Page 70 of Code Name: Admiral

I pulled Alice closer as we moved through the camp’s lower level. “Diesel, what’s our exit strategy?”

“Lake route is clear. Doc’s got a seaplane inbound, ETA twelve minutes.”

Twelve minutes might as well be twelve hours. If our guys didn’t stop them, the team moving in would breach in two.

“Blackjack, initiate Echo protocol,” I ordered, leading Alice toward the boathouse.

“Roger that,” he responded, tightening our communications’ level of encryption.

“Admiral.” Tank’s voice was strained. “You need to see this.”

I checked the feed on my phone and felt my blood run cold. The team leader had removed his tactical helmet, revealing a face I knew all too well.

“Son of a bitch,” I breathed.

“You know him?” Alice asked.

“Jason Huxley. Former assistant director of internal affairs.” The same man Grit had said was leading the task force. “So much for rumors of early onset dementia.”

“Apparently,” Alice said grimly.

The pieces clicked into place. Huxley wasn’t here as FBI—he was here as someone’s cleanup crew. Which meant we’d been right about the corruption going higher than the bureau.

“Admiral, we’ve got a second team approaching from the north,” Kodiak reported. “Similar loadout, different tactical pattern.”

They were boxing us in, using coordinated teams to cut off escape routes. Professional operators who knew exactly what they were doing.

“What’s the seaplane’s ETA?” I asked.

“Doc told the pilot to step on it. Four minutes out.”

“Come on. There’s a skiff in the boathouse we should be able to take far enough out to meet the aircraft.”

“The lake’s frozen,” Alice pointed out.

I smiled grimly. “Not all of it.”

The industrial bubblers I’d installed years ago kept sections ice-free through the winter. It was meant to protect the docks—now, it would be our way to safety, as long as the pilot didn’t run us over when he landed.

I pulled the lower-level side door of the boathouse open. It bypassed the main entrance and went straight to the docks as opposed to the upper levels, where the K19 guys had set up their command center and were bunking.

“Boss,” Tank cut in urgently. “No one else is deploying from the vehicles. It’s a smoke?—”

His warning came too late. In front of me, a man I didn’t recognize stood between us and the skiff, with a gun pointed in our direction. Someone to our left yanked Alice away from me and clamped their hand over her mouth.

Chad Sweeney materialized from the shadows on the right.

“Don’t,” he said calmly when I reached for my weapon. “We both know how this ends if you try.”

Alice’s eyes met mine, wide with fear but also determination. We’d been so focused on Huxley’s theatrical approach that we’d missed the real threat slipping in behind us.

And now, the man I’d trusted—my mentor, my friend—held the woman I loved at gunpoint.

“All this time,” Sweeney said, his voice dripping with condescension as he pressed his gun harder against Alice’s temple, “I hoped you’d figure it out on your own. The great Agent Kane, with his sterling record and unwavering moral compass.” He chuckled darkly. “But you were too busy playing house with a criminal to see what was right in front of you.”

My muscles coiled, ready to spring, but the gun trained on Alice kept me frozen. One wrong move, and she’d pay the price.

“You know what your problem is, Pershing?” Sweeney continued, using his free hand to brush a strand of hair from Alice’s face. She jerked away from his touch, making him tighten his grip. “You’re too damned loyal. Too high and mighty, just like Sarah was. She could’ve walked away, taken the money that would’ve meant she’d be set for life. Instead, she had to play thehero. Sarah died for the same reason you both will if you don’t agree to play this my way.”

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