He carried no luggage. A weatherproof satchel slung across his back—essentials only. Backup comms, med kit, tools to handle issues before they escalated. His knives. The rest would be delivered to the cottage.
He dressed as he always did off-duty—dark T-shirt, cargo shorts, Oakleys—nothing to draw attention. Nothing to slow him down.
No one attempted small talk.
Good.
Zach scanned the vicinity with the methodical precision that had kept him alive through multiple deployments: threats first, cover second, exits third. Everything else didn’t matter.
The new docking platforms were solid, reinforced pilings sunk deep—probably rated for hurricane winds. Someone had done his homework. The welcome center’s sight lines were clear with no visual obstructions within twenty meters. Acceptable. The plant cover was manageable but worth trimming back near the utility huts where shadows concealed approach vectors.
A solar panel by the catamaran slip had a warped mounting bracket. Heat damage. Or something less natural. Either way, it created an equipment vulnerability that cascading could turn into a power failure at the wrong moment.
Mental note: check the entire solar array. Redundancy mattered.
The island had undeniable beauty—cerulean water, white sand beaches, vegetation so lush it looked photoshopped. But beauty didn’t stop bad actors. And even paradise had blind spots. That made it dangerous. Not might-be dangerous.Wasdangerous. The distinction had been drilled into him by a grizzled sergeant major who’d lived to retirement only because he treated every perimeter like it was already compromised.
He took the spiral path toward the hilltop observation deck where Nick and David waited. The trail was well-designed—switchbacks prevented anyone from building momentum on approach, palms clustered tight to create choke points. Defensive advantages, even if that hadn't been the landscape architect's intention.
The view from the platform was breathtaking: a full 270º sweep of the western shoreline. The marina glistened like mother-of-pearl in the afternoon sun, and white-stone pathsthreaded through groves of hibiscus and palms. Postcard material. Tourism gold.
Zach was aware of the charm even as his eyes tracked different details: three potential landing zones for watercraft, two vulnerable approaches from the north where the reef broke the surface, one road which looped too close to the cliff line for his liking.
Nick leaned against the railing in board shorts and a linen shirt, barefoot, sporting a tan that came from owning a Caribbean island. David, half-in, half-out of a control panel console, muttered to his tablet with the intensity of a man debugging code which refused to cooperate. His glasses sat askew on his nose, and his shirt was untucked on one side.
“Heard the plane,” Nick said without turning, his voice imbued with the intrinsic confidence that had defined him for as long as Zach remembered. “Any issues? You’re late.”
“Landed on time.” Zach stopped two feet from the railing, where he could see both men and the approaches to the platform. “Your definition of ‘on time’ needs work.”
David slid out from the console and straightened, brushing sand off his khakis. “He means emotionally late. You’re exactly on schedule, but you’re wearing that look you get when you’re solving problems the rest of us haven’t noticed yet.”
“I regret coming already.” Zach deadpanned. David’s comment was amusing, as it came from a genius who functioned ten steps ahead of everyone else.
David laughed—the genuine sound reminding Zach why he was in this gig in the first place. His brothers. Different skill sets, different attitudes on life, but solid where it counted.
“Glad you made it, though.” David continued, humor fading into something more serious. “We have a sensor blind spot in the southeast quadrant. Motion triggers are intermittently offline. Could be software. Could be something else.”
Could be something else.Translation: deliberate interference.
“Show me.”
David handed over the tablet. The display showed a topographical map of the island with security sensors marked in green dots. Most of them. Red markers clustered together—the pattern prickling Zach’s instincts.
He zoomed in on the maintenance road that curved near the eastern cliffs, rotating the view to check sight lines from various angles. It ran along the resort boundary, separated from the water by maybe fifty meters of rocky terrain and dense vegetation. Low visibility. Multiple concealment options.
If someone wanted to probe defenses, he’d start there. He would.
“When did this start?” he asked, not looking up from the screen.
“Two nights ago,” David said. “Same quadrant, same time cycle. Every twelve hours, the motion sensors cut out for seven minutes.”
Zach’s jaw tightened. “Patterned. Not random.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Who installed them?”
“My IT guys. All internal staff, secondary vetting through Phoenix. Access logs indicate nothing unusual. No unauthorized logins, no suspicious remote attempts.”
