Younger’s expression didn’t change. He repeated the question in Spanish, calm and precise.
Still nothing.
He shifted seamlessly into Russian, the harder consonants cutting through the room.
The prisoner’s eyes flickered, but his mouth stayed shut.
Cannon took in the exchange, then walked straight out of the bunker, far enough that the prisoners couldn’t overhear him reporting to command that they had three live prisoners who appeared to be Russian speakers.
Archer stepped away from the body, his boot hitting a loose cartridge that skittered across the old wood floor. He crouched and picked it up between two fingers. The brass was dulled with age, but the headstamp was still clear enough beneath the grime. Old military issue. He slid it into his pocket, a cold suspicion forming in his mind.
They waited around for Homeland Security to take custody of the prisoners and the body. When they lifted off again, Archer sat with his weapon between his knees, eyes on the night.
The blizzard was finally dying down, just as predicted. What had been a white wall of fury for days had softened to a vast stillness, the snow below glowing white-blue under the moon.
In the distance, the mountain peaks rose jagged and black, beautiful and deadly.
The storm had passed…which meant Jolie could leave.
After they touched down on the landing pad, they moved into the tunnel system, boots striking concrete in a steady rhythm as they headed deeper into the base.
“What the hell was that?” Rome asked. “Random terror group?”
“Maybe some splinter cell,” Townie added. “Local radicals. Anti-government nuts love to hole up in these mountains.”
O snorted. “You’re giving them too much credit. That setup was messy as hell.”
“Messy doesn’t mean random,” Archer said. “But there didn’t appear to be any reason for them being there. They didn’t have cases of weapons or explosives. It just looked like they were having a meeting. Why are we here instead of local authorities?”
He noted that Cannon didn’t speak, his back stiff as he led the way out of the tunnel.
The guys threw out more possibilities, but nothing pointed to a clear objective, and every route circled back to why Blackout was called in. There had to be some connection they were missing—or weren’t privy to yet.
“DHS will make them talk. We’ll find out soon enough,” O said.
Archer slipped a hand into his pocket and found the bullet he’d palmed from the scene. He pulled it out and rolled it between his fingers. It was too dim in the tunnel to see more than the worn sheen of the brass.
“Only thing that links up so far is the ammo. Artillery’s all American.”
Cannon stopped. “What do you have?”
Archer pushed past the other guys to hand it over.
For a second Cannon just stared at it. Then his whole demeanor changed. His shoulders went rigid as he pulled inward.
“What is it?” Archer asked.
Cannon turned the bullet over once, and his silence made Archer’s gut coil.
When Cannon finally spoke, his voice had gone flat. “We’ll finish this back at base.”
By the time they reached the door leading inside, tension had settled over all of them like a second layer of gear.
The first thing Archer noticed when they stepped inside was the smell—warm spices and meat and sweet chocolate mixed with something buttery.
His stomach remembered real food and came alive with a tug of hunger.
His mind, however, went straight to Jolie.
