Not any military base.
A dark runway appeared between dense forest and black coastline.
No visible terminal.
No lights except a thin line marking the landing strip.
Pike leaned toward the window.
“Where are we?”
“A place that officially doesn’t exist,” I said.
Cole looked toward me.
“And unofficially?”
Before I answered, my encrypted wrist unit vibrated.
It should have been offline.
One incoming message.
Unknown sender.
I opened it.
A photograph appeared.
Taken inside the aircraft.
Taken less than thirty seconds earlier.
It showed all seven of us.
Including me.
The angle came from the rear of the cabin.
I turned around.
Nobody was there.
Then text appeared beneath the image.
ELENA, YOU WERE RIGHT TO KEEP COLE.
I stared.
A second line appeared.
YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT WHO THE TRAITOR IS.
My pulse slowed again.
Then a third line materialized.
DON’T LET THE AIRCRAFT LAND.
I looked toward the cockpit.
Even from that distance, I recognized him.
Caleb Rourke.
Alive.
Watching our aircraft descend.
Then my wrist unit displayed one final message.
THIS MISSION WAS NEVER ABOUT RESCUING DR. VALE.
I read the next sentence.
And for the first time that morning, I felt genuine fear.
