Page 93 of Echo: Burn
"Then it's human intelligence," I conclude. "Someone feeding them information."
"Or someone they turned," Rourke suggests from his position. "Captured operative from a previous encounter. Forced cooperation through leverage or coercion."
It's possible. We've lost people before—operators who went dark on missions and never came back. The Committee could have any number of former teammates in custody, using them to gather intelligence on Echo Ridge's operational patterns.
"We'll worry about security leaks after we get Mercer back," I decide. "Right now, assume all our previous protocols arecompromised. We operate on the assumption they know our patterns and we change everything."
The rest of the drive passes in tense silence. By the time we reach Echo Base, the sun is high and harsh, turning the snow-covered landscape into a blinding expanse of white. The hidden entrance remains perfectly camouflaged—you'd drive right past it unless you knew exactly where to look.
Inside, the underground facility feels different now. Violated somehow, even though the Committee never breached our actual location. We all know it's only a matter of time before they narrow the search grid, before someone talks or slips up or simply gets lucky.
Mercer might have already told them everything.
No. I shut that down immediately. Mercer's survived worse. He's been captured before, interrogated, tortured. SERE training plus years of field experience means he knows how to resist, how to compartmentalize, how to hold out long enough for extraction.
He'll hold. He has to hold.
Echo Base Medical Bay
Sarah's set up in one of the recovery rooms within an hour of our arrival. The shrapnel wound required proper surgical cleaning and fresh stitches, but Khalid's field work kept her stable long enough to get her here. Now she's sedated, antibiotics flowing through an IV, monitors tracking her vitals.
Khalid hasn't left her side. He's sitting in the chair beside her bed, his wounded shoulder properly bandaged now, his hand wrapped around hers like he's afraid she'll disappear if he lets go.
I understand the feeling.
"She's strong," I tell him from the doorway. "She'll pull through."
He doesn't look up. "I should have been faster. Should have seen that operative coming around the corner before..."
"Stop," I interrupt. "You saved her life. The field medicine you administered kept her alive long enough to get here. That's what matters."
"Is it?" His voice is raw. "Because it doesn't feel like enough. None of this feels like enough. We lost Mercer. Nearly lost Sarah. The Committee is breathing down our necks and we're running out of time to stop whatever they're planning."
I step fully into the room, closing the door behind me. "You're right. It's not enough. But it's all we have right now. We work with what we have, make the best decisions we can, and we keep moving forward. That's the job."
"The job," he repeats bitterly. "Yeah. The job that keeps taking everything from us."
I don't have an answer for that. Because he's right. This life—the black ops, the classified missions, the constant state of warfare against enemies most people don't even know exist—it takes everything. Relationships. Normalcy. Peace. Sometimes it takes lives.
But it's also the only thing standing between the Committee and complete control of the country.
"Get some rest," I tell him. "Khalid’s with Sarah now. You're no good to her exhausted."
He finally looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed. "You need to get Mercer back, Kane. Whatever it takes. Just bring him home."
"I will," I promise.
Echo Base Command Center
Tommy and Willa are already deep into analysis when I arrive. The command center's main screen displays a tactical map of the surrounding region, marked with known Committee facilities, possible detention sites, and estimated patrol patterns.
"Talk to me," I say, moving to stand behind them.
"I've been analyzing the intercepted communications from the tactical radios," Tommy begins, his fingers flying across multiple keyboards simultaneously. "The encryption is sophisticated, but I found something interesting. Look at these transmission patterns."
He throws data onto the screen—strings of code and communication logs that mean nothing to me but apparently tell Tommy everything he needs to know.
"Three distinct communication networks," he continues. "Each using slightly different encryption protocols. Each with different operational priorities."
