“That’s tight.” Rook pulls his sidearm to check. “And dark.”
“I like the dark.”
Hutch studies me, weighing the risk along with the asset.
“Cipher.” Hutch keys his headset. “Can you pull the schematics for the ventilation system?”
“Already done.” Cipher’s voice crackles over the cabin speakers. “Boyd is right. There’s an intake shaft on the north ridge dropping directly into the main sorting bay. It bypasses the perimeter checkpoints.”
Hutch looks at me. A taut, grim smile spreads across his face.
“Alright. We do it your way.”
Bronco’s voice crackles over the intercom.
“One minute. Lights out.”
The red cabin lights die, plunging us into darkness. The mood shifts instantly, killing the banter and vanishing the concern.
Hutch stands and grabs the overhead rail.
“Rules of engagement.” He hardens his tone. “Hostiles are cleared hot. No warning shots. No prisoners. We’re here for Iris Kincaid. Everyone else is collateral.”
“Copy,” Bronco growls, racking a shotgun.
“Copy.” Rook checks his suppressed pistol.
“Clear.” Wraith signals from the door gunner position.
I stand and move to the open door.
The wind shrieks past the fuselage. Below us, the mountains form a jagged sea of black and white.
A cluster of yellow lights glows in the distance. The mine, a stain on the pristine snow.
I imagine Iris in there. Waiting.
I’m coming.
“Cipher.” I key the comms. “Do you have a visual on Iris?”
“Negative on visual,” Cipher replies instantly. “But her signal is active.”
“Thirty seconds,” Bronco’s warning rips over the noise.
I clip my safety line to the floor ring. I step out onto the skid. The cold hits me, but the hurt is gone. It feels like home.
I look at the men behind me. My brothers. My pack.
Hutch. Bronco. Rook. Wraith.
They are here for me. They are here for her.
“Let’s go to work.”
The chopper banks hard. We drop toward the mountain and hit the ground on the north ridge, two hundred yards above the facility.
The snow runs waist-deep, but we move fast. Wraith takes the lead, his thermal scope scanning the darkness.
