Unbelievable. He resented that Auberon basically owned him now. Had a preternatural ability to make people feel two inches tall.
“Heard you volunteered to go after this girl.”
Owen tried to read the former master chief. Was he impressed? Ticked? “It’s the right thing to do.”
“In other words, you thought it was better than coming on with OTG.”
Acutely aware of his dad watching the whole encounter, Owen was not going to cower. Never had been one to yield easily. “Your words…”
Eyes locked on him, Pike angled his head to the side. “Midas, your boy has a mouth on him.”
“Metcalfes call it like they see it,” Dad said without a hint of embarrassment or disappointment. “Fortunately, he also has his mom’s common sense to balance it.”
Pike’s gaze bored down into Owen. “Look forward to seeing some sense.”
Oof. Dude didn’t pull any punches—that comment implied he hadn’t yet seen any sense. The dig was intended to fray Owen’s nerves, but he had known walking into this that he’d be closely monitored to ensure he had what it took. Maybe he’d already messed up by rejecting Omen.
The speaker overhead crackled with the captain’s announcement that it was time to get underway.
“Nonactive personnel need to vacate the plane now.” Pike shook Dad’s hand and said something to him, then moved on.
Dad reached over and patted Owen’s shoulder. “Stay true.”
Owen nodded, aware of too many gazes assessing him as a cabin steward secured the door.
“Grab a seat.” Pike indicated everyone to the table. “Fourteen hours to put a working plan in place. First things first—Tariq.” He nodded to the Middle Eastern man, who drew something from a kit. “Apollo, Tariq is going to embed an intermittent transmitter in your neck. It’ll put off a signal only when active, which we’ll do at random intervals to reduce the likelihood of detection. With this, you can communicate with us. You won’t be able to activate it on your own, to lessen the chance of a blow bringing it online.”
A bug in his neck…? Impressed with the advanced tech, Owen nodded. “Shelf life?”
“About ten days.”
Nodding, he understood the implication. “So, I have ten days to get her out.”
“You have ten days to communicate with us,” Pike corrected. “If your situation needs more time, communicate that to us. We’ll work it out.”
Owen tensed as the guy aimed a device that looked like a gun at his throat.
“You’ll feel a sting,” Tariq said, doing the work as he described it, “then tugging, followed by another sting to seal it.”
Owen winced through the sensations, hoped this thing wasn’t connected to a T-1000. “Scarring?”
“A scratch.” Tariq turned back to his kit, putting away the gear.
Resisting the urge to touch the spot, Owen adjusted in his chair.
“Bueno,” Navas said, glancing around the table. “Now can we work on saving my daughter?”
“Light it up, Luther,” Pike ordered.
The OTG logo filled the screens as Luther’s system synced with the plane’s.
“Let’s show Apollo what he’s gotten himself into.” The chief indicated to a face that splashed onto the wall screen. “This is your objective: Nouri Al-Shaheen.”
A jackhammer hitting Owen’s heart wouldn’t have shocked as much as the face staring back at him. His mind threw him back to Soph’s graduation party. To her—RCG.
“Here in the States, she’s known as Leighton Kingslake.” Pike paused, studying him. “You know her.”
Trying to smother his reaction, Owen knew he’d failed. “Yeah, sort of.”
