Page 39 of Raven's Mark
Raven built out the timeline on paper while I mapped cartel positions and identified tactical weak points in their coverage. By the time we called it, dawn was creeping through the curtains and the coffee pot had been empty for hours. Raven went to bed, but I stayed up, poring over the timelines and trying to shape the raw data into an operational plan that wouldn't get us killed.
Now she's in the shower and I'm standing on the porch with my phone, watching the sun climb even higher over the hills.
I pull up Carmichael's number and make the call. He picks up after two rings.
"I need a team." Carmichael doesn't care for preamble, and I don't care to give it.
A pause. Then keys click in the background.
"How many?"
"Four should do it. Surveillance, signals, logistics, and someone who can move fast if things go kinetic."
"Timeline?"
"As fast as you can get them here." I check the tree line out of habit, scanning for movement that doesn't belong. "Things are moving faster on the ground than your reports suggest."
More keys. Knowing Carmichael, he's surrounded by monitors tracking operations across three continents and is already reviewing rosters in real time.
"I've got a team finishing up in Houston. Small group, all solid. They can be at the quarry northeast of Fredericksburg by early afternoon." His tone shifts, the casual edge dropping away. "They'll report directly to you. My involvement stays at intel support and coordination with federal assets when you're ready to move on arrests."
"Good."
"Jesse." His voice drops a register. "One of them you'll know. The rest come recommended. But this is a covert op on US soil. That comes with complications if it goes sideways."
"Understood."
"I'm sending you their files now. Review them, establish your operational parameters, and make it count." A beat of silence. "Good hunting."
The line goes dead.
I slide the phone into my pocket and head back inside. Raven is in the kitchen, dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, her damp hair pulled back into a ponytail and a coffee mug cradled in both hands. She looks up as I come through the door.
"What's going on?" She sets the mug down, reading my face.
"I called your uncle while you were in the shower. He's sending a team. Four operatives, all Shadowland. They'll be here this afternoon."
Her expression goes flat. "A team."
"We need people on the ground for surveillance, intel gathering, and operational support." I lean against the counter across from her. "We can't run this alone, and my brothers don'thave the training for intelligence work. I'm not putting Knox and Beckett in the field when I can bring in people built for this kind of operation."
She studies me for a long moment, working through the implications the way I knew she would. More people means more exposure. More variables. More chances for a leak. She'll land on all of it.
"Who are they?"
My phone buzzes. The encrypted files load onto the screen, four dossiers with photos, service records, and operational histories. I turn the phone toward her and walk through each one.
Ethan "Rook" Mercer. Marine Scout Sniper who went Shadowland years back. Long-range reconnaissance and precision fire. I shared a forward operating base with him in Kandahar for three months, and the man could thread a needle at eight hundred yards in crosswind.
Lucas "Cipher" Vale. NSA recruit turned cyber intelligence specialist. Signals intercept, data analysis, digital surveillance. No combat deployments on his record, but if it's plugged into a network, Cipher can crack it open and read its mail.
Darren "Torque" Maddox. Former Army quartermaster who moved through private military contracting before Shadowland recruited him. Logistics and supply chain management. If an operation needs equipment, transport, or resources that don't officially exist, Torque is the man who makes them appear and leaves no paper trail behind.
Caleb "Hawk" Serrano. Former MARSOC, specializing in close quarters combat and rapid tactical response. The kind of operator you want at your six when a building needs clearing and the floor plan is a guess.
Raven reads without speaking, her eyes tracking across the screen and absorbing each dossier in turn. When she looks up, her expression is neutral but her voice carries an edge.
"They all work for Uncle Robert."
