Page 19
“Time. Trust. Nate being stubborn enough not to give up on her.” Brock’s hand found hers. “Sound familiar?”
Before Elena could respond, Nate’s voice came through the headset. “So, Carter, how long have you been planning this honeymoon? Because Elena looks surprised by the whole thing.”
“Very funny, Locke.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to sell this cover, you might want to actually look at each other like you’re in love. Right now you look like business partners going on a corporate retreat.”
Eden smacked Nate’s arm. “Leave them alone.”
“I’m trying to help! This is a covert operation, not a high school dance.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” Eden said dryly.
“Yes, I am.” Nate caught her hand and kissed her knuckles.
Mira’s voice cut through. “If you lovebirds are done, we’re approaching the airfield. ETA three minutes.”
The private airfield came into view—a single runway surrounded by open land, with a cluster of hangars and a small terminal building. Parked on the tarmac was their ride—a gleaming Cessna Citation Sovereign, its white paint brilliant in the afternoon sun.
“That’s us,” Brock said. “Home sweet home for the next few hours.”
The helicopter touched down with barely a bump. They unloaded quickly, transferring bags from the helicopter to the waiting jet. The heat was oppressive, and Elena was grateful when they finally climbed the jet’s stairs into air-conditioned luxury.
The interior was white leather seats that looked like they’d never been sat in. Polished oak trim gleamed warm against the white, running along the cabin walls and framing the windows.
Thick carpet in that same creamy white muffled every footstep, and Elena briefly wondered how they kept it clean before deciding she probably didn’t want to know. The cabin was laid out like a luxury living room, with seats that swiveled and reclined, a conference table that folded down from the wall, and a galley area stocked with what looked like gourmet meals in warming drawers. Soft indirect lighting created a sense of space and calm, and the whole thing smelled new—leather and wood polish and that indefinable scent of money.
The jet’s engines began to whine, building power. Elena felt the familiar pressure as they began to taxi, and then they were accelerating down the runway, the ground falling away beneath them.
Dallas disappeared behind them, and Elena realized there was no turning back now.
They were committed.
Nate pulled out his tablet as they reached cruising altitude. “I’m going to review what we know about the temple layout. Eden, you want to go over the intel we got from Atticus’s contacts?”
“Give me twenty minutes,” Eden said. “I need to organize it first.”
Elena watched them work, their movements synchronized in the way of people who’d been partners for years. Brock sat in the seat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
“Try to rest,” he said. “It’s going to be a long few days.”
Elena nodded, but sleep felt impossible. Her mind kept circling back to Marguerite, tied to that chair, terrified.
She closed her eyes anyway, trying to calm her racing thoughts.
Nine thousand miles away, outside Mogadishu, Somalia
The gunfire started thirty seconds after Atticus’s team breached the compound wall.
“Contact left!” one of the contractors shouted, dropping behind a concrete barrier as bullets chewed into the wall above his head.
Atticus had brought twelve men—a mix of former SEALs, Delta operators, and trusted foreign contractors who knew the region. They moved like a well-oiled machine, advancing in coordinated teams while Nick monitored the tactical display from their mobile command center.
“Thermal’s picking up at least thirty hostiles,” Nick said into the comms. “But there’s something weird about the heat signatures in the basement. They’re clustered in one corner, not spread out like I’d expect.”
“Alpha Team, sound off!” Atticus barked into his radio as his team laid down suppressing fire.
Static.
