Chapter 3 - The Trap Inside E-17
Mara didn't have time to be afraid.
Fear was useful before action.
After action began, it became noise.
"DOWN!"
She threw herself sideways from the chair.
Shaw fired first.
The shot hit the container door, forcing Mercer backward.
Holt overturned a server rack, creating cover.
Boone dragged Mara behind it.
Gunfire exploded through E-17.
Rounds punched into metal.
Sparks jumped from equipment.
Mara grabbed Boone's sleeve.
"How many exits?"
"Container?"
"Warehouse."
"Three."
"Loading bay?"
"Locked."
"Roof?"
"Maintenance ladder near aisle twelve."
Shaw fired twice.
One attacker dropped behind cover.
"WE'RE PINNED!"
Mara spotted a portable control terminal connected to the server network.
She pulled herself toward it.
Boone grabbed her.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding our exit."
"You can't even walk."
"Then it's convenient that computers don't require legs."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Mara reached the terminal.
Encrypted login.
Black Harbor architecture.
Again.
Whoever had built this wanted her to recognize it.
She entered her old credentials.
COMMANDER VANCE — ACCESS REVOKED.
She tried Cross's emergency code.
ACCESS LEVEL OBSIDIAN.
The screen changed.
Warehouse blueprint.
Security controls.
Camera feeds.
Door locks.
Mara selected eastern fire door.
LOCKED — CENTRAL OVERRIDE.
She searched deeper.
Then found something unexpected.
ACTIVE REMOTE USER: HARBOR-1.
Mara stared.
Harbor-1 had been Cross.
Her callsign had been Harbor-2.
She opened chat.
HARBOR-2: WHO ARE YOU?
Response arrived instantly.
HARBOR-1: YOU DON'T HAVE TIME.
Mara typed.
HARBOR-2: PROVE IDENTITY.
Three seconds.
HARBOR-1: KANDAHAR. BLUE DOOR. YOU DISOBEYED ME.
Mara stopped breathing.
Only Cross knew.
Seven years earlier, during an operation near Kandahar, Cross had ordered Mara not to enter a building believed to contain explosives.
She had entered anyway because a child was trapped inside.
The door had been painted bright blue.
She rescued the child.
Cross chewed her out for twenty minutes.
Then quietly bought her a drink.
No report mentioned the door color.
No recording existed.
Mara typed one word.
HARBOR-2: NATHAN?
The response:
HARBOR-1: LATER.
A second line appeared.
HARBOR-1: DUCK.
Mara dropped flat.
An instant later a round shattered the terminal above her.
Boone fired toward the attacker.
"Commander!"
"I'm fine."
The terminal flickered but stayed alive.
A new message appeared.
HARBOR-1: EAST DOOR OPEN IN 8 SECONDS.
Mara yelled, "SHAW! HOLT! EAST EXIT!"
Shaw fired covering shots.
Holt grabbed Boone.
Together they lifted Mara.
Her vision whitened from pain.
Seven seconds.
Six.
Five.
They moved.
Four.
Mercer saw them.
"STOP THEM!"
Three.
A tactical attacker rushed around the container.
Shaw hit him in the shoulder.
Two.
Holt kicked another equipment case into the aisle.
One.
A heavy magnetic lock clicked.
The eastern fire door opened.
Cold night air hit Mara's face.
"GO!"
They stumbled outside.
The door slammed behind them.
Mara's phone appeared on the ground beyond the threshold.
Waiting.
Nobody had placed it there.
Not visibly.
Boone picked it up.
"This is getting creepy."
Mara took it.
A map displayed automatically.
Route highlighted toward an abandoned medical annex three buildings away.
TEXT:
YOU HAVE SIX MINUTES BEFORE PALISADE LOCKS THE BASE.
Shaw looked over her shoulder.
"Locks the base?"
Sirens suddenly began.
Not emergency sirens.
Security lockdown.
Red lights activated across nearby buildings.
A base announcement sounded:
"SECURITY INCIDENT. ALL PERSONNEL REMAIN IN CURRENT LOCATIONS."
Boone cursed.
"They're taking control."
Mara said, "Move."
They carried her toward the medical annex.
She hated being carried.
Not because of pride.
Because every movement sent broken bone grinding against swollen tissue.
But she didn't complain.
Cross—or whoever controlled Harbor-1—had brought them this far.
The annex door opened before they reached it.
Inside waited a wheelchair.
Shaw stared.
"That's convenient."
Mara answered, "Too convenient."
They entered anyway.
The annex had been closed for renovations.
Dust covered the hallway.
Plastic sheeting hung from walls.
