“Tell me this is about the quarterly budget and not a ghost.”
Mike stared at the page in front of him. “Krueger. Novosel. Full clearance.”
His voice dropped. “Jesus.”
“Just came in this morning,” Mike said.
Ford exhaled. “That kid was supposed to be done.”
“He was in the Air Force.”
“And Shannon?”
“She had to see him yesterday.”
Ford’s voice went quieter. “How bad was it?”
“I don’t know yet. She hasn’t called. I don’t expect her to.”
“You want something done?” Ford asked.
Mike didn’t raise his voice. “I want him watched. Closely. Quietly.”
“Done.”
“I don’t want a team. I don’t want a paper trail. Just someone who knows what to look for.”
“I’ve got a guy,” Ford said. “Low profile. Civilian cover. He won’t spook the flight line.”
“Good.” Mike hesitated. “If this goes sideways…”
Ford finished it for him, “It won’t.”
But they both knew better.
TWENTY-ONE
FORT NOVOSEL
The UH-72 Lakota sat on the tarmac like a coiled blade, rotors ticking slowly in the warm morning air.
Shannon climbed into the left seat, helmet already strapped, checklist tight in her lap. Mara Esten slid in beside her and didn’t say a word. This wasn’t a classroom anymore. This was flight.
“Flight 2A, cleared for lift,” came the tower voice. “Maintain pattern spacing. Confirm visual on trailing element.”
Esten keyed the mic. “2A copies. Lifting.”
The bird rumbled smoothly and heavily, alive under them. Shannon called torque, airspeed, and horizon. Esten pulled collective, and they rose with a perfect lift.
They cleared the hangars and banked into the first leg of the pattern, skimming low over sunbaked grass and chain-link fencing. The wind was cross-angle, stuttering over the ridge unpredictably.
Esten flew it fast. Too fast for comfort. But Shannon didn’t blink.
“Drift five right,” she called. “Watch your descent. LZ coming up hot.”
Esten corrected a breath late. They hit the pad smooth enough to pass for butter. The comms buzzed again.
“2B copies. Tracking 2A. Visual confirmed,” Krueger’s voice came, flat and professional.
