Page 50 of Crossfire Creek Siege

Noah’s jaw tightened. “Not could be. Was. The data lines up too cleanly. Both sites match the chatter our informant passed along. I’d bet everything we’ve got that whoever planned this used at least one of these places as their base.”

“Who owns them?” Gage asked.

Isla blew out a breath, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “That’s the fun part. I’m still untangling it. Whoever’s behind these used at least three shell companies, all routed through international holdings. Think tax havens, dummy accounts, fake addresses. It’s a digital onion of lies. And I’m peeling it one stinky layer at a time.”

“Both sites have helipads and hangars big enough to fit choppers,” Delaney pointed out. “Noah, that tracks with the reports on the aircraft Rhett bought.”

Gage followed her gaze to the feed, to the two faint rectangles carved into the dirt, the shape unmistakable.

Eli, who’d been scanning the live thermal overlay, frowned. “No visible choppers. And the drones aren’t picking up any heat signatures, either.”

Isla swiveled back toward them, her tone turning serious. “Yeah, and before anyone gets too optimistic, no heat sources doesn’t mean no people. I think these buildings are lined with heat-shielding material. Military grade. Could be empty.” She paused, eyes flicking to Noah. “Or could be full of assholes we can’t see.”

A beat of silence followed, thick and heavy. “Armies,” Delaney murmured. “Hidden behind shields.”

Gage stared at the monitors a moment longer, unease threading through his gut. The compounds looked too quiet, too clean. Every instinct he had was screaming trap.

“Maybe this is a setup,” he said, voicing his concern and glancing toward Noah. “Two empty-looking facilities, conveniently found right after Rhett admits to owning choppers? Could be bait. Lure us in with hidden troops or assets waiting to light us up.”

“That’s possible,” Noah readily admitted. “Which means we prepare like it’s the worst-case scenario.”

Everyone in the room gave some form of agreement, either verbally or nods.

“So what’s the plan?” Rena asked.

Before Noah could answer, the door opened, and the sound of bootsteps filled the room. Cal and Garrett strode in first, both looking like they’d come straight from the field, fatigue jackets, weapons slung, eyes sharp.

“Got your message,” Cal said, nodding toward the monitors. “What’s the target?”

And then another pair followed close behind. Harlan Creed and Colt Morgan, two of Crossfire’s top operatives. The air in the room seemed to tighten a notch as they entered, quiet authority radiating off both men. Harlan’s gaze swept over the displays, assessing, calculating, while Colt moved beside Noah without a word.

Now it felt like a war council.

Noah waited until the door shut, the hum of the monitors filling the silence. “Good,” he said. “You’re all here. We’ve confirmed the locations of two suspected training compounds. They match the patterns from the attackers’ routes, and the terrain checks out. But we don’t know what’s waiting inside.”

Noah motioned toward the long table at the center of the room. “Grab a seat,” he said, tone brisk, all commander now. “We’re not wasting time.”

Gage and Rena took their places side by side. Cal and Garrett slid into the seats across from them. The others followed suit, and in moments, the room stilled, the kind of silence that came before orders were given.

Noah remained standing, remote in hand, the glow from the monitors sharpening the hard lines of his face. “Here’s how we’re playing this,” he began. “Two sites, two teams. We go in coordinated and cautious.”

He clicked the remote, and the feeds split, each facility filling one side of the wall of monitors. “Team One will hit Site Alpha,” he said, gesturing to the left screen. “That’s Rena, Gage, Cal, Garrett, Isla, and Sheriff Chase. You’ll have one drone overhead and full satellite backup. I’ll be in the air with you, chopper support and comms relay, but for the sake of keeping things quiet, I’ll keep my distance. Won’t move in unless needed.”

Rena straightened slightly, eyes locked on the screen. Gage could feel the coiled readiness beside him, the same energy that thrummed in his own blood.

Noah turned to the right screen. “Team Two takes Site Bravo. Harlan, Colt, Eli, Delaney, and Deputy Sanchez. Beck will handle air support for your bird.” He nodded toward one of the computer stations. “Jace Cutler will be your tech liaison. He’ll monitor both teams from here, coordinate drone feeds and satellite syncs.”

Jace, young and sharp-eyed, gave a small wave from behind his bank of monitors. “Everything’s hot and ready. Drones are already cycling recon sweeps, and comms are live.”

“These locations are our best lead yet,” Noah went on. “But we don’t assume anything. We go in with full protocol. Surveillance first, ground insertion second. Minimal risk until we know exactly what’s inside.”

Cal nodded. “And if we find hostiles?”

“Then,” Noah said, his expression hardening, “we end this.”

The words hung in the air, simple and final.

Gage felt the familiar shift inside him, the blend of calm and adrenaline that came with an operation’s edge. He glanced at Rena, their gazes meeting in silent understanding.