Page 97 of Travis
“Keep going.”
She found the section I’d been staring at for the past three minutes. The daylight mission. Flagged as their highest-confidence data point.
“A male suspect,” she read. “Tall, dark clothing, tactical capability consistent with military or intelligence training.” She looked up at me, then back at the screen. “And a second individual. Female. Civilian vehicle.”
“They don’t have your plates. The Florida redirect held. But they have your presence. Two people, not one.”
“They’re cross-referencing against known personnel in the region.” She was scrolling now. “Military, law enforcement, private security. Travis, if they run private security firms in western Montana, Warrior Security will be on that list.”
“I know.”
She sat back. The chair rolled a few inches from my station, and she stayed where she stopped, her hands resting on her thighs. I could see her running the timeline, figuring out how long it would be until the cross-reference narrowed enough.
Trying to figure out how many data points separated Travis Hale, Warrior Security tech consultant, from the Ghost. She couldn’t know exactly, but we both knew it wasn’t many.
My daylight mission last week had threatened everything.
“We need to talk about this,” she said.
I turned my chair to face her. She turned hers. Three feet of space between us.
“The Ghost has to stop,” she said.
“No.”
“Travis, the math is plain…”
“I know the math. FBI closing in from one side, Kindt from the other. Every mission I run creates new data points for both of them.”
“Yes. Exactly. It is inevitable that you will get caught or killed if you keep going.”
She wasn’t talking to me as my lover, she was talking to me as an analyst. Someone working with facts, not emotion.
But I could see what it was costing her to do so.
“You know what else is inevitable?” I responded. “Children suffering horribly if the Ghost stops.”
“I know but?—”
“Four weeks ago, I intercepted a van on Route 28. Two boys, six and eight, maybe. The older one was holding the younger one’s hand so tight I had to pry his fingers open to check for injuries.” I could still feel the small grip releasing, one finger at a time. “The younger one was wearing a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it and one shoe. He fell asleep against my chest before I got the door open.”
Sera’s jaw tightened.
“If I stop, who’s in that van next week? It won’t be the FBI. Your original model sat in Pratt’s inbox for eight months. The system doesn’t move fast enough.”
“I know it doesn’t.”
“You saw that video. You heard what Kindt said. He’s not stopping. If anything, he’s going to up his movement. I can’t look at that and just decide to be done.”
She leaned forward. “Four weeks ago, the Ghost’s biggest risk was you getting hurt. Stitches and bruises. That was the cost, and you were willing to pay it. The cost is different now.”
“I know the cost is different.”
“The FBI isn’t looking at you as a concerned citizen. They want to take you down: obstruction, assault, unauthorized use of force. Federal charges. Prison.”
“I’m aware.” The risk was still worth it.
“And Kindt’s people are building a profile that gets closer every day. If they identify you, they won’t send a video. They’ll send people here.”
