The sniper position is empty. The chair is knocked over, and blood is smeared across the concrete.
Big T always takes that spot. He says he likes that it’s the closest one to the gate, so he can hear what the visitors are saying to the gate guard.
Spike swears under his breath.
My phone is still in my hand.
Still dialing even with Foster’s words in my head…Still nothing.
“Bunker door logs show it opened,” Foster says. “Less than two minutes after the first shot.”
“They got the warning,” Spike says.
“They moved fast,” Maverick agrees.
“Can you play the feed back?” I ask.
“Not from up here,” Foster answers. “By the time it buffers, we’ll be landing.”
“So we have no idea who all made it into the bunker,” Skip says.
And we won’t know for another…three and a half hours.
“Sir,” the pilot’s voice comes over the cabin intercom, “you’re about to lose your satellite connection.”
Foster’s head snaps up from the laptop.
“What?” he mutters.
“We’re entering a coverage transition,” the pilot continues. “The satellite network we’ve been using doesn’t overlap well over this stretch of the Rockies. Signal will drop until we connect with the next satellite.”
“How long?” Spike asks.
“Could be ten minutes,” the pilot says. “Most likely closer to thirty.”
“Shit,” Foster mutters.
The screen flickers.
“Come on,” Foster breathes. “Come on.”
The image jumps…Then pixelates.
“Satellite handoff,” he says through clenched teeth. “The jet’s antenna has to reacquire the next bird in orbit. There’s nothing I can do until it locks again.”
The screen glitches harder, and as if on cue, the screen goes black.
Connection Lost.
Silence settles over the cabin.
The last thing we saw was Mike lying by the gate…not moving.
And now the entire compound might as well be on another planet.
“It’s evening time,” I say, my voice rough. “Everyone was probably out walking the grounds. Swimming. Letting the kids run around.”
“Which means they were all targets,” Bones says flatly.
