Page 29 of Freeing Lark

“What’s going on?” Spark asked. Hoot could understand the confusion in his tone. He hadn’t been there. Neither had Eggs nor Jeeves.

“We’ve worked with this guy before,” Voodoo said. “Lost a teammate on that mission.”

The others lowered their heads. All of them had lost teammates. Unfortunately, it happened in their line of work. The grief had affected each of them. They all had to find ways to cope. Jeeves had placed blame on the wrong people before atoning. Eggs used humor. Hoot suffered from nightmares and tried to muddle through.

“He’s from Praetorian Strategic Group,” Flint supplied.

“I’ve heard of them. Aren’t they supposed to be one of the best?”

“Yes,” Flint answered. “They are. The mission was textbook.”

The mission had gone almost perfectly. Too perfectly. Until Bullet died. For eight years, Hoot had tried not to think about the strange gaps in that operation. The resistance had been heavy in his sector, while Flint’s route to the vault had been strangely clean. The intelligence had been accurate. The extraction had gone according to plan.

Everything had worked. Textbook. Except for Bullet. And that last shot.

Hoot’s stomach tightened. They’d never figured out what Bullet had been trying to tell them. Pray. That word still haunted his dreams.

Flint walked to the table. “Pull everything on Calloway.”

Haley was already typing. “I’ve got PSG’s corporate records.”

“Not enough.” Flint looked at Voodoo. “What was your take on him?”

“PSG liaison. Senior operations executive.”

“That’s what the file said. Give me more.”

Closing his eyes, Voodoo took a moment to consider. “He’d been steady. Commanding his men with ease. Well organized. Indomitable.”

“Calculated,” Hoot murmured softly.

Flint looked at Hoot. “I remember your instincts were trying to tell you something on that mission. Did you ever figure it out?”

“No, sir. But something hadn’t felt right. I just don’t know what. Or why.”

“You think there was something shady going on?” Spark asked.

“I think nothing.” Flint’s gaze hardened. “But I don’t like coincidences.”

Neither did Hoot.

Flint picked up his phone. “I’m calling Baker.”

Haley groaned. “Of course you are.”

Hoot almost smiled. Baker was one of the few people in the world capable of making Haley sound like an annoyed teenager. Former SEAL. Hacker. Information broker when necessary. And the man who’d helped Cammie establish her new identity and sent her to Bell Creek when she needed somewhere safe.

Baker had fingers in places nobody else knew existed. If information existed somewhere, Baker could usually find it.

If it didn’t exist… He had a disturbing habit of making it appear. His skills made Haley’s exceptional abilities look almost ordinary. Even SIBYL had limitations. The program Haley had helped develop—Sentient Intelligence for Behavioral Yield and Logic—could process staggering amounts of information, identify patterns, predict behavioral probabilities, and connect dots faster than any human team.

But SIBYL didn’t have instincts. Baker did. And Hoot had learned a long time ago that instincts mattered.

The video connection came alive on one of the big screens on the wall. A Hawaiian beach appeared behind Baker. He looked relaxed yet alert, and Hoot wondered how he could appear as both at the same time.

“Condor.”

“Got a name for you,” Flint said.