Page 12 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

TWELVE

Contamination Protocol

HANK

Mitzy extracts another nanobot specimen from Ally’s laptop. Each second burns through my control like acid eating through steel. Ally could be anywhere by now—another continent, another hemisphere, another grave.

The variables expand exponentially with distance and time.

I force the thought aside. Cold focus serves the mission. Emotion doesn’t.

“Got it,” Mitzy announces, her voice tight with concentration. The extracted nanobot—barely visible even under maximum magnification—sits isolated in a specialized containment field. “Intact specimen secured. Beginning architectural analysis.”

The Guardian HRS lab has transformed into a sterile war zone over the past three days.

Every surface gleams under harsh fluorescent lighting.

Every breath tastes of antiseptic and desperation.

Doc Summers moves between workstations like a surgeon during triage, coordinating skin sample analysis with electronic forensics.

“What do we know?” I ask, my voice flat. Control through precision.

Doc Summers approaches, tablet in hand, loaded with contamination data. “Charlie team is heavily contaminated. Everyone who touched the Kazakhstan survivors. The coffee shop. Everything they used.”

She pulls up a contamination map on her tablet.

“Guardian Grind frequent customers show elevated concentrations. The techies working on their equipment also test positive. The other Guardian teams show minimal contamination—occasional contact through shared facilities, but nothing like what we’re seeing with direct exposure groups. ”

Every system is compromised.

Every communication is monitored.

We’ve been fighting blind while he watched our every move.

Gabe paces behind me, raw energy barely contained. I feel his frustration radiating like heat from a blast furnace. We’re complementary forces—his fire, my ice—but right now both of us are burning.

“Individual units are primitive, but when they network together, they create collective intelligence, like a beehive. Hundreds of them working together can process information, adapt, and coordinate complex operations.”

“Collective intelligence.” The tactical implications are daunting.

“Malfor didn’t just tag the Kazakhstan survivors—he turned them into unwitting carriers of a distributed intelligence network. Living deployment vectors.”

“That explains how he knew when to take our women,” Gabe adds, his voice rough with controlled rage. “He’s been monitoring our communications, our movements, our vulnerabilities for months.”

Forest enters without announcement. Coffee and fatigue cling to his weathered frame. “Charlie team. Conference room. Now.”

We follow him through corridors that feel different now—compromised, violated. Every camera could be feeding Malfor intelligence. Every communication system is potentially broadcasting our plans to the enemy.

The secure conference room houses our senior command structure: Forest, Skye, Sam, CJ, Mitzy, and the team leaders from Alpha through Delta. The atmosphere carries the weight of a funeral.

“Situation assessment,” Forest begins without preamble. “Skye, what do you have?”

Doc Summers activates the wall display, showing a three-dimensional map of Guardian HRS with red contamination markers spreading like a virus through the facility.

“Total facility contamination confirmed. Nanobots are present in 89% of all electronic systems and 67% of all personnel. The devices have been active for approximately three months.”

“Operational impact?” CJ asks, his massive frame tense.

“Complete operational compromise.” My voice carries the weight of tactical analysis. “Malfor has real-time intelligence on all our activities. Communications, planning, deployment schedules, and personnel movements. He knows our capabilities, our limitations, and our responses to every scenario.”

“Including our response to the kidnapping,” Gabe adds. “He knew exactly how we’d react, where we’d deploy, what resources we’d commit.”

Forest’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes. “What are our options?”

Mitzy steps forward. “I’m trying to reverse-engineer their communication protocols. If these nanobots are using quantum entanglement for data transmission, they have to be paired with receiver colonies somewhere. Find those, and we find Malfor’s command center.”

“Timeline?” I ask.

“Unknown. The quantum encryption is unlike anything I’ve seen. Could be hours, could be weeks.” Mitzy’s doing her best, but it’s not enough, not for Gabe and me. We need Ally like we need air to breathe.

“We don’t have weeks.” Each passing hour reduces our chances of recovering the women alive. Malfor isn’t keeping them for ransom or intelligence. They’re bait. Which means he’ll dispose of them the moment we activate his trap.

