“What is Operation Night Orchard?” Ethan asked.
Nobody answered him.
So I did.
“A recovery mission that officially never happened.”
My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
“Fourteen years ago, an allied intelligence convoy vanished near the Syrian border. It carried names, routes, safe houses, informants, and one man the enemy wanted badly enough to burn cities for.”
Shepard’s hands curled against the back of a chair.
“Three teams went in,” he said quietly. “Two were compromised before arrival.”
“The third team was ours,” I continued. “Reaper Cell. Six people. No flags. No uniforms. No rescue guarantee.”
Ethan was still looking at the photograph.
“You were military?”
“Not exactly.”
Richard seized on it.
“Then what exactly were you?”
I looked at him.
“Useful.”
The word landed like a slap.
Margaret set the mission page down.
“This document is classified above your clearance, General Calloway.”
Richard’s eyes flashed.
“I’m a brigadier general.”
“And not the right brigadier general,” she replied.
The command sergeant major coughed once to hide something that might have been a laugh.
I touched the black fabric.
The moment my fingertips brushed it, the conference room disappeared.
For half a second, I was back in smoke.
Sand in my teeth.
Blood drying beneath my fingernails.
Daniel Vale shouting my name through gunfire.
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