Page 50 of Anchor
He swung the SUV into the faculty lot, killed the engine, and jumped out. The operators shifted, creating an open channel from the stairwell to her office door.
Reid took it fast, boots echoing on tile, until he saw her with a folder clutched against her chest, standing in the narrow beam of daylight through her office door window. Her eyes met his the second he walked in. He didn’t ask if she was ready. He didn’t ask if she understood the danger. He just said, low and steady, “We’re leaving. Now.”
Claire hesitated only long enough to slide the folder into her bag. Then she nodded, and when she crossed the room toward him, Reid’s hand brushed her back. The touch was barely there, grounding. She was still hers. But she was also his responsibility.
ANN ARBOR – VOS’S SAFEHOUSE – 12:05 HOURS
The glow of monitors washed Lucien Vos in cold blue. On the central screen: Claire Bowman in her office at the University of Michigan, leaning toward Reid Hanlon as they spoke quietly. Vos tapped a key, and the frame froze. Her face was caught mid-turn, Reid watching her with steady intent.
Vos leaned closer, the faintest curve pulling at his mouth. His voice dropped into the stillness, “Her death will rest on Ian Chase’s shoulders.”
From the shadowed wall, The Ghost finally stirred. His voice was low, quiet but edged. “Why kill her? She’s not the one running your hunters. She’s just… part of their orbit.”
Vos didn’t look away from the screen. His smile sharpened. “Not just orbit. She’s the only analyst I’ve ever seen who was sharp enough to find my work. She did it once before and was forced to bury it under their lies, under their silence. But she saw.. Too bad she’ll be dead before we meet face-to-face.”
The Ghost shifted again, folding his arms. “Why not use her?”
Vos turned, eyes like ice, voice colder still. “I am, in a way. And when I do, she’ll bring Chase down with her. Ian can build all the walls he wants—family, legacy, protection. It won’t matter. He failed her father. Today, he’ll fail her too. And when she falls, it will break him. That is the point. I thought she’d be a mouse in a maze for a little longer, but she chose today. Her little lecture will bring the NSA, the press, her mother, students protesting government interference— and my sniper, Scour.”
The frozen image of Claire filled the monitor. Her expression was intent, too focused for her own safety.
Vos tapped the badge on the desk beside him, the old, scarred steel that still carried the CIA’s mark. “Ian Chase should have killed me years ago. He and Bowman chose a Russian prison. I will answer him with ruin. And she…” he touched the screen with one finger, light glinting off the glass, “…is the first stone.”
The Ghost said nothing more. But in the silence, his gaze lingered on the frozen image of Claire. She was a target. Had Vos’s obsession already become a liability?
SEVENTEEN
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN – OUTSIDE WEILL HALL – 1210 HOURS
The sun was too bright. The campus was too alive. Students cut across the green with headphones. A pair of professors chatted under the maple trees, and a group of cyclists weaved past. All looked ordinary.
The four operators from Tree Town One walked her through the open ground, forming a tight diamond around her. Reid was at her side now, hand grazing the strap of her bag like he might anchor her through touch alone. Claire clutched the bag, forcing herself to keep her chin level.
Suddenly, there was shouting. A press mic was thrust into her path. “Claire Bowman! Dr. Bowman—do you have a comment on Operation Emberline?”
She froze. Dozens of eyes pivoted. Cameras came up like weapons.
Bluebird shoved forward instantly, blocking the lens. “Back it up. Now.”
Before Claire could breathe, two men in plain suits surged in from the opposite side. Badges flashed—NSA. “Dr. Bowman,you’re coming with us. You violated your nondisclosure protocol. You’re in breach of your federal contract.”
“What?” Claire tried to step back, but one agent already had a firm grip on her arm.
Reid’s voice cracked like a whip. “Hands off her. Now!”
The agents didn’t budge. The crowd swelled into a feeding frenzy—journalists shouting, cameras clicking, and students stopping mid-step to record. It was a net closing fast.
And then… a sharp, slicing crack split the air.
Claire didn’t process it until the pain hit, hot and sudden across her right flank. The force yanked her sideways. Her breath was gone, her sunglasses fell off, her knees buckled, and the bag dropped with a heavy thud.
For one stunned heartbeat, all she saw was sunlight and blue sky. And then the heat of blood leaking against her ribs.
The shot was clean,from a high angle, likely a rooftop. Reid knew it before the echo faded.
“Sniper!” Spartan roared, dragging Claire down.
Reid was already moving. He caught her before she hit the pavement, her body folding against him. It was warm and wet where it shouldn’t be. Her blood. His vision tunneled hard, rage slamming through instinct.
