He carefully extracted himself from Max and Quinn, hitting the Answer button as he headed up the stairs. “Hunt,” he answered, grimacing at the gravelly edge to his voice. The pause on the other end burnt away the remaining fog of sleep, and he hurried up the last few steps until he was in the kitchen. “Sir?”
“You really should have put in for another leave,” Adams replied with a sigh. “Just got a mission from the brass, and they’re requesting you specifically.”
Fuck. That couldn’t be good. Nothing good ever came of being recognized, either for failure or success. “Okay,” he replied slowly, pressing his fingers into his eyes until he saw spots dancing in his vision.
“I’ve been keeping apprised of your situation. I don’t know why the Order is so obsessed with your mage, but this mission can’t be a coincidence. I’d flag it and send it up the chain, but this is coming from so far over my head I’m getting chills. But since it reeks, I’m sending you some additional support.”
“All due respect, sir, if this is a trap, they may end up a casualty.”
“You saying you don’t want the Rabid Ghost watching your six?” Adams asked, smug amusement in his voice.
Lukas froze. Of all the mages he knew of, the Ghost was the only one who had never been bound to or trained by the Order. They worked exclusively for the armed forces and were barely more than a myth among the lower ranks. But he knew of their work, and they weren’t called Rabid for no reason. Some of the stories sounded like the military barely had any control over them and used them only as a last resort.
“Corporal?” Adams prompted. “Do you want the assist or not?”
“Yes,” he wheezed, ignoring Adams’ snicker. If nothing else, he at least wanted to meet the mage who’d destroyed the Russian government within twelve hours last decade. If he was lucky, they’d both survive this mission unscathed.
“Good. And Lukas…. Live. That’s an order.”
That was odd enough to fuel Lukas’ unease even further.
He woke Caius long enough to let him know he’d been called for a mission, changed into his fatigues, and grabbed his bag. He debated waking Quinn and Max but settled for texting Quinn instead.
This time of night, it was a quick drive to Buckley, where a ride was waiting for him. Not a C-17 like he was used to. Instead, he was directed to an actual fucking Nighthawk. He’d flown in jets before, but never supersonic. This was one of the new models with two seats. He could smell the magic wrapped around the entire jet and knew the newer planes were supposed to be warded for structural integrity, lower air resistance, and better fuel consumption.
The pilot was waiting beside the stairs and held a helmet out to Lukas as he approached. “Supposed to drop you off in Rasht,” he said by way of greeting.
“Iran?” Adams was right about the reek. If he was needed overseas, why didn’t he have a team with him?
He took the helmet and found a dossier tucked inside it. He headed up the metal stairs and tossed his bag in, pulled the papers out, and got his helmet on. He found the switch for the comms and heard the static pop as they switched on. Before he could climb into the jet, a soft voice spoke.
“Do not get on the plane.”
Lukas tensed and turned, opening his mouth to ask who the hell was talking to him, but he didn’t get a chance.
“Do not speak. If you get in, you will die. Make your choice. Get in or put your belongings in the seat and walk away.”
He glanced at the pilot, but the man showed no sign of hearing the same thing in his headset. Which wasn’t as surprising as the fact that it didn’t feel like the voice was coming from the headset at all, but inside his head.
“Tick tock, wolf. I’mdyingof suspense.”
Lukas hesitated. Even if he might die, walking away would certainly end with a dishonorable discharge or court-martial. Unless Adams knew. That would explain the cryptic parting.
He tossed his phone into the seat, pulling out what cash he had on him before tossing in his wallet, then the helmet. When he went back down the steps, the pilot flicked his cigarette away.
“Good choice. Get the stairs, would ya.” The pilot climbed in and settled into his seat, the cockpit sliding closed over his head.
Lukas grabbed the stairs and wheeled them away, then stopped to watch the Nighthawk take off from a near standstill. There was a shimmer of magic, and then it vanished from sight completely. The only indication it had been there at all was the sonic boom a long moment later as it broke the sound barrier.
A black SUV careened around one of the hangars and headed for him before screeching to a stop a few feet away. The back door popped open, and Lukas took a breath before climbing inside. They were moving again before he even got the door closed.
A man sat in the back beside him, wearing sunglasses despite it being the middle of the night. He didn’t say anything, but Lukas could feel the man’s eyes on him.
Surely this wasn’t the Ghost? Except he couldn’t fathom they would have let him fly halfway around the world only to bring him back. Nothing suspicious about this at all. If the Order was behind any of this, this would be the perfect time for them to make their move.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks?”
When the man didn’t respond, he glanced at the driver. A woman with long dark hair, also wearing sunglasses. They were both wearing leather, which was giving him strong Matrix vibes. He couldn’t see much of the person in the passenger seat, aside from bright, spiky blue hair.
