Page 301 of Broken Oath

No one wasted time.

We transferred equipment, checked weapons again, and boarded.

Fathom took the seat nearest the open communications console. His portable systems were connected to the aircraft’s encrypted antenna before we left the ground.

Sam remained in Alaska, running remote coordination from the warehouse and watching the intelligence feeds Fathom sent back.

The helicopters lifted into the darkness.

Mountain peaks rose around us.

The pilot flew low, using the terrain to hide our approach from radar.

Inside the cabin, red lights washed over weapons and faces.

Fathom stared at his screen.

Thermal scans updated in real time whenever we received a satellite pass.

I watched the clock.

Less than three hours until the reported transport departure.

Too close.

But still possible.

Then Fathom went rigid.

“Rook.”

Every head turned.

There was something in his voice I had never heard before.

Panic.

I grabbed the overhead strap and leaned toward him.

“What?”

He enlarged the latest thermal image.

Heat signatures were moving inside the mountain.

Vehicles.

Men.

A lot of both.

“They changed the schedule.”

Sarah leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

Fathom checked the timestamp.

“The prisoner transports are already loading.”