Page 29 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

TWENTY-SIX

The Signal

GABE

I lean back in the facility’s breakroom chair, watching Hank methodically clean his sidearm for the third time today.

A week locked in this underground bunker has taught me things about Hank I never noticed before—like how he arranges his gear in perfect right angles when he’s processing complex information, or the way he hums barely audible classical music when he’s content.

Today it’s something that sounds like Mozart, which means he’s optimistic about our progress.

The air recycling system maintains perfect temperature and humidity, but it can’t replicate the salt tang of ocean wind or the sound of waves against rock. Seven days without natural light have left both of us pale as lab rats, but the work we’ve accomplished makes the confinement worthwhile.

“Blake and Walt should be here in an hour.” Hank slides the weapon back into its holster, smooth and automatic. His actions carry the easy confidence that comes from a week of our friendship healing itself through working together again.

“About time. I’m ready to see sunlight again.” I stretch, feeling vertebrae pop after too many hours hunched over monitoring equipment. “Think they’ll handle being locked up better than we did?”

“Blake will go stir-crazy by day three. Walt will probably reorganize the entire lab by day two.” Hank’s mouth quirks up at the corner—the closest thing to a grin I’ve seen from him since Ally disappeared. “At least they’ll have results to keep them busy.”

The past week has been a masterclass in controlled scientific breakthroughs. Dr. Kim and her team worked eighteen-hour days reverse-engineering nanobot architecture while Hank and I maintained security protocols. But more than that, we found our rhythm again.

Not the careful distance we maintained after our fight. The real friendship. The kind where I start a tactical assessment and he finishes it without missing a beat. Where he calculates blast patterns, and I instinctively know which direction to position charges.

It feels good. Right. Like pieces of myself are clicking back into place. He’s a part of me as much as I’m a part of him.

“Hank, Gabe, you’re gonna want to see this.” Jeb’s voice carries through the intercom system, crackling with excitement.

We follow the scientists to the main lab, where holographic displays show data streams that look like technological hieroglyphics to my demolitions-trained eyes.

But the body language around the room tells me everything—Dr. Kim practically vibrates with excitement; Dr. Rodriguez keeps double-checking the readings, even stone-faced Dr. Okafor carries a hint of a smile.

“Our Trojan horse is fully integrated with the network,” Dr. Kim announces. “Authentication successful. The hive mind has accepted it as legitimate.”

“And it’s receiving communication bursts,” Dr. Rodriguez adds. “Scheduled data transfers from the quantum control network.”

Hank steps closer to the displays. “What kind of data?”

“Operational coordinates. Command instructions. Network maintenance protocols.” Dr. Okafor pulls up geographical data that makes my pulse spike. “Including what appears to be the primary communication node location.”

Holy shit!

The coordinates float in space like a promise of salvation. Longitude and latitude numbers that could lead us directly to Malfor’s operational center. To Ally.

“Where?” The question scrapes out of my throat like broken glass.

“Remote island in the South Pacific. Eight hundred nautical miles southwest of Hawaii.” Dr. Kim overlays satellite imagery showing a volcanic landmass jutting from endless blue water. “Isolated. Defensible. Perfect for covert operations.”

“Infrastructure?” Hank asks, always thinking ahead.

“Significant. Multiple structures, communication arrays, deep-water harbor capable of handling substantial vessels.” Dr. Rodriguez zooms in on obvious military construction. “It’s a permanent installation.”

“How confident are we in this intelligence?” Hank asks.

“The quantum signatures match perfectly,” Dr. Kim responds. “Our Trojan horse is receiving direct instructions from this location. No intermediary nodes. This is the source.”

I scan the room, noticing the scientists exchanging glances. Jeb’s barely suppressing a smile, and Dr. Kim keeps looking at something on her tablet that she hasn’t shown us yet.

“What?” I ask. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Dr. Kim and Jeb exchange another look. Dr. Rodriguez suddenly becomes very interested in his coffee mug.

“We were going to wait until the full briefing,” Jeb says, his voice attempting seriousness but failing to hide his excitement.

“Tell us now,” Hank demands, his instincts clearly picking up the same vibe I’m getting.

Dr. Kim takes a deep breath. “There’s more. Not only have we tracked the primary communication node, but…” She pauses, looking at Jeb.

“But we also received a signal,” Jeb finishes, unable to contain himself any longer. “A direct transmission from the facility.”

My heart stops. “What kind of signal?”

“It’s encrypted,” Dr. Okafor explains, “but using a very specific pattern. One that matches protocols developed right here in this lab.”

“Specifically,” Dr. Kim says, her eyes locking with mine, “it uses the quantum encryption algorithm Ally designed last year.”

The air leaves my lungs. “You’re saying?—”

“We believe it’s Ally,” Jeb confirms, his face breaking into a full grin now. “Or possibly Stitch. But given the encryption pattern, our money’s on Ally.”

“Show me,” I demand, stepping forward.

