Page 71 of Code Name: Admiral

“Don’t you say her name,” Alice snarled.

Sweeney’s expression hardened. “Your sister made her choice. Just like Bobby did. Just like you’re about to.” He turned back to me. “So what’s it going to be, Admiral? Are you going to watch another woman die because of your holier-than-God moral stance? Or are you going to be smart for once?”

The gunshot that cracked through the boathouse came from behind Sweeney. He stumbled forward, his grip on Alice loosening just enough for her to drive her elbow back into his solar plexus and twist free.

“Get down!” Two voices shouted simultaneously from different directions.

I recognized Grit’s instantly, but the other was unfamiliar, though I knew immediately who it belonged to—Alessandro Castellano. I tackled Alice behind a stack of crates as more gunfire erupted, shielding her body with mine.

“Stay down,” I ordered as the shootout continued all around us.

“Alessandro’s here,” I said into my comms, still processing the reality of the situation. “Repeat. Alessandro Castellano is in the boathouse.”

“So is Grit,” Tank responded. “Neither appeared on the sensors. Motherfuckers must’ve jammed the system.”

I pulled Alice closer as another exchange of gunfire erupted above us. Through gaps in the crates, I tracked the unfolding firefight. Grit had taken up a defensive position near the main doors while Alessandro, who looked nothing like his surveillance photos, was systematically working his way around the perimeter, forcing Sweeney’s team to divide their attention.

The distinctive sound of an approaching seaplane cut through the gunfire. Our extraction was almost here—if we couldreach the water. I studied the space between us and the dock access, calculating angles and cover. We’d have to time this perfectly.

“Tank,” I said into my comms. “Status on Huxley’s team?”

“Still holding position outside. They haven’t breached.”

Because they didn’t need to. Sweeney’s crew on the inside was supposed to quietly take us out while Huxley’s group provided the visible threat. It was a classic misdirection that we’d fallen for completely. If Grit and Alessandro hadn’t intervened when they did, we’d either be dead or taken hostage. There was no way the rest of our guys could’ve gotten to us in the split second the other two had.

I pushed the thought aside. Right now, we needed to focus on survival. The rest—sorting out allies from enemies, unraveling the layers of deception, and finding justice for Sarah—would have to wait.

“Admiral.” Grit’s voice came through my earpiece. “North corner has the cleanest exit line. Alessandro’s got the others pinned down. You’ll have about three seconds.”

Alice’s hand found mine, and she squeezed. We were out of time and options.

“On my mark,” I said, both to her and through the comms. The plane’s engine grew louder. Our window of escape was closing.

I took one last glance at the man who’d mentored me, who I’d trusted. Sweeney’s face was a mask of cold determination as he tried to maneuver for a shot around the crossfire Grit and Alessandro had created.

“Now!” I pulled Alice up, and we ran, bullets tearing into the crates behind us as Sweeney’s men opened fire. But Grit’s and Alessandro’s cover kept them from getting a clean shot as we sprinted toward the outside dock.

The bitter cold struck our faces as we burst outside. Behind us, the gunfight intensified. Ahead, I could see the plane’s running lights approaching through the fog that covered the lake.

We weren’t safe yet. But for the first time since Sweeney’s ambush, we had a fighting chance.

“We have to get past the ice,” I said, pulling Alice toward the channel the bubblers had kept clear. The skiff was our only chance of reaching the plane, but with bullets now splintering the dock around us, even those few yards felt like miles.

“Cover the north side!” I heard Grit shout from inside the boathouse. More gunfire erupted, but it wasn’t directed at us. He and Alessandro were still providing cover and had been joined by Tank, Blackjack, and Atticus, keeping Sweeney’s team pinned down.

I helped Alice into the skiff, my hands shaking as I untied the line. The small boat rocked violently when I jumped in after her. Starting the motor felt like it took hours, though it couldn’t have been more than seconds.

The seaplane touched down with a roar, sending up a massive spray as it cut through the dark water. Its landing lights illuminated the channel I needed to follow through the ice field.

“Incoming!” Diesel’s voice crackled through my comms. “Huxley’s team is moving!”

I gunned the motor, steering us toward the aircraft that was now taxiing toward us. The skiff’s bow cut through the icy water, each wave that broke over us feeling like needles against my skin. Alice gripped the gunwale with white knuckles as I maneuvered around the larger ice chunks.

A bullet punched through the hull near the waterline. Then another.

“We’re taking on water,” Alice said, her voice remarkably steady.

“We’re almost there.” The seaplane was drawing alongside us, its pilot expertly keeping the wings clear of the ice flows. A figure appeared in the doorway—Doc.

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