Page 62 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
The guilt is eating him alive and making him dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with explosives or tactical expertise.
Mitzy steps forward with Skye, both wearing expressions I haven’t seen since this nightmare began. Something that looks dangerously close to hope.
“Alright, everyone’s here,” Forest announces, his face showing the strain of three sleepless days. “Mitzy, Skye. What’s the verdict?”
Mitzy’s grin spreads across her face—the first genuine smile any of us have seen since this nightmare began. Her psychedelic hair catches the afternoon light as she raises a tablet displaying microscopic analysis results.
“Gentlemen, I have excellent news.”
The circle goes dead silent. Good news became a foreign concept the moment Harrison betrayed us.
“The improvised EMP pulse we administered during your gondola rides was completely effective.” She turns the tablet so we can see the data. “Zero active nanobots detected on any personnel. Zero contamination in the electronics you brought down. Zero quantum signatures in any biological samples.”
Skye steps beside her, medical scanner in hand. “We’ve tested everyone twice. Skin samples, blood work, full spectrum analysis.” Her warm brown eyes move around the circle, meeting each of our gazes. “You’re clean. All of you.”
The words detonate through the group like incoming artillery fire. Ethan lets out a long breath he’s been holding for days. Blake actually laughs—short and sharp, but real. Walt’s shoulders drop as the tension he’s been carrying since Malia disappeared finally releases.
“About fucking time,” Ethan mutters, scrubbing his hands through his hair.
“No more performing for that bastard,” Blake adds, something approaching relief creeping into his voice.
But even as the good news settles over us, reality reasserts itself. Being clean doesn’t bring the women home.
Ethan voices what we’re all thinking. “This is temporary, though. The moment we go back up to the compound…”
“Recontamination,” I finish, the implications crystal clear. “We’ll be compromised again within hours.”
Mitzy nods grimly. “Which is why, from this point forward, all critical meetings happen here. This beach is our clean zone. Our sanctuary. The only place we know with absolute certainty that we can speak freely.”
Forest moves to the center of the circle, command presence asserting itself. “That’s not just a recommendation. That’s operational protocol. Real meetings happen here, on this beach, where we know things are clean. Up there, we’re performing for Malfor, and you need to think of it like that. We’re starting a campaign of misinformation specifically for him. Down here is where we do the real planning. Where we know it’s safe.”
“What about coordination with the other teams?” Rigel asks, always thinking about the larger tactical picture.
“Limited,” Forest admits. “We’ll maintain normal operational façades when we’re back up there. Standard briefings, routine communications. But anything that matters—anything that could compromise our ability to find them—gets discussed here.”
Sam rises from his position on a smooth boulder, drawing our attention—Forest’s slight nod transfers operational command.
“Listen up,” Sam begins, his voice carrying the weight of battlefield leadership I’ve heard in a dozen combat zones. “Being clean means we can finally plan without enemy surveillance, but we still have a fundamental problem.”
He pauses, letting the gravity of our situation settle over the group.
“The trackers in Stitch and Jenna aren’t broadcasting. They’re not responding to pings. Until we get a location, there’s nothing for the Guardian teams to do except wait for actionable intelligence.”
The admission burns through my chest, but it’s accurate. Without target coordinates, all our tactical expertise becomes meaningless.
Walt’s voice carries the weight of Malia’s absence. “So what do we do? Just sit here and wait?”
“No,” CJ interjects, his massive frame commanding attention as he steps forward. “We work the problem from every angle. And we’re not working alone anymore.”
“Collins?” Ethan asks.
Sam nods. “Ally’s father is deploying serious resources. Corporate assets, private contractors, research facilities. This just became a different kind of war.”
I process the implications. Robert Collins has the kind of financial backing that can move mountains when properly motivated. And losing his daughter twice to the same enemy? That’s the kind of motivation that reshapes entire landscapes.
“What kind of war?” Carter asks, his tactical mind already working through possibilities.
“Two-fronted,” Mitzy answers, excitement building in her tone. “One part of this war will be conducted exactly as Malfor expects—where we have to assume he can see and hear everything we do. Ourmisinformation campaign.Traditional Guardian operations, visible deployments, obvious tactical responses.”
