Page 148 of The Deadly Shallows

Ted glared at the man next to him. “Thanks, Max.”

Caleb’s jaw shifted. “So Ted, is it?” He stepped closer, hovering in Ted’s space. If these jokers had been left in charge, was it possible the operation had moved to the next phase? A chill raced up his spine. “Where are Dwayne and Frank?”

Ted laughed. “Nowhere you’ll find them.”

“It’s interesting that, considering you’re top-tier, they had no trouble leaving you behind.”

Ted’s jaw clamped, his teeth grinding. Finally, he opened his mouth. “A good soldier takes orders.” His eyes narrowed. “Or don’t you get that?”

“Caleb,” Logan said, “you’re going to want to see this.”

Taking a sharp inhale, he walked away from the trash that was Ted and followed Logan through the door on the far side of the room.

He stepped into the room to find all of the laser plans pinned to a corkboard in connecting squares. His breath froze. He looked at the table, at the small parts and tools strewn across it, but no laser weapon.

His heart sank. They were too late.

Ted’s laughter filled the space, and it took all Caleb’s restraint not to strangle the man as he moved back to him. “Where are they headed?”

Ted’s laughter only increased.

Taking a sharp breath, Caleb surveyed the room. There had to be a clue. Something.

He surveyed the laser plans and the notations in what appeared to be a woman’s script strewn across them—Lieutenant Caldwell.

He shook his head and kept scanning until his gaze hit the metal trash bin. Mainly scorched papers lay nestled inside. “Logan,” he called.

“Yes?” Logan leaned through the doorway. “Go swap with Finn. I need him.”

Logan nodded, and in less than a minute, Finn entered the room.

“We need to dump the trash. You’ve got gloves?”

“Yes.” Finn pulled out a handful of pairs he always kept on hand, and a plastic evidence bag that always sat in his back pocket during situations like this. He’d bring his full CSI kit in once they were ready.

“Thanks,” Caleb said, slipping on a pair.

Finn did the same.

“Here we go,” Caleb said, praying there would be even the slightest lead to where Dwayne and Frank might have gone.

The papers spilled across the far end of the worktable, and they began going through them piece by piece.

“Oh no,” Caleb said, the words coming out in a rush.

Finn stilled. “What is it?”

He clutched what remained of a blueprint and lifted his hand. “The disciplinary barracks at Leavenworth. They might already be there. I’ve got to call Noah.”

SEVENTY

Noah sat back as their plane soared up in the sky nearly twenty minutes early. Everyone had been aboard, so they lucked out with an early takeoff. He looked over at Brooke and smiled, thankful she was able to grab a few hours of rest last night. Sleep had eluded him.

He hadn’t heard from his team before boarding, and as much as he wanted an update, he wouldn’t risk calling during a raid. Caleb would reach out to him as soon as he was able. He took a sip of his Dunkin’ red-eye and glanced out the window at the sun breaking through the darkness.

A flight attendant headed their way, and he smiled, but the smile faded as she stopped at their seats. Leaning over, she whispered, “There’s an emergency patch-through for you. If you follow me . . .”

He gave Brooke’s hand a squeeze and followed the attendant to the cockpit. She knocked and stood with her face in line with the large peephole.