For the first time since he’d been pulled out of that empty, silent place, Archer Carmichael knew exactly where he was headed next.
ONE
Archer was halfway through checking the straps on his cold-weather harness when his commander’s voice cut across the common room.
“Conference. Now.”
Commanding Officer Jay Cannon’s voice carried the kind of authority that made everyone move. Archer straightened and clipped the last strap into place before following the others down the hall to the war room carved into the heart of the mountain military base.
He’d only been with SEAL Team Blackout Sierra two months, but he’d already learned the rhythm of the place.
By the time Archer stepped into the room, one of the guys already stood at the front of the room against a wall of screens, hand braced on the table and the other tapping at a keyboard.
Cannon stood off to the side, eating an apple like no urgency was required.
One bite. Crunch. Chew.
His attention was fixed on the monitor as the rest of the team filed in around Archer.
Rome dragged out a chair at the end of the table, scraping the legs on the concrete. Henry Younger leaned against the back wall, arms folded over his massive chest gained from a long career in the military.
Then there was O. Archer still didn’t know if O was his real name, a nickname or some joke no one bothered explaining. Nobody seemed eager to clear that up either.
Archer took an open spot around the war room table and looked up at the screen just as O pulled up a live camera feed.
In the image stood a steel observation tower several miles from the hidden base’s perimeter. It was steel-framed and skeletal, designed so a lookout could see smoke from miles out before a fire had time to spread.
Wind drove loose snow across the frame in white clouds. O tapped the keyboard and the camera zoomed in, sharpening on a woman clinging to the upper platform railing with one hand while she stretched the other arm out.
“What’s she holding? A phone?” Rome’s lazy drawl didn’t hold an ounce of concern or excitement.
O zoomed in closer. “A camera.”
Cannon bit into his apple again, chewed and pointed at the screen with it. “What we have here…is a classic case of a tourist overshooting her shot. Literally, her camera shot.”
A low murmur of amusement moved through the room.
Wind struck the tower, sending blasts of snow and rocking the woman hard enough to throw her off the side. One of her boots skidded on the icy metal grating, and she slung the camera around her neck to grab the side support with both hands.
Cannon shook his head. “Going to die taking pictures. I swear to God, these people.”
O tipped his chin toward the monitor. “Must be a social influencer.”
Rome snorted. “Or extreme sports enthusiast getting some photos for her scrapbook.”
Nobody sounded panicked. Nobody lunged for their gear, and Cannon didn’t issue orders. Archer took that in too—that the team had seen enough to know the difference between inconvenience and disaster.
That didn’t stop the cold knot from pulling tight in his gut as the woman fought for footing on the platform.
“She’s going to get herself killed,” he said.
Cannon gave a philosophical nod and took another bite of his apple. “Good thing is if she gets banged up, it’s freezing out there. Snow’ll keep down the swelling.”
A few grins flashed around the room. Archer shifted his gaze from the screen to Cannon, trying to figure out whether that counted as concern in Sierra team language. Probably did.
O switched angles. Another camera picked up the tower from farther away, the spine of it rising out of a ridge where the wind had scoured the rocks to a bare sheen. From that distance the woman looked even smaller. More helpless. More vulnerable.
Cannon swallowed and pointed the apple at Archer this time. “Congratulations. You’re up.”