“There’s another option,” Doc Summers interjects. “If we can’t break their communication, we can disrupt it.”

“How?”

“Electromagnetic pulse. Targeted EMP deployment could disable the nanobots without permanently damaging our critical systems.”

“That creates its own problems,” Sam points out. “EMP deployment would announce our knowledge of the contamination. Malfor would know we’ve discovered his surveillance network.”

“He already knows,” Gabe counters, anger bleeding through his control. “The moment we started this investigation, every nanobot colony in the facility reported our activity. We’re fighting a war where the enemy knows our every move.”

“In the meantime,” Forest says, “we assume all communications are compromised. All planning sessions should be moved to Faraday cage environments. All operational details need to be compartmentalized to essential personnel only.”

“That severely limits our coordination capabilities,” CJ observes.

“Better than operating with zero security,” I reply.

Forest nods once. “Implement it. Charlie team, you have operational priority. Whatever resources you need.”

As the meeting disperses, I catch Gabe before he can leave. There’s something burning in his eyes—impatience mixed with accusation like this is somehow my fault.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” But his tone says everything. Sharp. Clipped. The way he gets when he’s building toward an explosion.

“Say what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking we’re wasting time while she’s out there.” Gabe gestures vaguely toward the door. “More meetings. More protocols. More fucking analysis while Malfor does God knows what to them.”

“Analysis keeps us alive. Keeps them alive.” Gabe’s spiraling. It’s hard to watch, and each time I try to talk to him, his agitation only increases.

“Does it?” The question carries an edge that makes my jaw tighten. “Because from where I’m standing, we’re sitting here analyzing nanobots while she’s out there getting tortured.”

“That’s not?—”

“Isn’t it? We followed procedure. Secured the area. Ran diagnostics. Did everything by the book.” His voice rises, drawing looks from the dispersing command staff. “And while we were being methodical, Malfor was already ten steps ahead.”

Heat builds in my chest, matching his energy despite my training. “You think rushing in blind would have prevented this?”

“I think if we moved faster, acted on instinct instead of waiting for perfect intelligence?—”

“You’re thinking like a demolitions expert,” I cut Gabe off. “Blow things up first, worry about collateral damage later.”

“And you’re thinking like a fucking robot. Calculate everything to death while real people suffer the consequences. We need to extract the women now.” He snarls and slams his hand on the table. The sound echoes like a gunshot. “Before he moves them.”

“Moves them?” I shake my head with incredulity. “We don’t even know where they are, or were, or anything. What intel do you want us to act on?” My voice stays level, which only makes me angrier. “We don’t know location, defenses, or extraction routes.”

“We know he’s watching us plan. Every second we delay gives him more tactical advantage.”

“Every second we rush gives him exactly what he wants—us walking into a trap.” It’s like we’re operating on different wavelengths.

Glitching.

That’s never happened before.

The room watches as the tension between us escalates. Carter shifts in his seat, the fabric creaking beneath him. Blake’s eyes ping-pong between us like he’s tracking a live grenade. This isn’t a tactical disagreement.

It’s personal.

“Maybe if you cared more about getting her back than your precious protocols—” Gabe’s voice cracks like a whip, sharp and reckless.

My spine locks. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Gabe closes the distance in two strides, his chest nearly brushing mine. “While you’re calculating acceptable losses, Ally is being tortured.”

“We don’t know that.” Fury spikes, hot and immediate.

“We don’t not know that.” He jabs a finger toward the ops table.

Why is it so damn hard to get him to listen?

“It makes no sense for Malfor to torture them.” I grit the words, each one clenched between my teeth.

Gabe snorts, incredulous. “Why the hell not? He’s using them for bait.”

“Exactly,” I snap. “Which is why torture doesn’t make sense. You damage bait, you weaken leverage.”

His jaw flexes. Mine does too. The air between us buzzes with unspoken threats and years of brotherhood fraying at the seams.

“That’s enough.” Ethan’s voice cuts through like a blade—cold, commanding. “Both of you. Outside. Cool off.”

