Page 76 of Echo: Burn
"Yeah." I check my rifle for the hundredth time. Magazine seated. Safety on. Chambered round. Everything in place. "I'm good."
"You've come a long way, Doc." There's respect in his voice. "From running over your first hostile to breaching a facility with a full tactical team. Your old man would be proud."
My father. Gunnery Sergeant Michael Hart, who discovered these same weapons and kept his silence to protect me. Who died carrying secrets that should have been exposed. Who died before Jack, before the running, before any of this happened.
"I hope so."
The vehicle slows, then stops. Through the windshield, I can see the facility in the distance—a collection of industrial buildings silhouetted against the Montana night. Dark. Quiet. Exactly what Karina described.
Too quiet.
"Looks abandoned," Mercer says from the driver's seat.
Kane studies the complex through binoculars. "Tommy, what are you seeing on thermal?"
"Minimal signatures," Tommy's voice crackles through our comms. "Few heat sources in the main building. Could be security, could be automated systems. No obvious activity."
"Could be a trap," Rourke adds from the second vehicle.
"It is a trap." Kane lowers the binoculars. "Kessler knows we're coming. Question is whether we spring it anyway."
"The evidence is in there. The proof we need to stop the attack. We don't have time to wait for a better opportunity."
Kane looks at me, and I see the conflict in his eyes. The part of him that wants to protect me warring with the part that knows I'm right. That we're out of options and running out of time.
"We go in fast and hard." He makes the decision. "Stryker, you take perimeter security with Mercer. Rourke, you'reoverwatch. Willa and I go for the evidence. Odin comes with us—he'll alert if there's anything chemical we're missing."
Everyone nods. We've been over the plan a dozen times. Now we execute.
"Remember," Kane says, looking directly at me. "If this goes sideways, you run. No arguments. No heroics. You get yourself and that dog out and let us handle the rest."
"I'll consider it," I say, echoing my words from the armory.
Stryker laughs despite the tension. Kane shakes his head but doesn't push. He knows better by now.
We move out in formation, spreading across the open ground between the vehicle and the facility perimeter. The Montana night is cold and clear, stars brilliant overhead, my breath fogging in the freezing air. I keep my rifle up, scanning for movement, trusting Odin to alert if anything chemical threatens.
Nothing moves. No guards. No patrols. Empty buildings and silence.
We reach the fence line. Stryker cuts through the chain link with bolt cutters, creating an access point. We slip through one by one, weapons ready, moving toward the main production building.
Fifty meters from the entrance, Odin stops.
His body goes rigid. Ears forward. A low growl building in his chest.
"Contact?" Kane asks.
"Chemical. Multiple signatures. He's alerting on something inside."
Kane and Stryker exchange glances. "Karina said the facility was being sanitized," Stryker says.
"Maybe they haven't finished." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. Something feels wrong. The building looks abandoned, but Odin is alerting like the place is saturated with chemicals.
We approach the entrance. The door is unlocked. Not broken, not forced—simply unlocked, like someone left it open for us.
"Definitely a trap," Mercer mutters.
"Then let's spring it." Kane signals for Stryker to take point.
