Page 5 of Anchor
Reid rose, the card and comm heavier than their weight.
“Hanlon,” Killian said as Reid reached the door. “This isn’t the Navy. No rank to hide behind. Trust is built one move at a time. If you want a team, become someone they’ll run into fire for.”
Reid looked back. “I don’t expect them to run. I expect them to stand.”
Killian nodded once. “We like anchors here. Now go let the tailor make you pretty.” He lifted a garment bag. “Our people know how to measure without asking questions you won’t answer.”
Reid took it, along with the weapon and comm. “This is a test, not a hire?”
“You’re hired as an operator,” Killian said. “The test is whether you lead. We don’t recruit ghosts. We hire men who make rooms safer just by standing in them.”
Noah added, “Tuck’s name bought you this conversation. Everything else, you earn.”
The door opened. Tuck stood there, taking in the last line. Pride didn’t show on his face, but it worked under the skin. “Told you,” he said simply, “door’s open. Don’t trip.”
Reid adjusted his grip on the cases that held his weapon and the comm. The Chase seal carved light across the floor. “I won’t.”
GALA BALLROOM – JUNE 12TH
Two days before the gala, Reid was pacing the floor, checking corners and sightlines, when a voice cut through the hall. Julian Dupart, co-executive director of the San Diego branch, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, blocked his path. A teenage girl stood at his side while a younger boy tugged at his sleeve as they watched their mother, singer Holly Morrison, test the mic onstage.
“ID,” Julian said flatly.
Reid handed it over without hesitation. Julian scanned it once, then looked up, a grin breaking in his Cajun drawl. “Well, hell—Tuck’s nephew. Should’ve said so.” He clapped Reid’s shoulder with surprising warmth. “That man carried me through some hard days. Welcome to the family.”
Sadie, Julian’s teen daughter, gave Reid a long look and smirked. “Another one. Same haircut, same eyes. At least you don’t smell.”
Reid arched a brow. “I assume that’s high praise, coming from you.”
JT piped up, tugging at his sleeve. “You got night-vision goggles?”
Reid laughed. “Not today. But I can make sure you get some.”
Julian rolled his eyes, half amused. “Don’t encourage him.” Then he nodded toward the stage. “Stay for the soundcheck. I’ll treat you to lunch after. You can give me some dirt on your uncle.”
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION – COMMAND OPERATIONS CORE
Lucien Vos hadn’t blinked in over a minute. Twelve monitors bathed his sharp features in cold blue. He watched the feeds from Chase International’s Ann Arbor facility—movement in corridors, biometric readouts, and overhead footage of operators running drills. A dozen bodies moved in practiced patterns, never knowing someone was mapping them like machinery.
A low tone cut through the silence. One monitor went dark, replaced by a pulsing green signal. It was a secure channel. Vos tapped once.
The screen lit, and a man appeared leaning against a beige wall in a bland shirt, his credentials blurred in the corner. The voice was clipped. “You told me to call only when it mattered.”
Vos leaned in, voice cool and steady. “It matters now.”
“The gala’s confirmed. Internal deployment. Sixteen operators on the floor alone, more in the periphery. The files are sealed tight.”
Vos’s eyes flicked across other screens already tagged with activity. Quiet background checks, unusual orders for equipment, and subtle prep signals ran down the screens in coded lists. “And their security lead?”
“Still hidden. Nothing posted.”
Vos exhaled slowly, calculation without pause. “The servers?”
“Moved to Sublevel 2 and locked down, but the cooling system still runs on a secondary loop. No direct monitoring there. Still open. Still blind.”
A thin smile touched Vos’s face. “Good. Keep it that way.”
The man hesitated. “They’ve tightened their defenses. If I press any deeper?—”
