Page 52 of Echo: Burn
"Authentication marker." Mercer slides a photo across the table. "Embedded in the folder spine. Passive RFID tag that registers when scanned through security protocols. Single-use confirmation beacon."
My blood goes cold. "They know we have it."
"They know someone has it," Tommy corrects. "The tag sends a one-time encrypted ping when it passes through certain types of scanning equipment, military-grade security systems, advanced detection arrays. Confirms the documents were moved but doesn't transmit location data."
"So they know the files were intercepted." I lean forward. "By whom?"
"That's the problem." Tommy pulls up a screen of code. "The tag's authentication signature is keyed to specific security protocols. The kind only a handful of organizations use. Once they analyze which system triggered it, they'll know it wasn't random."
He switches screens. A file loads. My stomach drops.
"And whoever embedded this tag has a signature we've seen before. Victor Kessler," Tommy says quietly. "Former Delta. Worked black ops for eight years before going private. Specializes in target acquisition and surveillance. And according to his service record..." He pauses. "He served with Gunnery Sergeant Michael Hart in Yemen."
Willa goes absolutely still beside me. "My father knew him?"
"More than knew him." Tommy pulls up deployment records. "They were in the same unit. Same operation where your father discovered the chemical weapons cache. And Kane..." His eyes find mine. "Kessler was there when you burned it all down."
The pieces snap into place with sickening clarity. Kessler knows about Yemen. Knows about the chemical weapons. Knows Gunnery Sergeant Hart saw something that got him marked by the Committee. And now he's tracking Hart's daughter, using surveillance to document her connection to the man who helped bury the evidence.
"He's not just stalking her," I say slowly. "He's avenging Hart. Thinks I'm responsible for what happened to him."
"Are you?" Willa's voice is quiet. Dangerous.
I meet her eyes. "You already know the answer to that."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then Willa squares her shoulders. "So we find him. We make him understand that revenge won't bring my father back. And we end this."
"It's not that simple...” I start.
"It is that simple." She cuts me off. "He's hunting us because of something that happened in Yemen. Something my father chose to keep quiet about to protect me. Well, I'm done being protected. I'm done hiding from ghosts. We find Kessler, we get answers, and we finish what my father started."
"Tommy, I need everything we have on Kessler," I order. "Last known location, known associates, preferred tactics. If he's in Montana, I want to know where."
"Already pulling files." Tommy's fingers fly across keys. "But Kane, if he's watching us specifically, he probably knows about the RFID tag. Knows we'll find it. This might be bait."
"Let it be bait." I look at Willa, see my own determination reflected. "We're done being hunted. Time to become the hunters."
Stryker grins. "Now that's what I like to hear."
The team moves into action—Mercer coordinating surveillance, Rourke planning tactical approaches, Sarahanalyzing patterns. Tommy coordinates it all from his console, screens filling with intel faster than I can process.
And through it all, Willa stands beside me. Marked. Claimed. Under my protection.
Whatever Kessler thinks he's doing—whatever revenge he's planning—he's about to learn that targeting Willa Hart was the last mistake he'll ever make.
Because I protect what's mine.
And I'm very, very good at my job.
Tommy's screen flashes red. "Kane, we've got movement. Multiple signals in the area—they're deploying assets based on the RFID ping. Committee operators spreading through the mountain range in a search pattern."
I study the tactical display. Eight signatures scattered across a five-mile radius. They're not converging on us—they're sweeping the area, trying to narrow down where we activated that tag.
"Time to relocate?" Stryker asks.
I glance at Willa. She's already reaching for her weapons, no hesitation, no fear. Just readiness.
