Page 62 of Echo: Line
I stand beside Alex, still processing the fact that my face is now plastered across every law enforcement database in three states. Five million dollar reward. Wanted for treason.
My entire career. Gone. Not just burned but publicly destroyed.
"We run the decoy operation," Alex says. "Now. Before they tighten the net further."
Kane looks at him. "Agreed. But we do it right. Controlled exposure, clean extraction protocol."
"I'll go." The words are out before I fully process them. Every eye in the command center turns to me. "I'm already tagged on the footage. They're looking for me specifically. Use that."
"No." Alex's voice is flat. Final.
"It's the smart play. You said it yourself—give them what they're looking for on our terms." I meet his gaze. "I show up somewhere visible, they mobilize everything they have. While they're focused on me, Echo Base stays invisible."
"She's right." Kane studies me with that same assessing look from when we first met. "It's solid tactical thinking."
"Then I'm going with her." Alex crosses his arms. "Non-negotiable."
"That defeats the purpose," I argue. "If we're both spotted together again?—"
"I don't care." His jaw sets in that stubborn line I'm starting to recognize. "You don't go out there alone."
Kane looks between us. His jaw relaxes a fraction. Recognition. "Fine. You both go. Stryker and Rourke provide overwatch from secondary position. Tommy coordinates from here. We stage it at the truck stop on Highway 93. Multiple exits, good sight lines, civilian presence limits Committee's tactical options."
"When?" I ask.
"Two hours. Gives us time to prep and position support." Kane's already moving to the tactical display. "Tommy, I need satellite imagery of the location. Stryker, check our vehicle options. Something clean, no ties to Echo Base."
The team disperses. Alex touches my elbow, guides me toward the armory. His hand is warm against my skin despite the efficiency in his movements.
"You didn't have to volunteer for this."
"Neither did you." I keep walking.
He catches my arm. "That's different."
I pull free. "How? Because you're trained and I'm not? Because you're Echo Ridge and I'm just the FBI agent who got caught?"
"Because if something happens to you out there..." His voice cracks. "I just got you. I can't lose you now."
My chest tightens. "Then we don't screw up."
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods once. "Agreed. But you follow my lead out there. Tactical decisions, extraction timing—all of it. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"I mean it, Delaney. This isn't profiling suspects or interrogating witnesses. One wrong move and we're both dead."
"I understand." And I do. What we're about to do presses down on me like armor. Heavy but necessary. "I trust you."
His expression softens, the tactical mask slipping. He pulls me close, pressing his forehead to mine. "Two hours. Then we show the Committee exactly what happens when they hunt Echo Ridge."
The truck stop sits at the junction of two highways, surrounded by pine forest and Montana sky. Eighteen-wheelers line the parking lot. Cars cluster near the convenience store. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that they're about to become extras in a very dangerous operation.
I adjust the baseball cap pulled low over my face. Beside me, Alex drives the nondescript pickup Tommy provided. Clean plates, no GPS, no ties to anything Committee could track. His hands are steady on the wheel despite the tension radiating from his shoulders.
"Stryker, position report," he says into the comms unit.
"Northwest ridge, six hundred meters out. Good sight lines on main lot and both highway approaches." Stryker's voicecrackles through. "Rourke's covering the east access road. You're clear to proceed."
