “Not exactly. They wanted you on the ground. Not dead.”
Touré muttered, “That’s worse.”
Shannon swallowed hard. Someone here wanted her grounded. A shadow slid through her mind—Daniel Krueger.
But she pushed the thought aside. “Can you fix her?”
Sarr nodded once. “Working on it now. But until we isolate who did this, we’re sweeping all your pre-flight signatures.”
Touré crossed her arms. “Good. Because if I find whoever did it, I’m gonna teach them what creative sabotage feels like.”
FORTY-ONE
THE COMPOUND – KHALIL’S OPERATIONS TENT – 19:11 LOCAL
The room buzzed with radio chatter: his militia relaying positions, supply vehicles checking in, scouts reporting convoy sightings. Krueger was almost bored.
Until a panicked runner burst through the flap. “Sir, there’s new radio traffic from U.S. Air Base 201.”
Khalil didn’t look up from the map spread across the table. “Is it relevant to the sale?”
“Not the sale, sir,” the runner stammered. “It’s about the American woman pilot. The one who?—”
Krueger’s head lifted sharply. “Say that again.”
The runner swallowed. “The… the female lieutenant who survived the crash. Johnson.”
Krueger’s pulse surged with a hot, electric snap. “What about her?”
The runner held up a scraped-together transcript. “Her helicopter nearly hit an IED, but she saw a reflective tripwirewhile in flight and evaded at the last second. They gave her a call sign.”
Krueger snatched the paper. It hit him like a blade to the spine. “Falcon,” he tasted the name like poison.
Khalil glanced up now, expression unreadable.
Krueger paced, breath turning jagged. “She’s flying again? She’s in my deployment zone?”
The runner nodded quickly. Krueger smashed the metal table with both hands, sending radios skidding. “She was supposed to be broken.” He kicked the table. “She was supposed to be ash in that crash.”
Khalil raised one brow. “Impressive piloting is hardly?—”
“SHUT UP!” Krueger snarled.
The guards straightened, startled.
Khalil lifted his chin, icy calm. “Mr. Krueger, I suggest?—”
Krueger stormed forward, grabbing the man by the front of his tunic. “I don’t care about your hierarchy,” he hissed. “That woman is not walking away from this region alive.”
Khalil looked down at the hand gripping him. “You forget yourself.”
Krueger froze… then slowly released him, breath shaking.
Khalil smoothed his tunic. “We have a nuclear transfer to complete. Your fixation is… inconvenient. Perhaps the other American was right? You are a child in a warzone.”
Krueger stepped closer, voice low and venomous. “I’ll complete your deal. But when the nuke is secure? I’m finishing her.”
