Page 87 of Shadow Blind

“It’s those damn bots.” Rawlings sounded certain. “The ones that took down his team. They got into him, somehow, and now they’re creatin’ havoc.”

“Maybe, but there’s still no sign of them in his blood or brain, which is where the damn things congregated in Squirrel and the others.” Winters sounded more cautious, like he wasn’t ready to jump on the bot train with no evidence. “Plus, Aiden’s symptoms are different. His crew didn’t run a fever and fall into a coma.”

In a coma?

Well, that explained why the chosen one was missing the meeting. Too bad. The fact they were even having this strategy briefing was because of Winchester’s relentless pushing.

At the front of the room, Wolf rose to his feet, with the television remote in his hand. He pressed a button and both the monitors filled with color, then images.

“What you’re looking at is Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, a Russian city in the far east Russian corridor. The city sits along the Pacific Ocean, against the shores of Avacha Bay, which is also home to Rybachiy Nuclear Submarine Base.” He clicked the button again and another image swallowed the screen—a man, barrel chested, light on neck, with massive arms. His head was shaved. His eyes were small and mean. “Our mark is Grigory Kuznetsov, a Russian arms dealer. He’s believed to be involved in the testing of the wanatesa weapon that decimated Karaveht and Aiden Winchester’s SEAL team. Our intel indicates he’s hiding within this fenced, monitored, and guarded compound along the eastern corner of Petropavlovsk.”

A moment of shocked silence fell, followed by a cascade of voices blurting what the hell and you have to be fucking kidding me, all of which came from MacKenzie and his two SEAL henchmen. Okay, henchmen might be a bit bombastic. But Mackenzie, Winters, Rawlings and Simcosky stuck together.

Wolf ignored the raised voices at the back of the room. Of course he did. The big bad Wolf showed rare talent in ignoring those he didn’t wish to acknowledge. Usually, it was O’Neill.

It tickled O’Neill immensely that Wolf’s invisibility spotlight was centered on others for a change.

“The terrain surrounding our quarry is snowy, mountainous, and ringed by volcanoes. It’s also prone to blizzards during this time of the cycle. The snowpack is currently estimated at thirty-eight inches. To avoid detection, we’ll have to snowshoe to our attack points. The Thunderbird can exfil us directly from the compound once we’ve secured the target and package, but we don’t want to alert Kuznetsov or his guards to our presence on aggress.”

“Wait a mother fucking minute!” Mackenzie pushed off from the wall, his shoulders pulled back, his face hard, tendons standing out on his neck. “You’re telling us this is where Kuznetsov went to ground? In the ass crack of Russia? Right next to a submarine base?”

“Yes.”

Wolf shifted to face Mackenzie, his expression impassive, but O’Neill sensed the annoyance beneath the simple acknowledgement.

Zane Winters stepped away from the wall. “Where’s this intel coming from? Our sources pinpointed several likely locations.” He frowned before shaking his head. “Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky is not on the list.”

O’Neill almost rolled his eyes. Like the squids’ contacts had an exclusive lock on where Kuznetsov had gone to ground. Talk about ego.

On the other hand…

“The man’s got a point,” O’Neill drawled. Who could blame him for seizing on such a prime opportunity to needle Wolf? Honest to shit, he couldn’t help himself. Even though he knew with absolute certainty that Kuznetsov was indeed bunkered down in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, right next to the Rybachiy Nuclear Submarine Base. He, too, had been surprised when his spook had told him that. But the intel was square. Not that he intended to admit it. “It seems mighty foolish of the guy to hunker down in the beast's belly, so to speak. Didn’t Winchester say he was a Russian defector? Why the hell would he go to ground in the heart of Russia?” He paused and lazily scratch at the corner of his eye, before moving in for the kill shot. “Where did this intel come from, anyway?”

Fuck, would Wolf’s answer ever set the squids off. He swallowed an unholy grin, ignoring the reproachful look Benioko sent him. Hell, under the circumstances, with his looming sacrifice and all, the Old One should let him have some fun.

The skin across Wolf’s broad forehead tightened. But before he addressed his hecklers, the Old One struggled to his feet. He turned to face Mackenzie and the other squids, but his gaze sought and held O’Neill’s eyes.

“This information came from me,” the Taounaha informed the room, his face and voice full of dignity.

His gaze flitted to Mackenzie and back to O’Neill, where it lingered, silently reminding him who’d supplied the intel, and that the tip had been accepted without question. A sliver of shame went through him, eroding his enjoyment of the situation. O’Neill looked away.

He grimaced. The Old One was spoiling his fun.

“You supplied the intelligence?” Mackenzie’s thick eyebrows flew up in surprised outrage. “How the hell did you manage that? Through a—”

Rawlings’s hand shot out. His palm slapped over Mackenzie’s mouth, muffling the next word, but O’Neill was close enough to hear it.

“Vision.”

The derision in the gritty voice, muffled as it was, sucked the last of the enjoyment from O’Neill. That was the trouble with the three woohanta beside him. They had no respect for other cultures or other perspectives. Even if they didn’t put stock in the Shadow Warrior or the Tabenetha, they could still be respectful of the Taounaha and other belief systems.

“No. Not a vision.”

Wolf’s voice was as close to a snap as O’Neill had ever heard it. Mackenzie’s final, derogatory question had obviously been audible to everyone, even through Rawlings’s palm.

Wolf leveled an icy gaze on the cluster of Woohanta near the door, O’Neill included. “Benioko was approached by a source, one who remains anonymous. This contact provided the intel, along with photos, charts, and video. Our own intel techs verified the data provided. Our target is in Petropavlovsk. The video footage and photos are proof of this.”

He clicked the remote again, and an image of a fenced area, full of steel sheds and wood houses, edged by huge mounds of snow, filled the screen. A flagpole—from which flapped the white, blue, and red stripes of the Russian flag—rose above the fence line. Next to the flagpole stood an equally tall power pole. Wolf cast one more disdainful glance toward Mackenzie before turning back to the mounted television screens.

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