Page 68 of Ground Zero

His former EOD partner from Afghanistan.

The man who’d been with him through the worst days in Kandahar, who’d helped him disarm seventeen IEDs in a single day.

The man who’d died three years ago in that helicopter crash—along with Sarah.

Maverick had attended the memorial service, had comforted his widow, had helped set up a college fund for his kids.

However, there was no mistaking that distinctive walk—the slight favor of his left leg from an old injury, the way he rolled his shoulders every few steps.

Maverick’s mind reeled.

Brass hadn’t died.

The man was very much alive and walking toward the ferry terminal.

That’s why his body hadn’t been found.

The story was the perfect cover for disappearing and joining a terrorist organization.

But why? What could make a decorated soldier turn against his country?

Maverick’s phone buzzed. Jake.

Running early. Can we meet in 30?

Thirty minutes.

That would be before Maverick had fully scouted the location. Before he’d identified all the threats. Before he could warn Sheridan that his former teammate was actually alive.

Had Jake told Brass to be here? Was this all a setup?

He couldn’t ignore that possibility.

He had to decide. Abort and possibly lose his only chance to identify the mole? Or walk into what could be a trap and hope he could turn the situation to his advantage?

He didn’t respond yet.

Instead, Maverick looked back at the terminal.

Three years of supposed death had changed Brass. He now had harder edges, a colder expression, and the bearing of someone who’d crossed lines they couldn’t come back from.

Maverick shot off his response.

Change of plans. Meet at the pier instead.

Brass had taught him everything about reading tactical situations, about identifying threats and escape routes. Now Maverick needed to use those same skills against his former mentor.

He started moving, staying low, working his way toward the terminal’s back entrance. If Jake was willing to meet at the old pier, Maverick would go.

He checked the time.

Twenty-eight minutes until the meeting. He’d have to find a way to slip past Brass and get to the pier—all while Sheridan faced her own dangers at Blackout.

As Maverick moved through the shadows, one thought kept running through his mind: How many other dead soldiers were walking around, working for Sigma? And what had they been promised that was worth betraying everything they’d once fought for?

The answer might be waiting at the pier.

If Maverick lived long enough to hear it.