Page 17 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
The holographic display cycles through security camera stills: Harrison’s arrival, the team’s deployment formation, and the extraction sequence.
“Harrison’s been Robert Collins’s head of security for twenty years,” Sam continues.
“Yet, somehow, he executed a perfect breach of our facility,” I state, the words clipped, precise. “Which means either he’s been gathering intelligence on us for Malfor, or Malfor has another source.”
Sam nods once, the only acknowledgment necessary. “Sentinel’s infiltration exceeded predicted capabilities. We’re implementing full Sigma protocols.”
Translation: trust no one.
“We’ve got drone fragments,” Mitzy announces from her station. She looks exhausted, with her purple hair limp and eyes red rimmed from hours of analysis. “Recovered from the rooftop extraction point. Someone sabotaged the cameras up there, but we found trace components.”
The display shifts to technical schematics, including propulsion systems, guidance hardware, and flight control mechanisms.
“These aren’t anything on record,” she continues. “Custom builds. Military-grade components with proprietary modifications. Whoever built these had access to top-tier technology and the engineering expertise to adapt it.”
She magnifies a grainy image of the underside of one of the drones. “This power distribution system is revolutionary. It shouldn’t be possible to achieve this payload-to-battery ratio.” Her fingers tap across the keyboard. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Focus on the women,” Forest redirects. “Where are they now?”
“Their initial trajectory indicates they headed west over the Pacific,” Mitzy responds, bringing up a map with projected flight paths. “The drones departed at 21:48, and their last confirmed visual was at 21:53. After that, they disappeared from all monitoring systems.”
I don’t bother asking how she knows. I stopped trying to decode Mitzy’s sources years ago—whether it’s satellite piggybacks, underwater sonar taps, or something she cooked up in that neon-lit lab of hers. She sees what no one else does.
“Vanished?” Ethan asks, leaning forward.
“Completely.” Mitzy’s frustration is evident. “No thermal, no radar, no satellite tracking. It’s like they went dark or—or somehow masked their signature.”
“That’s not possible,” Walt counters. “Not even our stealth tech can do that.”
“I know what I’m seeing,” Mitzy insists. “Or rather, what I’m not seeing. They disappeared approximately three miles offshore. We’ve been monitoring all vessel traffic within a 100-mile radius since then. Nothing suspicious.”
I process this information meticulously. “Three miles is within range of a submarine pickup. Or a vessel running without transponders.”
“A sub would require specialized docking equipment for drone retrieval,” Gabe says beside me.
“Their drones are specialized.” It punches out of me. Hard. Hot. “Why the hell wouldn’t they have specialized subs too?” My voice cuts sharper than I mean it to, fury riding shotgun with helplessness. “Jesus, Gabe. Fuckingthink.”
The room stills for a beat.
Gabe doesn’t react—doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch. Just shifts his weight, taps that familiar uneven rhythm against his thigh.
One-two-pause. Three.
It’s his tell. Always has been. Movement when I go still. Fire when I freeze.
“I amthinking,” he says quietly. Not calm—measured. Careful. For me, not him. “You’re not.”
I exhale through my nose. A harsh sound. My pulse is a war drum in my ears.
He leans in just slightly, lowering his voice.
“She’sminetoo.”
That stops me cold.
I flinch.
Not from the words. From the truth of them.
