Page 57 of Nuclear Option (Owens Protective Services)

“Holy crap,” Rae said, her jaw slack as she stared at her computer.

“What is it?”

“Noah showed up online, but this isn’t good.”

“What’s not good?” Jones asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“I need to call Cash now.”

“The alarms just went off a few minutes ago when he pulled in the driveway,” Jones answered.

“What is it?” I asked again.

But she still didn’t answer. Worry gnawed at my gut. Whatever was going on with Noah, she was making it sound like it was the end of the world. The front door swung open and Cash walked in carrying a load of bags.

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt you to let me drive every once in a while,” Fox griped.

“You have to come see this,” Rae cut in, her tone brooking no arguments.

Cash immediately walked over with Fox on his heels. We all gathered around Rae, waiting for her to explain. Jones, however, stayed on the other side of the counter, pretending to not be interested in anything Rae was about to say. But I noticed his eyes flicking over to us as he started putting away dishes.

“Okay,” Rae started. “I tracked Noah through friends he’d made on Facebook over to the dark web. It seems that a few of his friends had the same ideas about forming a militia, and they needed someplace to talk without being surveilled. The chat was shut down about a year ago and everyone in the group was placed on the FBI watch list.”

“Oh shit,” Cash said, running his hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Did you take precautions?”

“What do you think?” she retorted. “I did everything I could.”

“And what about Noah?” Fox asked. “Did you find out anything about him?”

She clicked a few keys, bringing up another screen. “This guy…TX395, he was most active on Facebook before he went dark. Sometimes, when these guys get spooked about something, they have a safe location to meet. They wouldn’t talk about it online, but if we can find him, he might be able to tell us where Noah is.”

“How sure are you about that?” Cash asked.

“Let’s say…thirty/seventy.”

Fox clapped his hands together. “Thirty percent is good.”

“No, it’s not,” Cash said irritatedly. “If it was seventy percent, I’d say let’s run with it. Thirty is not good odds.”

“What are you talking about?” Fox scoffed. “If you had a cup filled thirty percent of the way and you were in the desert, that would be a good thing, right?”

“But it would be even better if it were seventy,” Cash argued. “Christ, nobody takes a leap on thirty percent.”

“Nobody turns down thirty percent when they have nothing else.”

“He’s right,” Jones answered, still facing away from us. “Never knew you to turn down intel just because you were only thirty percent certain.”

“That was the military. This is different.”

“How so?”

“We’ve got a civilian with us, for one.”

“Hey,” I said indignantly. “You’re a civilian too.”

He shot me a look, telling me he wasn’t happy with my interference. “That’s not helping.”

“Well, I’m part of this too. I know I’m not trained like you, but I’m the one this affects the most.”

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