Page 46 of Rogue Hope
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Finn had operatedin fifty-seven countries, memorized terrain features across six continents, and cataloged environmental conditions from Arctic blizzards to equatorial monsoons, but Phoenix in July at 114° F remained uniquely hellish. His skin registered the shift from air-conditioned van to scorching outside air with painful immediacy, each breath feeling like inhaling through a superheated filter.
The abandoned restaurant wavered in the distance, its details—peeling paint, reinforced deadbolts, modified security cameras disguised as ancient fixtures—all perfectly preserved in his memory from satellite imagery yet somehow more ominous in person. He glanced at Zara beside him, noting the tight control in her expression that told him her lupus was flaring, adding another variable to an equation already tipping toward danger.
At least there were plenty of ways out of Phoenix if things went sideways. While Ronan and Axel had completed the jet’s pre-flight, he’d memorized several layouts of the city. The greater Phoenix area sprawled like an intricate circuit board. His photographic memory sketched a precise mental grid,sharply delineated streets running north-south and east-west, disrupted only occasionally by a defiant diagonal.
Outside the city center, squat stucco neighborhoods nestled between desert-scrubbed hills contrasted sharply with gleaming high-rise towers clustered at the city’s vibrant core, each detail vivid and precise in his mind’s eye.
Sweat beaded at his hairline as he and Zara approached the safehouse. The abandoned Mexican restaurant—“Cielito Lindo” according to the faded sign hanging askew above the entrance—sat nestled between a vacant lot and a pawnshop whose barred windows reflected the merciless sun. Plywood sheets covered most of the restaurant’s windows, secured with rusting screws and decorated with peeling graffiti tags in faded reds and blues.
“Perimeter scan complete,” Griffin’s voice came through the nearly invisible earbud nestled in Finn’s right ear. “No movement within three blocks. Rooftop position secured.”
“Escape routes prepped and standing by,” Axel confirmed next, his laid-back Midwestern drawl incongruous with the tension of the situation. “Vehicle positioned for immediate extraction, eastern approach.”
“Deploying heat scan,” Deke added, his baritone sounding slightly distorted through the comm system. “Initial sweep indicates no thermal signatures inside.”
This team operated like a single organism, each member instinctively understanding their role without excessive communication. It was the kind of cohesion that only came from years of working together, surviving together, trusting each other implicitly.
Nothing he’d ever experienced.
Beside him, Zara remained stoically focused on the mission, her posture rigid. He recognized the additional stiffness in her movements. Her expression remained impassive, but the slight tightness around her eyes spoke volumes.
“Building interior confirmed clear,” Deke reported after several tense minutes. “No visible threats or occupants detected. Entry point identified through rear kitchen access—minimal visibility from surrounding structures.”
“Acknowledged,” Zara responded, her first verbal contribution since they’d left the van. “Team maintain positions. Commencing entry.”
She turned to him, her gaze coolly professional, as if their earlier confrontation had never happened.
“Careful now kids,” Ronan ordered over the comlink. “Heads on a swivel.”
“Copy that,” Zara responded.
They moved around the building’s perimeter, staying close to the sunbaked brick wall. The heat radiating from the structure was palpable, like standing too close to an oven. Every step stirred tiny dust devils in the parched alleyway, the fine particles coating Finn’s throat despite the lightweight mask covering his lower face.
The kitchen entrance was secured with a padlocked chain, but Deke’s drone had identified it as the optimal entry point. Zara produced a compact bolt cutter from her vest, the metal gleaming momentarily in the harsh sunlight before she efficiently severed the chain. The lock fell to the dirt with a dull thud that seemed unnaturally loud in the surrounding silence.
“We’re in,” she murmured into her comm as Finn eased the door open, wincing at the screech of rusted hinges.
They slipped inside, the temperature dropping abruptly as they moved from direct sunlight into the shadowed interior. The smell hit him immediately—a complex bouquet of abandonment: mold, dust, stale cooking oil, and the unmistakable mustiness of long-disused spaces, all with a curious overlay of the chemical smells of plastics, and various electronic components.
Exactly the way a former safehouse would smell.
Particles swirled in the thin shafts of light penetrating through small gaps in the boarded windows, creating ghostly patterns that danced with their movements.
The kitchen was a graveyard of restaurant equipment. An industrial mixer stood like a silent sentinel, it’s once-shining metal surfaces dulled with years of neglect, cobwebs strung around the wide bowl. Prep tables lined the walls, drawers partially opened as if the previous occupants had left in a hurry. A heavy layer of dust covered every surface, undisturbed except for the occasional small animal tracks.
“Kitchen clear,” Zara reported quietly. “Moving to dining area.”
The swinging doors separating kitchen from dining room protested with a mournful creak as they pushed through. The main restaurant space stretched before them—a time capsule of abandoned commerce. Tables still set with dusty glasses and tarnished silverware. Chairs upended on tabletops as if for a final cleaning that never happened. Faded Mexican tourism posters curled at the edges on walls once brightly painted but now peeling and water-stained.
Finn’s combat instincts registered every detail while cataloging potential threats and escape routes. The main entrance. Two emergency exits. Windows—limited visibility due to boarding but potentially usable. A bar area with a pass-through to the kitchen. A narrow hallway likely leading to restrooms, a sad office space, and the hidden entry to the safehouse facility below. Once they uncovered the entrance, Zara’s team would send the drones back to scout it out.
As they advanced into the center of the dining area, Finn caught the glint of something metallic near the floor.
His arm shot out to stop Zara’s forward movement. “Hold up.”
She tensed beside him, hand automatically moving toward the sidearm strapped to her thigh. “What is it?”
