Page 45 of Critical Mass
Natalie turned away from the peaceful water and went back inside, closing the sliding door behind her. She needed to sleep. Tomorrow would require all her strength, all her skills, all her ability to lie convincingly.
As she climbed into the unfamiliar bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, Natalie made herself a promise: She would get through this.
She would find the truth. She would survive.
And she would never, ever let her guard down like that again.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Hudson layin his bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing sleep wouldn’t come. It never did after nights like this—nights when violence came too close, when he had to fight to keep someone alive.
His mind drifted to his days in the military.
In an instant, he was taken back in Ankara. Three years ago. The operation that had changed everything.
The market had been crowded.
That was what Hudson remembered most. Not the intelligence briefing or the target location or even one of his colleague’s jokes during the helicopter ride in. Derek “Brass” Brassen always had a smart aleck remark on the tip of his tongue.
What stuck in his memory was the sheer density of people—families buying produce, old men drinking tea at corner cafes, children weaving between stalls with sticky hands and bright laughter.
Too many people. Way too many.
“Eyes on the package,” Brass had said through the comms. “Second floor, northeast corner. Two tangos visible.”
Hudson had been on the opposite rooftop, along with other colleagues, scanning the building through his scope. More teammates were on the ground, blending into the crowd or running overwatch from their mobile command unit three blocks away.
“I see them,” Hudson confirmed. “But I don’t see the device.”
“It’s there,” Brass said. “Satellite imaging confirms chemical signature. VX nerve agent, approximately two kilograms.”
Enough to kill everyone in a six-block radius. Maybe more, depending on wind patterns.
Hudson’s finger had rested beside the trigger, not on it. Not yet. “Brass, can you get a visual on the device itself? We need confirmation before we breach.”
“On it.”
Bobby Gordon, a teammate, had moved then—Hudson had tracked him on the ground through the scope as his teammate crossed the market square, casual as any tourist.
Gordon was good at that. Good at being invisible when he needed to be.
“Approaching the building now.”
“Negative,” Brass had cut in. “Gordon, hold position. We’ve got movement?—”
The explosion had been small. Controlled. Designed not to destroy the building but to trigger the panic.
Hudson had watched it happen through his scope, helpless. The second-floor window blowing outward. Smoke billowing into the street. And then?—
“Chemical release detected!” Brass’s voice had lost all calm. “Gordon, get clear! Get clear now!”
But Gordon had been too close. Hudson had seen him stumble, had seen his hand go to his throat, had watched his teammate collapse in the middle of the market square while people screamed and ran.
“I’m going in.” Hudson was moving before he finished speaking, slinging his rifle and running for the fire escape.
“Hudson, negative!” another teammate grabbed his vest, yanked him back. “You go in there without a mask, you’re dead in ninety seconds.”
