"Who hired you?"
"Never met him. Got the job through a broker we've worked with before. High-end contracts, federal-level work. He said the client was connected, had resources, needed discretion."
"The broker give you a name?"
"No. That's not how it works at our level. The client stays anonymous, payment goes through offshore accounts, we do the job and disappear. Standard arrangement."
I lean closer. "How many total operatives?"
"Multiple teams. Enough for simultaneous assault on different vectors."
"Where are they staging?"
The contractor hesitates. The silence stretches. He understands that cooperation is his only option.
"An abandoned hunting lodge," he says finally. "Several klicks south of here. Old structure, off the main roads. The client's got his own security detail there. That's where we got our briefing and equipment."
"The client was there personally?"
"Yeah. Think so. Older guy, federal bearing. Didn't give a name, but the way everyone deferred to him—he was running the show."
Not confirmation of Graves, but consistent with what we already know. Someone with federal authority coordinating this operation. Someone important enough that trained contractors recognize power when they see it.
"He say anything else? About why this matters?"
"Just that the witness has information that'll destroy everything. That eliminating her is the only option left." The contractor's breathing harder now. Shock setting in despite Helena's stabilization. "Said he'd already made moves he couldn't walk back. That failure wasn't acceptable."
I stand. Head to the communications room. The younger contractor's sitting against the wall, watching Finn with wary eyes.
I don't sit this time. Just loom over him. The operational headspace showing through. He can see exactly what kind of violence I'm capable of if he doesn't cooperate.
"Your partner's talking. Told us about the broker, the staging area, the multiple teams. Now you're going to confirm it. And you're going to tell me something he doesn't know. Something that makes you useful instead of redundant."
"What do you want to know?"
"The client at the staging area. What did he look like? How did people react to him?"
The contractor swallows hard. "Tall, over six feet. Gray hair, military posture. Older. Spoke like someone used to being obeyed. The security detail treated him like he was untouchable."
"They use any names? Titles?"
"No names. But one of the security guys called him 'sir' like he meant it. Federal deference, you know? Like addressing a superior officer."
I key my radio. "Cara, you recording this?"
"Every word. Already uploading to the secure servers."
I look at the contractor. "You just confirmed that someone with federal authority personally authorized an armed assault on this compound to eliminate a witness. That's enough to start building connections."
The contractor's face goes pale. "He's going to kill me. When he finds out we failed, when he knows people got captured—he's going to kill all of us."
"Not if we get to him first."
I straighten, wipe the blood from my hands onto my pants. I head back to the main room. Zeke's standing guard over the first contractor. Helena's washing blood off her hands at the sink. She looks up when I enter, and her eyes track across my body—cataloging damage, checking for wounds. The clinical assessment becomes something else when her gaze meets mine.
Heat flares between us. Immediate. Visceral.
Not now. I force my attention to Zeke.
