Page 67 of Silence and Surrender

“Alive,” Cooper said carefully. “Functional. But the source reports she appeared drugged between authentication sessions. Kept compliant.”

“Where is she now?”

“That’s the problem,” Cooper sighed. “The session was three days ago. They’ve already moved her. But we’ve narrowed it down to three possible locations.”

I studied the maps they’d prepared. “So we hit all three.”

“Not simultaneously,” Stryker cautioned, joining the conversation. “We don’t have the manpower. And two are decoys, meant to confuse exactly this kind of rescue attempt.”

“How do we know which one?”

Cooper tapped one location. “Process of elimination and intel suggests this compound outside London is most likely. Heavy security, underground facilities, owned through a shell company linked to the buyer. Our source confirmed there was movement and activity there yesterday.”

“Then we move now.”

“We need twenty-four hours to prep,” Stryker insisted. “Security assessments, infiltration paths, extraction plan. We go in unprepared, we lose her forever.”

I wanted to argue, to demand immediate action. But I had fucked up at the shipping yard. Gone off half-cocked and ruined our chances there. “Twenty-four hours. Not a minute more.”

The next day crawled by in preparation. Tactical gear. Weapons. Building plans. Security protocols. By the time we rolled out towards the compound, Isabella had been missing for almost fourteen days. Nearly two weeks of whatever hell they were putting her through.

The night air hit like a sharp blade as we approached the compound, lights blurring the fog. Somewhere behind those walls, Isabella was being held. Being hurt. Being broken.

But no longer.

The compound was exactly as our intel suggested, heavily guarded, state-of-the-art security, isolated location. But nothing was impenetrable with the right team and enough determination.

“The compound has three access points,” Stryker said, laying out the final plan while we drove in Steele’s Hummer. “Underground garage, main entrance, service tunnel. Security is heaviest at the first two.”

“Timeline?” My voice was steady, rage burning through any remaining hesitation.

“Teams are in position. Waiting for full dark. Thirty minutes until we move.”

Thirty more minutes while Isabella suffered. While she wondered if anyone was coming for her.

“She’s alive,” Cooper said quietly, reading my tension. “Our source confirmed they keep her mostly drugged, but alive and relatively unharmed. Her skills are too valuable to damage permanently.”

The clinical assessment made my hands clench, but he was right. Isabella’s expertise made her particularly valuable to whoever had her.

Made her worth keeping alive, if not whole.

“The other captives,” I said, reviewing the intel. “How many?”

“At least a dozen confirmed from various dates and locations. All female.

“We get them all out,” I said. Not a question.

“Already coordinated with local authorities,” Cooper assured me. “They move as soon as we secure the facility. Every woman.”

Rain started falling, drumming against our tactical gear as we approached the service tunnel. All the training, all the preparation of the past months crystallized into this moment. I’d become someone new in the days since Isabella’s capture. Someone capable of doing whatever was necessary.

The compound’s service tunnel was exactly as our intel suggested—narrow, damp, smelling of mold and worse things. Our team moved in silence, Stryker moving first while Cooper watched our backs. The weight of my weapon felt right, its purpose clear.

“First checkpoint,” Stryker breathed. “Three guards.”

They fell without sound—professional work from professional killers. We’d chosen Stryker’s best for this, men who understood what was at stake.

“Focus,” Stryker murmured. “Two guards at the bottom. Standard rotation.”

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