Page 211 of Silent Target

Daylight pours into the shaft.

Not one man lifting a mountain.

Three very determined men moving one loose boulder.

Cold air washes over my face.

Reef climbs out and sweeps the hillside.

“Clear.”

One by one, we emerge.

The mountainside is breaking apart below us. Trees lean at impossible angles. Cracks split the ground, and dust pours from openings that weren’t there minutes ago.

Maverick removes a signal device from his pack.

“Extraction birds are twelve minutes away.”

“Whose aircraft?” Rook asks.

“Private rescue helicopters. Pilots owed Cutter a favor and didn’t ask questions.”

Twelve minutes feels like a lifetime.

Rogue and Reef establish a perimeter.

Cobra sets down the evidence case while Fathom checks its seals.

Everything we brought from the bunker remains intact.

Except Mac.

Rook keys his radio.

“Mac.”

Static answers.

“Mac, report.”

A burst of gunfire comes from inside the mountain.

Then silence.

Rook tries again.

“Mac.”

His voice returns.

Weak.

Broken by static.

“…found…”

“What?” Rook demands.