Page 41 of Ground Zero (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #3)

M averick burst from the water near a jetty. As he surfaced, his clothes and shoes weighed him down like anchors. Behind him, shouts echoed across the beach.

He climbed across the rocks and sprinted across the sand. His legs burned, and his lungs screamed for oxygen.

His breath caught when he saw a family with young children nearby. They sat frozen under their beach umbrella, watching him with wide eyes.

“Get down!” he shouted, gesturing frantically toward the dunes. “Get to cover!”

Gunfire erupted again, kicking up sand twenty feet behind him. Too close to the family.

Maverick changed direction, leading the shooters away from the civilians—even though it took him toward more open beach.

His wet shoes slipped on the sand as he ran. Three shooters were visible now, spreading out to cut off his escape routes. They moved with military precision, but their willingness to fire near civilians told him everything.

These weren’t professionals with rules of engagement.

These were stone-cold killers.

The thrum of rotor blades made him look up.

A helicopter approached fast and low over the water.

It wasn’t a government Black Hawk or one of Blackout’s modified Bell 429s. This was a civilian model, a sleek Eurocopter he didn’t recognize.

Was it media? Some tourist outfit?

Or was it more Sigma operatives closing the net?

The helicopter banked hard, swooping down closer. Sand exploded in a stinging cloud as the copter settled onto the beach fifty yards ahead of him. The rotor wash nearly knocked him off his feet. Salt and grit pelted his face, forcing him to shield his eyes.

Through the artificial sandstorm, he saw the side door slide open. A man leaned out—late forties, silver hair, expensive suit completely inappropriate for a beach extraction. No one Maverick had ever seen before.

“Maverick Adams!” the man shouted over the rotor noise. “Get in! Now!”

Every instinct screamed trap. But gunfire ripped across the sand behind him, getting closer. The shooters would be on him in seconds.

“Who are you?” Maverick yelled, despite the swirling sand around him.

“Someone who can save your life.”

Another burst of automatic fire made the decision for him.

Maverick sprinted toward the helicopter.

Sheridan stood alone in the conference room, feeling the weight of Cook’s dismissal. She’d been given permission to go to Norfolk—but first Cook wanted to see what played out regarding Adams right now.

He’d left with barely a glance, taking most of the agents with him to coordinate the response at the pier and the alert to Norfolk. Only a few support staff remained in the building, and they had left the conference room.

She pulled out her phone, typing quickly.

Are you safe?

No response. The message showed delivered but not read.

Her hands trembled slightly as she typed again.

Please, let me know you’re alive.

Still nothing.

The silence weighed on her. Maverick could be wounded, captured, or worse.

And Sheridan was stuck here, officially sidelined.

But Cook’s absence gave her an opportunity. She pulled out the USB drive she’d found in the server room and plugged it into her laptop. Files populated the screen immediately.

PROJECT ELECTION—CLASSIFIED

Her breath caught. This was it—the file about Maverick’s parents.

She opened the first document and quickly scanned it.

Darius Adams, Maverick’s father, had been a cryptanalyst for the NSA.

He’d discovered a pattern of military contractors manipulating threat assessments, creating false flag operations to justify their contracts.

He’d compiled evidence, prepared to expose everything.

The car accident that killed Darius and his wife happened two days before he was scheduled to testify before a closed Senate subcommittee.

The second file was worse. Photos from the “accident” scene. Analysis showing the car’s brake lines had been cut. A coroner’s report that noted inconsistencies. But the accident was never investigated further.

Maverick’s parents had been murdered.

The implications cascaded through her mind.

Whoever had killed them was still operating, still covering their tracks. They’d chosen Maverick as their scapegoat specifically because of his connection to his father’s investigation.

It was cruel, calculated, and personal.

Her phone remained silent.

Still no word from Maverick. The shooting at the pier had stopped, according to the radio chatter, but that could mean anything.

Maverick could be captured. Escaped. Dead.

A knot of emotion lodged in her throat.

Sheridan forced herself to focus on the files, looking for any clue about who at Blackout might have been involved in the murders twenty years ago. There had to be a connection between then and now, between Project Election and Ground Zero.

A footstep in the doorway made her look up.

William stood there. He’d left earlier under Cook’s directive.

Now he stared at her, his face unreadable and his hands at his sides.

Sheridan’s hand moved instinctively toward her weapon. William was the one who’d left her the drive. He knew about Danny’s murder. He knew about Project Election.

But what did he want? And whose side was he really on?

They stared at each other across the empty conference room, the weight of unspoken knowledge hanging between them.

Whatever was about to happen would change everything.

Her fingers found the grip of her gun as she wondered if she was about to face an ally or an enemy.