Page 4 of Freeing Lark

Voodoo gave a humorless smile. “Same thing with a nicer name.”

Nobody laughed. Calloway didn’t react. “The target has information that multiple governments would pay a great deal of money to possess,” he said. ‘That makes the target compound valuable and dangerous.”

“How dangerous?” Hoot asked.

Calloway looked at him. “Enough that we’re here.”

The answer bothered Hoot. Not because it was wrong. Because it wasn’t an answer.

Flint stepped in before the silence stretched too long. “Praetorian has clearance for this operation. They are attached as mission specialists. Their people follow your command structure while on objective.”

Hoot looked at Calloway. “Rules of engagement?”

“Same as yours.”

“Chain of command?”

“Your team lead has tactical command.”

“Mission priority?”

Calloway hesitated. Barely. But Hoot saw it. “Complete the objective,” the PSG leader said.

Something about the wording bothered him. Not bring everyone home. Not protect the team. Complete the objective.

Hoot had spent enough years around operators to know that small details mattered.

“What’s in the vault?” Hoot asked.

The room went quiet. Calloway looked toward the screen. “Data storage devices. Research documents. Financial records.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast for his liking. Hoot watched him carefully. Everyone lied. The trick was figuring out why.

The briefing continued. Routes. Timelines. Communications. Extraction plans. The pieces came together. A simple mission with a simple objective. One that the team had carried out numerous times.

Except Hoot had been doing this too long to believe in simple.

When the meeting finally broke, Calloway stopped him near the door. “Lieutenant.” Hoot turned. The PSG leader held his gaze. “I understand your concerns.”

Concerns? Yeah, he had them. As second in command, it was his job to have concerns and find the answers to them. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know why I have them.”

A faint smile crossed Calloway’s face. “Trust isn’t given easily in your profession.”

“No.”

“And in mine?”

Hoot looked at the Praetorian logo on Calloway’s gear. A Roman helmet, pierced dramatically through its center by a spear aimed skyward. A promise of protection.

At first glance, it looked impressive. Clean lines and sharp edges. The kind of emblem designed to make people stand a little straighter when they saw it. A modern interpretation of an ancient Roman helmet, the image carried the weight of an empire—strength, discipline, loyalty. The helmet’s full-face design hid every human feature beneath it, leaving only the suggestion of the warrior underneath.