Page 34

THIRTY-FOUR

The rumble of the engine cut off, leaving an eerie stillness in the forest. Hatch's heart thudded in time with the rustling leaves, not by the wind, but by footsteps. She crouched beside Bishop. The damp earth chilled her knees, and the acrid smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of Bishop’s blood.

"Four-man kill team," Hatch muttered.

"We’re exposed," Bishop grimaced through clenched teeth. He glanced toward the ridgeline, muscles tensed, his body ready for an attack. "They’ll find us."

Her voice was cold, clinical, a professional assessing the situation. "And if the General sent them to take us both out, you know they’re capable."

Her mind ran through every possible scenario, each more hopeless than the last. Outgunned, outnumbered, and Bishop was barely hanging on. Some days, she really hated this job.

"They won’t stop until we’re both dead," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hum of the forest.

Bishop looked worse than death warmed over, his skin pale, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He winced, clearly fighting the pain, but the blood loss had drained most of the fight from him. They wouldn’t survive a direct encounter. Her options dwindled by the second.

Bishop grunted, leaning against a tree for support, his breath uneven. "Probably Stone’s team," he rasped, eyes flicking around as if expecting shadows to materialize from the woods. "They do Thorne’s dirty work. And they’re ruthless."

Hatch’s pulse quickened, her hand instinctively moving to her Glock. "So what’s the play?"

“Not much in the way of options. Or time."

Her fingers brushed against the small case tucked inside her vest. Banyan’s creation. Simulated death—an ace up her sleeve, but one she hadn’t expected to use so soon. She withdrew the black case slowly, weighing her options.

"Only chance we’ve got,” she said, “is for you to play dead."

Bishop raised an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable. "They won’t trust it. They’ll check."

Hatch’s eyes darkened. "Exactly. And that’s why you won’t be faking it."

Bishop squinted, eyeing the small black case warily. "What's that?"

Hatch opened the container, revealing the dermal patch inside. "A little gift from Banyan. Simulated death—lowers your heart rate, body temp, everything. They’ll think you’re dead."

Bishop looked at the patch and then back at Hatch, clearly distrustful. "So you’re going to slap that thing on me, and I’m supposed to trust it’s not going to turn me into an actual corpse?"

"Not like we’ve got a lot of choices here. You bleed out, or they put a bullet in both of us. Banyan said it works. No trace, no foul."

Bishop let out a shaky breath, glancing at the patch again, then at the tree line where the kill squad would soon emerge. "Well … here’s to Romeo and Juliet," he muttered, voice laced with sarcasm.

Hatch smirked, quickly pulling the patch from the container. "We’re not dying today. You just need to trust me."

He hesitated, his breathing labored, his pulse erratic. "Trust is a big ask right now."

"Maybe," Hatch replied, pressing the patch to his neck. "But it's the only card we’ve got left to play."

Bishop grunted as the patch made contact with his skin. "If this doesn’t work?—"

"It’ll work," Hatch interrupted, but the weight of uncertainty hung in the air between them. The chemical smell briefly filled the space around them as she snapped the vial inside. Bishop’s body immediately began to slow, his breaths growing shallow, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Remember," Hatch whispered, wiping the blood from her palm onto his neck to sell the illusion. "Stay still. Let me handle the rest."

Bishop’s lips barely moved, his final words a soft murmur. "I better wake up from this."

As his pulse faded, Hatch stood, her muscles tense, posture rigid. She smeared more blood from Bishop’s leg onto her own arm, grabbed her knife, and cut across her palm, wincing at the sting. She took fresh blood and wiped it across Bishop’s neck and face. It would have to be enough.

The approaching kill team’s footsteps grew louder. They were close now—boots crunching through the underbrush, the faint rustle of tactical gear as they advanced. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her exterior calm. She adopted a posture of exhaustion, every muscle tense beneath her mask of weariness.

They were coming.

And Hatch had to sell this, because if she didn’t, she and Bishop were both as good as dead.

The kill squad moved through the mist, four figures blending seamlessly with the dense underbrush. Silent, deadly, each man a professional operator. Their gear—Crye Precision combat suits, ops-core helmets with night-vision mounts, and HK416s at the ready—marked them as Talon’s elite. Stone commanded the team from the front. These men weren’t here to capture. They were here to clean up.

Spreading out, they formed a tight perimeter. Hatch crouched by Bishop’s body, her breath steady despite the tension coursing through her. She was outnumbered, her cover story fragile at best.

"Hold it!" Stone’s voice cut through the mist, a harsh command. His assault rifle was leveled at her chest, the red dot of the laser sight trained right over her heart. The other three operators moved into position, flanking her with silent precision.

Hatch raised her hands slowly, careful to keep her movements calm, deliberate. Her eyes flicked to the still form of Bishop beside her. “He’s down,” she said, her voice betraying just the right amount of exhaustion. “Bishop tried to ambush me. I didn’t have a choice.”

Stone’s helmet dipped slightly, his gaze flicking to Bishop’s prone form and back to Hatch. Suspicion hung in the air between them, thick and heavy.

“No gunshot,” Stone muttered, his voice cold. His rifle remained steady.

Hatch forced a breath, angling the blood-smeared knife in her hand. She held it up just enough for them to see the crimson streaks glistening on the blade. “No time to pull my gun,” she said, the frustration in her voice carefully placed. “Had to use the knife. He bled out fast.”

Stone took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “Knives don’t make noise,” he acknowledged, but his tone carried no belief. He gestured to one of the operators. “Rook. Check him. Verify.”

Rook moved without hesitation, his rifle slung low but his body tense, ready. He crouched beside Bishop’s body. He slipped off one of his gloves and pressed two fingers against Bishop’s neck, searching for a pulse. The forest seemed to close in around them, the silence stretching thin and taut like a wire about to snap.

Hatch’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat thudding loudly in her ears. Her entire focus was on keeping her breathing even, her expression tired but resolute. If these guys didn’t buy it, they were both dead. Her fingers flexed at her side, itching toward her Glock, but it wouldn’t matter if this went south. There’d be no time to draw.

Rook’s hand lingered on Bishop’s neck for a beat longer than Hatch would have liked. The other operatives’ rifles stayed trained on her, their fingers light on the triggers, ready to react.

Finally, Rook glanced up, his face hidden behind his visor, but his voice clear. “Lights out.”

The tension eased, but only slightly. Stone’s weapon lowered a fraction, but his body remained taut, like a spring coiled too tight. The other men shifted but didn’t fully relax.

The team leader stepped closer. “Name’s Stone. Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” His face mere inches from Hatch’s. “You got lucky. Bishop’s a dangerous man.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Stone stared at her for a long moment. “He’s one of the best.”

“Was.”

“Right.” Stone paused and seemed to be choosing his next words wisely. “Guess that’s one loose end we don’t have to tie.”

“What’s the other?”

He stepped back, suspicion lingering in the air. “You’ll know as soon as I do.”

Stone reached for his comms. Hatch gripped the ribbed handle of the knife in her hand. The next few moments would prove whether the theory she and Bishop had hashed out was correct. If they were right, the quiet surrounding them was about to be shattered into a million pieces.