Page 80 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

“Time to call in favors,” Sam states, pulling out a secure communication device. “Cerberus Protection Specialists. We’ve worked with them before.”

“Ghost?” Forest asks.

“If anyone can handle the secondary objective while we focus on extraction, it’s Mason Blackwood’s team.”

The mention of Ghost brings nods of approval from Charlie team. Cerberus is a smaller operation, but Mason draws exclusively from special operations—highly trained operatives who are familiar with how Guardian HRS operates and can be trusted with high-stakes missions.

“Good call,” CJ says with a nod. “Blackwood’s team is surgical. No collateral, no mess, no traces.”

His tone carries the respect of a professional who recognizes equal skill. In our world, that kind of acknowledgment doesn’t come easy.

“Cerberus?” Collins questions, his billionaire instincts kicking in. “Are they reliable? This isn’t just any extraction—this is my daughter we’re talking about.”

“They’re the best,” CJ assures him. “And Ghost has saved our asses more than once.”

Collins’s shoulders relax slightly. “Then spare no expense. Whatever they need, they get.”

“Glad to have Cerberus help on this,” Rigel says quietly, but there’s satisfaction in his voice. “No more playing by rules that don’t apply to bastards like Malfor.”

“Damn right,” Walt adds, his hands finally still on his rifle. “Time to show him what happens when you take our women.”

Carter nods once, which, from him, is equivalent to a rousing speech. Blake grins for the first time in days, the expression sharp and predatory. The authorization settles over Charlie team like armor—no restrictions, no limitations, no mercy for anyone who stands between us and the women we love.

“Equipment loadout?” Ethan asks, moving through the checklist with team leader efficiency.

We’re getting down to operational details.

Finally.

Gabe likes to think I overthink and over plan, but I’m just as eager as him to get in there and shoot shit up. It feels good to beplanning rather than sitting around with our thumbs shoved up our asses doing nothing.

“Standard assault kit plus demo charges,” Gabe responds. “Breach and clear, fast and violent.”

“Communications gear for everyone,” Rigel adds. “Redundant frequencies in case they jam primary channels.”

“Medical supplies?” Blake asks.

“Full trauma kit,” I respond. “We don’t know what condition they’ll be in.”

The words hang heavy between us. None of us want to think about what Malfor might have done to them, but tactical reality demands we prepare for worst-case scenarios.

“Equipment decontamination?” I voice the concern that’s been nagging at me.

“Mitzy’s working on a solution,” Sam responds. “Portable EMP units that won’t fry our electronics. Should have something ready before we deploy.”

“Should?” Walt looks up sharply.

“Will,” CJ corrects with granite certainty. “Mitzy doesn’t miss deadlines when lives are on the line.”

That’s reassuring. Mitzy’s track record speaks for itself. Everything about this mission is coming together exactly as we need it to.

“Training drills?” We can’t run mission-specific drills down here on the beach, but we also can’t let Malfor see what we’re preparing for.

“Cover operation,” Sam responds immediately. “We’ll run standard hostage rescue scenarios at Guardian HQ. Multiple facility types, various approach vectors. Make it look like we’re preparing for several possible targets.”

“Misdirection,” Blake nods approvingly. “Smart. Malfor sees us training for a dozen different scenarios; he won’t know which one is real.”

“If any of them,” Ethan adds. “For all he knows, it’s all routine training exercises.”