Page 75 of Ground Zero
Maverick was still alive. Still free.
But for how long? And with Norfolk’s attack imminent, would any of them survive the next few hours?
She looked at the clock on the wall. Time was running out for everyone.
“Sir . . .” She prayed she was making the right choice. “I need to get to Norfolk. If the attack is happening there, that’s where I should be.”
What she really needed was freedom so she could find Maverick first. But going to Norfolk would give her that opportunity.
Cook studied her for a long moment. Behind him, she saw Ty and Colton exchanging glances, William typing furiously on his laptop, and Morrison watching everything with those calculating eyes.
“Go,” Cook said finally. “But Mendez? If you’re wrong about this, it’s your career.”
If she was wrong, Sheridan’s career would be the least of her problems.
CHAPTER 41
Maverick burst from the water near a jetty. As he surfaced, his clothes and shoes weighed him down like anchors. Behind him, shouts echoed across the beach.
He climbed across the rocks and sprinted across the sand. His legs burned, and his lungs screamed for oxygen.
His breath caught when he saw a family with young children nearby. They sat frozen under their beach umbrella, watching him with wide eyes.
“Get down!” he shouted, gesturing frantically toward the dunes. “Get to cover!”
Gunfire erupted again, kicking up sand twenty feet behind him. Too close to the family.
Maverick changed direction, leading the shooters away from the civilians—even though it took him toward more open beach.
His wet shoes slipped on the sand as he ran. Three shooters were visible now, spreading out to cut off his escape routes. They moved with military precision, but their willingness to fire near civilians told him everything.
These weren’t professionals with rules of engagement.
These were stone-cold killers.
The thrum of rotor blades made him look up.
A helicopter approached fast and low over the water.
It wasn’t a government Black Hawk or one of Blackout’s modified Bell 429s. This was a civilian model, a sleek Eurocopter he didn’t recognize.
Was it media? Some tourist outfit?
Or was it more Sigma operatives closing the net?
The helicopter banked hard, swooping down closer. Sand exploded in a stinging cloud as the copter settled onto the beach fifty yards ahead of him. The rotor wash nearly knocked him off his feet. Salt and grit pelted his face, forcing him to shield his eyes.
Through the artificial sandstorm, he saw the side door slide open. A man leaned out—late forties, silver hair, expensive suit completely inappropriate for a beach extraction. No one Maverick had ever seen before.
“Maverick Adams!” the man shouted over the rotor noise. “Get in! Now!”
Every instinct screamed trap. But gunfire ripped across the sand behind him, getting closer. The shooters would be on him in seconds.
“Who are you?” Maverick yelled, despite the swirling sand around him.
“Someone who can save your life.”
Another burst of automatic fire made the decision for him.