Emergency power illuminated only every third fixture.
Boone helped Mara into the wheelchair.
Holt locked the door.
Shaw said, "Now what?"
Mara's phone buzzed.
BASEMENT.
Holt laughed without humor.
"Of course."
They found the stairwell.
No elevator.
Mara looked at the steps.
Shaw shook his head.
"No."
"Yes."
"Commander, your legs—"
"Chair first. Me second."
They carried her carefully.
Halfway down, Mara nearly passed out.
At the bottom, Boone wiped sweat from his forehead.
"You owe me a beer."
"If we live."
"Make it two."
The basement ended in a steel door.
No markings.
Mara approached.
Retinal scanner activated.
A mechanical voice said:
"IDENTIFY."
"Mara Vance."
"CALLSIGN."
"Harbor-2."
"VOICE CONFIRMED."
The door opened.
Inside was a command center.
Not abandoned.
Active.
Multiple monitors displayed surveillance feeds from across Coronado.
Files covered tables.
Medical equipment stood in one corner.
A refrigerator contained blood bags and emergency medicine.
Shaw whispered, "What is this?"
A man stepped from behind the monitors.
Mara's heart slammed against her ribs.
Gray hair.
Scar beneath the left eye.
Broad shoulders slightly thinner than she remembered.
Nathan Cross.
Alive.
Mara stared.
He stared back.
Then she slapped him.
Hard.
Cross accepted it.
Boone's mouth fell open.
Shaw actually stepped backward.
Mara's eyes burned.
"Eighteen months."
Cross nodded.
"You let me bury you."
"I know."
"I stood over your coffin."
"I know."
"You watched me believe you were dead."
His face tightened.
"Yes."
She slapped him again.
Then grabbed his shirt.
"You don't get to say yes."
Cross knelt so they were eye level.
"You can hate me later."
"I already do."
"Good."
Something about the old answer cracked through her rage.
Cross used to say hatred kept people alert.
Mara released him.
"Explain Palisade."
Cross stood.
"I found it three years ago. Bigger than procurement theft. Palisade buys influence by creating dependency. Equipment disappears, then reappears where someone needs leverage. Classified access gets sold through contractors. Promotions are manipulated. Investigations disappear."
"Who runs it?"
"We don't know."
Mara laughed bitterly.
"You faked your death for eighteen months and don't know?"
"We know the operational director."
"Who?"
Cross pulled up a photograph.
Rear Admiral Stephen Rourke.
Mara knew him.
Everyone did.
Decorated combat veteran.
Former commander of Naval Special Warfare.
One of the men who had recommended Mara for her current position.
"No."
Cross watched her.
"That's what I said."
Mara stared at Rourke's photograph.
"He promoted me."
"He positioned you."
"For what?"
"Access."
Cross opened another file.
Mara's authorization history appeared.
Her credentials had been used nine times without her knowledge.
Restricted shipments.
Encrypted transfers.
Classified database access.
"They were building a case against you," Cross said. "If you discovered Palisade, they could frame you as the architect."
Mara understood the attack now.
"Mercer thought I was actually dirty."
"Some of them did. Mercer didn't."
"Who is he?"
"Rourke's field enforcer."
Shaw sat heavily.
"Then who ordered us to detain her?"
Cross looked at him.
"Rear Admiral Rourke."
Silence.
Boone swore under his breath.
Mara's phone buzzed.
Cross glanced toward it.
"You shouldn't have that."
"You were sending messages to it."
"No."
Everyone froze.
Mara looked at him.
"What?"
Cross pointed toward the terminal.
"I used warehouse cameras and the PA system. I never sent anything to your phone."
Mara slowly looked at the screen.
The final message had just arrived.
COME ALONE TO PIER NINE.
Cross went pale.
"Don't respond."
Another message.
I KNOW WHERE YOUR TEAM IS BURIED.
Mara's pulse stopped.
Her former SEAL team had lost two operators on a classified mission five years earlier.
Their bodies had never been recovered.
Only six people knew the location where they were believed to have died.
Five were in this room or dead.
The sixth was Admiral Rourke.
Then a photograph loaded.
Fresh.
Taken seconds earlier.
Pier Nine.
A man stood beneath a light.
Rear Admiral Stephen Rourke.
Beside him knelt someone with a black hood over his head.
The hooded man's hands were bound.
On his wrist was a watch Mara recognized instantly.
It belonged to her younger brother, Ryan.
The next message appeared.
May you like
PIER NINE. TEN MINUTES.
COME ALONE OR YOUR BROTHER JOINS YOUR DEAD.
