That was also true.
I turned the device over.
No serial marking.
No manufacturer.
Custom work.
Then I noticed something.
A tiny scratch along the casing.
Not random.
Three diagonal lines.
My breath stopped.
I knew that mark.
Caleb Rourke carved it into equipment when we worked together.
Three lines.
His private way of indicating modified hardware.
Nobody else knew it.
At least nobody else should have known it.
“Elena?” Tara asked.
I realized everyone was watching me.
I closed my fingers around the device.
“Nothing.”
But it was not nothing.
If Rourke had planted this, then he had been close enough to touch Cole’s jacket.
If someone else had copied the symbol, then they knew details from operations buried deeper than Nightglass itself.
Either possibility was bad.
The cockpit speaker crackled.
“Chief Vance, forward.”
I secured the device and walked toward the cockpit.
The pilot did not turn around.
“We received new routing.”
“From whom?”
“Joint Command.”
“That shouldn’t be possible.”
“I know.”
A printed message sat beside the controls.
Not digital.
The onboard printer had activated during the blackout.
I picked up the paper.
DIVERT IMMEDIATELY.
WHIDBEY COMPROMISED.
NEW COORDINATES ATTACHED.
Below the coordinates was another line.
