Now he was walking around Sea-Tac Airport.
“What does Rourke have to do with Nightglass?”
Mercer leaned forward.
“We received an encrypted burst transmission sixteen hours ago.”
“From him?”
“His old authentication signature.”
My pulse slowed.
That always happened when something became dangerous.
The world did not speed up for me.
It became quieter.
“What did he send?”
Mercer opened a file.
One sentence appeared on the screen.
ELENA VANCE CANNOT TRUST HER TEAM.
I read it twice.
Then once more.
Nobody spoke.
I looked at the seven names.
“Who selected this roster?”
“Joint Command.”
“When?”
“Final approval happened forty-eight hours ago.”
“And who had access?”
“Too many people.”
I pushed the tablet away.
“If Rourke is alive, then either he survived seven years underground or someone is using his identity.”
“Agreed.”
“And if the warning is authentic…”
“Someone on your team may be compromised.”
I stared at Cole’s name.
Mercer noticed.
“Don’t jump too quickly.”
“I’m not.”
“You just met him under unusual circumstances.”
“He physically @ss/@ulted his incoming field commander without verifying identity.”
“That makes him reckless.”
“It doesn’t automatically make him a traitor.”
“Exactly.”
I appreciated Mercer saying it.
Good intelligence work depended on resisting convenient conclusions.
