“You can help me lock them out of the weapons systems.” She exhaled shakily. “Permanently. If you’re really Coast Guard, you’ll help me protect Seven.”
“Deal.”
The word hung between them. Neither moved.
She was still looking at him like she might change her mind and go for his kneecap again. But she’d stopped reaching for a weapon. For now, that was enough.
“I’m Wyatt Meyer. Coast Guard pilot.” He offered his hand.
She didn’t take it. “Jennifer James. Jen. Chief Engineer.”
Chief Engineer.
Ah.She wasn’t just a survivor. She was the key to the entire station. The systems. The missiles. Everything the terrorists wanted access to ran through her.
Which meant the moment they realized she wasn’t dead or captured, every hostile on Seven would be hunting one person.
Her.
“We need to move. They’ll be back with cutting tools or explosives. This door won’t hold.”
“I know.” She scanned the racks. “We arm up first. Then we go.”
“Where?”
“Engineering control room,” she said. “Three levels up. Missile Command sealed themselves in—the launch systems are safe for now. But the terrorists aren’t trying to launch. They’re trying to steal the missiles.”
That stopped him. “Steal them?”
“I overheard. They have buyers.”
He dragged a hand over his mouth before moving down the racks, assessing magazines by feel. M4 carbines. Beretta M9 sidearms. A couple of Mossberg shotguns. Standard military armory—nothing fancy, but enough.
He grabbed an M4, press-checked the chamber, and started loading magazines.
“My crew will have reported the situation. Help’s coming. But the response team’s coming in blind—they don’t know how many hostiles. We need to get intel out. Give the rescue op actual intelligence to work with.”
She pulled a flashlight from a shelf, tested it, then stowed it into her belt. Her hands were shaking, but her movement was purposeful. Efficient despite the fear. “Communications is trashed. Command’s sealed,” she said. “That’s where I heard the discussion about buyers.” She swallowed. “They’ve got techtrying to open the airlock into command. They shot one tech in cold blood to motivate the other.”
Fuck.“I’m sorry.”
Her head jerked in a nod, and sniffed.
“Is there anything else we could access? Backup system. Emergency beacon. Anything?”
She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. “There’s an old analog uplink. Exterior maintenance deck. Cold War era hardline to a geosynchronous satellite. It was kept as backup when Seven was built, they never decommissioned it.”
“It still works?”
“Should. It’s analog. Simple. No network connection for them to hack or disable. But the transmitter’s outside. Mounted on Seven’s outer hull. We’d have to climb down to access it.”
“How far down?”
“Twenty feet. There’s a maintenance ladder.”
Outside. Exposed. Hanging off the side of the station in full view of anyone with a weapon. Outstanding. “Okay. That’s our first port of call?—”
“Then we head to engineering control. I can disable the loading systems from there—cranes, launch tubes, exterior hatches. Lock down everything they need to physically move the missiles.”