Silence snaps into place like a vise.

No one moves.

The whole team feels it now—the fracture line. Wide. Splintering. And it’s got both our names on it.

“I’m not going anywhere with him,” I snap, but my eyes never leave Gabe’s face.

“Then separate,” Ethan says coldly. “But the two of you need to get your shit together. Because right now, you’re more dangerous to this mission than Malfor is.”

Around us, our teammates pretend not to notice the fracture line running through Gabe and me.

But they all see it.

The way Gabe’s hands clench into fists. The way my breathing has shifted to combat-ready. The space between us feels electric with unresolved violence.

“We’ll continue this later.” I keep my voice level despite the fire building in my chest.

“Will we? Because every hour we wait is another hour my woman spends in his hands.” Gabe spins on his heels and walks away, leaving me standing in the conference room with the taste of blood in my mouth from grinding my teeth.

Two hours later, we’re back in the secure conference room, but the tension from earlier hasn’t dissipated.

If anything, it’s gotten worse.

My woman.

Did he really say that?

To me?

Ethan spreads reconnaissance photos across the table. “Based on Mitzy’s preliminary analysis, we’re looking at three potential locations where the quantum signature originates.”

Gabe leans against the far wall instead of taking his usual seat beside me. The distance is deliberate. Pointed.

“We go in three teams.” Ethan traces routes on the tactical map. “Coordinated assault, multiple entry points. Alpha takes primary breach, Charlie handles extraction, Bravo provides overwatch and containment.”

“That’s exactly what he’ll expect,” Gabe counters, pushing off from the wall. “Standard Guardian HRS tactics. He’s been watching us for three months—he knows our playbook better than we do.”

I lean forward, supporting Ethan’s assessment. “Which is why we stick to proven methodologies. Discipline under pressure?—”

“Discipline?” Gabe laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “We should hit hard and fast. Overwhelming force before he can adapt.”

“With what intelligence? We’re flying blind.”

“Better than paralysis by analysis.”

Walt shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Blake and Carter exchange looks. Rigel’s jaw tightens as he watches our partnership disintegrate in real time. The whole team feels the fracture line running through their leadership.

Ethan tries to regain control. “Maybe we should take a step back?—”

“We stick to proven tactics,” I state, backing my team leader. “Coordinated assault gives us the best chance of success with minimal casualties.”

“We’re days behind and still clueless about where she is.” Gabe’s pacing now, fists clenched at his sides, jaw flexing with every ragged breath. “We’re discussing tactics like we know where we’re headed. One of three potential locations?”

“Gabe.” Ethan’s voice is calm. Contained. “You’re making it worse?—”

“I don’t care!” Gabe spins back, voice sharp. “She’s out there alone. Scared. And I’m stuck here watching hours bleed away.”

The room stills.

No one dares interrupt him.

He drags a hand through his hair, eyes red-rimmed and wild. “I should be with her,” he mutters. “She needs me. God, she …”

A beat of silence.

Then, softly. Broken.

“I promised I’d protect her.”

Not us. I.

“I should’ve never let her out of my sight,” he goes on, voice cracking now. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve …”

My heart stops.

Gabe doesn’t even hear himself. Doesn’t notice the shift. But every word twists like a knife between my ribs. Because in his mind, right now—it’s just him and her.

No we.

No us.

No space for what we built between the three of us.

Just him. Her. And the guilt eating him alive.

My hands curl into fists, and just like that, I feel it—the splinter, deep and raw. The slow bleed of something breaking between us.

Blake shifts like he feels the fracture too.

Rigel glances at me, eyebrows furrowing.

The conference room goes dead silent except for the hum of electronics and the whisper of ventilation systems. Blake’s coffee mug hovers halfway to his mouth. Carter’s pen stops moving across his notepad. Walt’s medical bag sits forgotten on the table between us.

Gabe stares at me for a long moment, something like satisfaction flickering in his eyes. Like he wanted this confrontation. Needed it. He walks out, leaving Ethan to salvage what’s left of mission planning.