Page 91 of Ground Zero
“We destroy them . . . somehow.”
Her radio softly crackled with sudden chatter, making them both freeze. Thankfully, she had the volume turned low as to not draw attention.
Confirmed sighting of the stolen vessel on Elizabeth River. FBI and Coast Guard units are en route. Subjects believed to be armed and dangerous.
The two of them exchanged a look.
The feds were closing in. They had maybe ten or fifteen minutes before law enforcement flooded this area.
“We need to move.” She drew her weapon.
Maverick turned toward the door and twisted the handle.
It was unlocked.
Surprise rippled through him.
Sheridan’s radio continued its urgent chatter.
Tactical teams mobilizing. Shoot-to-kill authorization confirmed.
Her arms trembled slightly. She knew that once she and Mavrick opened this door, there was no going back. They’d either find the explosives and stop the attack, or they’d walk into an ambush that would end with both of them dead.
She thought about Danny, about the families in Norfolk, about all the lives hanging in the balance. Then she looked at Maverick—injured, exhausted, but still standing, still fighting.
She prayed his hunch was right. Prayed they weren’t too late. Prayed they’d live long enough to stop this.
Sheridan took a breath, met Maverick’s eyes one last time, and together they pulled open the door.
CHAPTER 50
Maverick glanced around the building as he opened the door.
The lights automatically flickered on overhead.
He saw no one.
But that didn’t mean no one was here. They’d need to keep their eyes wide open.
He soaked in the rest of the building.
The warehouse interior was exactly as Maverick remembered—concrete floors, reinforced walls, industrial lighting. But now it housed something far more sinister than training equipment.
Crates lined the far wall, military-grade markings still visible.
Maverick approached carefully, using a crowbar to pry one open. Inside, packed in foam, were shaped charges—professional, military-spec, enough to punch through submarine armor like paper.
“No . . .” Sheridan breathed beside him. “There’s enough here to?—”
“Level most of the base.” Maverick did a quick count. “There’s at least two thousand pounds of explosives here, packaged in six different crates.”
His phone buzzed, and they both jumped.
Ty’s name appeared on the screen.
Maverick hesitated. Ty could be trying to help.
Or he could be working with the FBI to triangulate their location.
