Mara walked back toward the main house, where Harper would still be running intake and the four girls from Biloxi would be starting the impossible work of healing.
The work never stopped.
Neither did she.
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
Secure Compartmented Information Facility, Fort Liberty Three Days Later
The runner had come at 0532. By 0600, Steele and his team were standing outside the SCIF, weapons and phones surrendered to the guard station, waiting for the biometric scanner to grant them access to whatever clusterfuck required a secure briefing before breakfast.
The SCIF had no windows. It didn't need them.
The door sealed behind Steele with a hydraulic hiss, cutting off the ambient noise of the base. The air inside was colder, filtered and artificial, humming faintly beneath fluorescent lights that washed the room in flat white. Everything about the space was designed to strip away distraction. No outside world. No context beyond what they gave you on the screens.
Phones went into the collection tray without being asked. Steele didn't sit. Neither did Hawk.
Bulldog leaned back in his chair but stayed forward on the balls of his feet, restless energy barely leashed. Ghost set his tablet down with visible reluctance, like a smoker being asked to put out a cigarette mid-drag. Risk folded his hands loosely in front of him, medic's calm already settling over his features.Joker tipped his chair back once before thinking better of it and planting all four legs on the floor.
At the front of the room, a colonel stood beside a civilian in a dark suit. The colonel was Army. Steele recognized the insignia but not the face. The civilian had that particular stillness that screamed three-letter agency. CIA, probably. Maybe DIA. Didn't matter. They all had the same look. Like they knew things you didn't and weren't particularly interested in sharing.
The screen came alive. Satellite imagery flooded the wall behind them. Night capture. Thermal overlay. A compound carved out of darkness twelve kilometers outside Mosul. Three buildings arranged in a rough triangle. Walls. Guard posts. The kind of setup that said someone inside had money and enemies in equal measure.
The CIA officer spoke first. "Rashid Nazari. Forty-eight. Iraqi national. Regional arms facilitator operating along the Iraq-Syria corridor."
Nazari's face replaced the map. Expensive suit. Heavy watch. Cold eyes that had never expected consequence. The kind of man who smiled while signing death warrants and slept fine afterward.
"Over the past six months, Nazari has brokered movement of advanced weapons systems through western Nineveh into Syria." Routes lit up across the map, red lines threading toward the border. "Anti-armor platforms. Drone components. Encrypted communications suites. Possibly MANPADS parts, though not confirmed."
Hawk leaned forward slightly. "Confirmed buyer?"
"Proxy militia aligned with Iranian-backed elements near Deir ez-Zor."
The colonel stepped in, his voice carrying the particular weight of someone delivering news they'd rather not own. "Two weeks ago, one of those shipments ended in a successful ambushagainst partnered forces. Three casualties. Two American advisors. One Iraqi lieutenant."
The room shifted. Not outwardly. Just heavier.
Steele's jaw tightened by a fraction. Partnered forces meant guys doing the same job they did. Guys who went home in boxes because some arms dealer wanted to make a profit.
"Primary objective," the colonel continued, "capture for exploitation. Secondary objective: eliminate if hostile. Political sensitivity is high. Iraqi government cooperation is limited and compartmentalized."
Translation: if this went sideways, they were on their own.
Bulldog's eyes returned to the compound image. "Construction?"
"Reinforced concrete main residence," the CIA officer replied. "Three-meter perimeter wall. Secondary barracks here." He indicated the smaller building to the east. "Detached storage facility here." West side.
"Vehicle gate?" Steele asked.
"North side. Steel-reinforced. Two-point-five meters wide. Opens inward."
"Guard rotation?"
"Zero-six, fourteen, twenty-two hundred. Twelve-man security detail. Eight on at any given time. Four perimeter. Two gate. Two inside residence."
"Consistent?" Hawk asked.
"Yes."
