Page 147 of Broken Oath

“Then we watch,” Rook replied. “No engagement. No contact. We identify everyone who walks through the door.”

Shark pushed himself upright.

“I’m going.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Rook⁠—”

“You were shot less than forty-eight hours ago.”

“I still have another arm.”

“You’re staying here with Fathom.”

Shark looked toward Fathom.

“That feels like punishment.”

“It is if you keep arguing.”

A faint smile moved through the room.

Shark didn’t share it, but he stopped protesting.

Rook turned toward Cutter.

“We need transportation.”

Cutter lifted his coffee.

“Already arranged.”

Rook frowned. “You didn’t know we were going anywhere.”

“You found a private airfield in Virginia, and Cobra asked for an address. It wasn’t difficult to figure out.”

Cobra looked pleased.

Cutter pulled an envelope from inside his coat and tossed it onto the table.

“Flight leaves in three hours. False identification is inside. You’ll land at a small airport in West Virginia and drive the rest of the way.”

Rook stared at him.

“How did you arrange that so quickly?”

Cutter took another drink.

“You aren’t the only one with friends.”

The following night, wind swept across a private Virginia airfield.

Storm clouds rolled overhead.

Three black SUVs waited beside the largest hangar.

Armed guards patrolled the perimeter.