Dr. Kim taps her tablet, and a string of code appears on the main display. To most people, it would be meaningless, but I recognize pieces of it from watching Ally work countless nights.

“The signal contains geographic coordinates that match exactly with the facility location we already identified,” Dr. Rodriguez explains. “Plus, there’s this embedded in the data stream.”

He highlights a sequence that, when isolated, repeats in a pattern familiar to anyone with military training.

“SOS,” Hank says quietly.

“Not just SOS,” Dr. Kim adds. “There’s more data embedded in the transmission. We’re still decrypting it, but preliminary analysis suggests it contains information about the facility’s security systems.”

“She’s giving us a way in,” I breathe.

Hank and I exchange looks across the lab space. For the first time since Harrison’s betrayal, we have actionable intelligence. A target we can hit. A place where Ally isn’t just waiting for rescue—she’s actively helping us get to her.

“We need to brief the team,” Hank says, his brain switching to mission mode.

---

The transition from artificial underground lighting to natural Pacific sunset hits hard.

After the drive from Palo Alto and the gondola ride down the cliff—complete with Mitzy’s micro-EMP treatment to fry any nanobots that might have attached themselves since leaving the clean facility—Hank and I emerge onto the beach, squinting against golden light that paints the waves in colors no holographic display could replicate.

Salt air fills my lungs, carrying scents of kelp and distant storms that make the facility’s recycled atmosphere taste like plastic by comparison.

Charlie team waits around the familiar bonfire setup, faces painted bronze and shadowed by dancing flames. Sam and CJ stand near the water’s edge, their presence commanding even in this informal setting. Mitzy crouches beside her equipment, psychedelic hair catching firelight.

Collins paces near the bonfire’s outer edge, expensive shoes crunching against smooth stones with restless energy that screams billionaire impatience.

“Report.” Sam’s single word cuts through the sound of waves against rock.

“We have coordinates.” I drop the intelligence like a live grenade into the circle. “Our Trojan horse integrated with Malfor’s network. We know where he is.”

The reaction is immediate.

“Where?” Collins demands, stopping his pacing mid-step.

“South Pacific. Remote island installation approximately eight hundred nautical miles southwest of Hawaii.” Hank provides coordinates with his usual precision. “Significant infrastructure. Deep-water harbor. Communication arrays. Everything consistent with a major operational center.”

“How confident are we?” CJ cuts straight to the heart of it.

“Quantum signatures confirm direct communication with this location,” I respond. “No intermediary nodes. No relay stations. This is the source of the network controlling the nanobots.”

Hank and I exchange a quick glance. We’d agreed to hold back the most important piece of intelligence until we could verify it further, but the weight of it burns in my chest like a live coal.

Collins stops pacing completely, his focus converging on mission possibilities. “How fast can you deploy?”

“We need to plan this properly first,” Hank’s voice stays level, controlled. “Verify the intel. Figure out what we need. Make sure we do this right.”

My jaw tightens. I want to move now, screw procedure.

“Standard mission planning protocols,” Sam decides, his voice settling the debate. “Seventy-two hours minimum for intelligence assessment and operational preparation.”

“Seventy-two hours?” Collins’s voice rises. “We’re talking about my daughter’s life.”

At least, I’m not the only one who wants to move yesterday. Good to have Collins on my side, even if Hank isn’t.

“We’re talking about all their lives,” CJ responds with granite certainty. “Getting them killed because we rushed into a trap doesn’t serve anyone.”

Each man knows that proper operations require time, patience, methodical preparation.

“Forty-eight hours,” Collins negotiates like he’s closing a corporate deal. “Surely that’s enough time to plan a rescue mission.”

Collins stares at me across the firelight, his intensity meeting my demolitions expertise in a contest of wills that could determine mission success or failure.

“If the intelligence is solid,” CJ states, “we can move faster.”

I can’t hold it back any longer. “There’s something else.” All eyes turn to me. “We received a signal from the facility. Encrypted with Ally’s personal algorithm.”

The revelation lands like a thunderclap.

“What?” Collins steps forward, eyes wide. “You’re saying my daughter made contact?”

“We believe so,” Hank confirms, shooting me a look that’s half exasperation, half understanding. “The signal contains an SOS plus what appears to be security information about the facility.”

“She’s alive,” Collins whispers. “And she’s fighting.”

“This changes everything,” Sam says, his tactical mind already recalculating. “If we have someone on the inside?—”

“—someone who knows the facility and can provide real-time intelligence—” CJ continues.

“We can cut prep time significantly,” Hank finishes, nodding. “Forty-eight hours might work.”

The waves crash against rocks in eternal rhythm, indifferent to human struggles playing out on this narrow strip of clean beach.

Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, Ally isn’t just waiting for rescue—she’s reaching out to us. Along with Jenna, Rebel, Mia, Malia, and Stitch. Six women whose only crime was loving men who attract danger like magnets attract metal.

The fire crackles and sparks, sending embers spiraling into the night like prayers made of light and heat.

For the first time since this nightmare began, those prayers might actually be answered.