Page 90 of Ground Zero

“Most likely. They’ll want someplace that has legitimate access to military supplies. Somewhere that wouldn’t raise suspicions.” He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to think through the pain in his ribs.

Just then, a memory clicked into place with stunning clarity.

“The Frog Box . . .” he murmured.

“That was in one of the fabricated communications.”

“I knew it sounded familiar. I heard some guys refer to this place as the Frog Box.”

“What was it?” Sheridan asked.

“It’s an old EOD training facility not far from here. A few years ago, the military leased a warehouse for explosive ordnance training. The contract ended, but the facility still has all the equipment.” Maverick oriented himself, calculating distances. “It’s half a mile from here, just outside the military jurisdiction zone.”

“You think Sigma would use it?”

“I know they would—especially if they know about it,” Maverick said. “And if someone at Blackout is secretly working for Sigma, then they know about it. Plus, it’s close enough to the base that a major explosion from that location would affect the base.”

Sheridan sucked in a breath before nodding as reality seemed to settle over her. “How can we get there?”

“I think I can get a little closer to the site. Then we walk. The building is close to the river.”

She nodded quickly. “Then let’s go.”

They headed farther down the river, stopping just before the building. He pulled the boat into the reeds and out of sight. A pier stretched there, marsh grass growing through the old wooden boards.

He tied the boat to a post, then turned to Sheridan. “You ready for this?”

She reached into the bag she’d brought with her and handed him one of her spare guns. “I don’t think we have much choice at this point.”

He couldn’t argue with her statement.

He checked the gun and then shoved it into his waistband.

Then he climbed onto the pier, ignoring the protest from his battered body. “The facility is technically abandoned, but it would be the perfect place to stage these bombs.”

Sheridan fell into step beside him. “How many explosives are we talking about?”

His jaw tightened. “Enough to turn the sub pens into a crater.”

They moved quickly down the boardwalk until they reached an industrial area. In the distance, guards patrolled the area. They’d need to time this just right.

“Follow me,” he whispered to Sheridan.

Staying low and out of sight, they darted toward the old EOD building, keeping to shadows between warehouses and shipping containers. Every step took them closer to either stopping a massacre or walking into a trap.

“There.” Maverick pointed to a nondescript building surrounded by a chain-link fence. “That’s it.”

The building’s paint was peeling in long strips, and a year’s worth of dead leaves had collected against the entrance. But the padlock on the gate gleamed new against the rusted chain, and fresh tire tracks cut through the weeds.

He prayed his hunch was right and that they weren’t wasting valuable time right now.

Apprehension crawled up Sheridan’s spine as she and Maverick crept toward the facility.

Something about this felt wrong. Their approach felt too quiet, too easy.

But they were out of options and out of time.

They paused outside the door, and she whispered, “If we find the explosives, then what? We can’t just leave them here.”