Ian nodded once. “Wheels up in ninety. Take your gear and stay close. She doesn't need to see his face ever again.”
Dante bit his tongue.That’s what everyone said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DOD CLASSIFIED ASSET QUARTERS – FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA – 0530 HOURS
The room was spartan. No windows. Neutral beige walls. No sharp edges on the furniture. A twin bed was bolted to the floor. There was a desk with nothing but a legal pad and two dull pencils. No glass. No sharp implements. No power cords longer than one foot.
Daniel Krueger hated it already.
The door opened with a mechanical hiss. Two MPs stepped in, their eyes trained on him like he was already halfway to a prison yard. Between them, a tall man in a charcoal-gray suit walked in, carrying a tablet and a black folio.
The new man shut the door and set the folio down. He sat, and then, quietly, professionally, said, “Mr. Krueger, my name is Mark Dresher. I am your handler.”
Krueger leaned back in his chair, chains clinking as he crossed one ankle over the other.
“No badge? No lapel pin? You guys are getting subtle.”
Dresher didn’t flinch. “You’re not a guest, Mr. Krueger. You’re not a soldier. You’re not even technically free. You’re a field asset. A controlled variable. And your value is measured in how long you stay useful.”
Krueger’s mouth twitched, not quite a smirk. “Nice speech.”
Dresher opened the folio. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You will be escorted to a secure location tomorrow. You will be debriefed and outfitted. You’ll be shadowed by two teams: one from CID, one from us. They will not identify themselves. You will not speak to them. They will report on everything you do.”
Krueger rolled his neck slowly. The bruises on his throat, courtesy of the woman he was told was Bravo’s XO, were fading. “I’ve worked with worse.”
“Then don’t test them.” Dresher slid a tablet across the table. “This is your target map. You’ll confirm intel in-field. You’ll answer direct queries. You’ll follow operational silence rules unless otherwise ordered. Any deviation will result in immediate extraction and black-bag repatriation to federal custody.”
“And if I play nice?” Krueger asked.
Dresher’s eyes narrowed. “Then maybe you get to die of old age.”
Krueger gave a breathy chuckle. “See, that’s the problem with you suits. You think I’m scared of prison.”
“No,” Dresher said. “We think you’re addicted to power. And right now, the only place you’ll get a taste of that is by dancing to our tune.”
Krueger didn’t answer, just tapped the tablet once with his thumb. The mission window glowed. Somewhere behind his eyes, the plan was already forming—a long game that started here, in the safe bubble of government oversight.
He was going to play their game. Until the moment he could burn it down from the inside.
IN-FLIGHT – CHASE MEDICAL GULFSTREAM AIR EVAC FL340 – 0530 HOURS
The cabin was dim, pressurized and hushed, insulated from the world outside by thirty-four thousand feet of altitude and the low hum of jet engines. Most Chase medical flights were outfitted with tactical minimalism. This one had been prepped for something else. Shannon was family.
Shannon lay on the med platform in the center of the fuselage, wrapped in layers of fleece and white linen. One arm was immobilized, the other hooked to IV lines. Her vitals glowed steadily on the overhead display. Her blood pressure was holding, O2 stable, and a pain cocktail slowly dripped through a med pump set to a precision dose.
Her brow was damp with sweat. Her lip split from the mask days ago, but she was breathing on her own. Her fingers twitched. Her lashes flickered every few minutes, skimming against her cheekbones in a fragile sedated rhythm.
Dante hadn’t moved in over an hour. He sat beside her, not in a jump seat but on the edge of the stretcher, boots grounded, shoulder leaned toward her like he could absorb the turbulence for her. His hands stayed near hers, fingers ghosting the edge of her wrist.
Across from them, a Chase flight medic monitored telemetry in silence. Hunt had briefed the whole team before his departure: “Keep her stable. Keep him with her.”
Dante gently curled his fingers over hers. “Shan, we’re flying to New Orleans.”
Her fingers twitched once then stilled.
Dante leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the engines. “You don’t have to fight it right now. I’ve got you.”
