Page 110 of Broken Oath

The kind predators wore.

"When we do..."

His eyes hardened.

"I want to be there."

Nobody argued.

Because everybody felt exactly the same way.

Later...

The warehouse lights dimmed.

Only the memorial table and the operations wall remained illuminated.

Satellite images covered one screen.

Financial records covered another.

Shipping manifests covered a third.

Red string connected photographs.

Names.

Companies.

Bank accounts.

A spiderweb of corruption.

Fathom stood in front of it all.

Studying.

Thinking.

Hunting.

Then he stopped moving.

The room noticed immediately.

Because Fathom only got that look when something important clicked.

"What?" Rook asked.

Fathom enlarged a document.

A cargo manifest appeared.

Military hardware.

Weapons.

Classified equipment.