Page 444 of Broken Oath

Then another.

The corridor curves toward the private elevator reserved for executive-level personnel.

I should keep walking.

I almost do.

Then I hear a voice.

Low.

Sharp.

Familiar.

Walter Graves.

I stop.

My pulse doesn’t race. Not yet.

I’ve spent twelve years learning how to keep my expression calm while my instincts scream. I’ve watched men lie to senators, generals, diplomats, and grieving families without blinking.

But Deputy Intelligence Director Walter Graves doesn’t stand in an underground corridor after midnight unless something ugly is happening.

The door ahead is open less than an inch.

A blade of light cuts across the dark floor.

Every instinct tells me to leave.

Pretend I heard nothing.

Go home.

Forget I was ever here.

Then Graves says a name that stops me cold.

“Shadow Division is still alive.”

I move closer to the wall.

Inside the room, another man answers. “The Alaska operation was supposed to eliminate every surviving member.”

Director Alan Miller.

I recognize his voice from countless briefings. Calm, polished, reassuring—the voice of a man who can order something monstrous and make it sound patriotic.

“They failed,” Graves says. “Rook and his people are still moving. They have resources we underestimated. Contacts. Access to names that should have remained buried.”

A third man speaks.

Commander Jerry Rhodes.

“What about McDougal?”

My fingers tighten around my bag.