Page 14 of Love for Thea

Her fingers twitched instinctively against the tight plastic zip-ties, desperate to find the pulse point on her left wrist. But the plastic blocked the rhythm she relied on. Deprived of visual input, her other senses flared into painful overdrive: the deafening rattle of the engine, the smell of fear and diesel and Ben’s sweat. The data-stream was entirely broken, and without it, she was just a doctor of ecology trapped in a bag, being driven toward a “lab” that statistically felt like a grave.

SIX

GRIZZLY

The concrete wall was cold against Grizzly’s back, a stark reminder of his confinement. The blindfold and zip ties had been removed, and his eyes adjusted to the dim light flooding the small cell. He flexed his hands slowly, trying to restore sensation to his numb fingers. The air tasted faintly of disinfectant and stale metal, a clinical neutrality that was unsettlingly at odds with the violent abduction. He cataloged the details: the single vent high on the wall, the reinforced door, the faint, rhythmic hum of unseen machinery. He was on a black site, no doubt, tucked away in the very wilderness his family called home.

His mind drifted back to the rough, jarring ride in the back of the transport truck. Even through the heavy black hood, his ears had been wide open. He remembered the lead mercenary keying his radio, the voice distorted but clear: Base, this is Sweep Leader. We have the researcher and the two interlopers. Notify The Principal we are five mikes out.

Thea had stiffened against his side at the name. The Principal, she had whispered, her voice a thread of terrified recognition. That was the signature on the headers of the legal emails they sent me. Everything came from the ‘Office of The Principal.’

Now, sitting alone in the silence of his cell, the name felt even more like a title of a man who viewed people as data points rather than human beings.

“Vanguard has done research on the Adams family,” The Principal now said, his voice amplified through the cell’s intercom, cutting through Grizzly’s assessment. “A long history of local service. Your father was Army. You and your identical brothers, Navy. According to your records, the two of you are currently on leave. A family of sailors and tech-specialists. It’s a shame you decided to spend your vacation playing hero for this thorn in my side, interfering with what is, in fact, a project deemed of critical national security by the highest levels of government.”

Grizzly sat on the concrete bench, his back straight. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even twitch when The Principal failed to mention Wyatt. It was a massive oversight, the kind of intel failure that cost men their lives. Vanguard had pulled Navy records for the three oldest, but they’d clearly stopped there, blinded by their own limited scope. They had no idea there was an Air Force Pararescueman currently at the ranch who knew every inch of these woods, a man invisible to their narrow data-pull.

No matter what The Principal said, Grizzly was already planning his next move. He centered himself, calling on the training drilled deep into his bones. Years of SERE had taught him to control fear, to stay calm under pressure, and to read through the noise. He recognized the polished veneer, the conviction that bordered on messianic, the words global energy that sought to elevate destructive avarice to a noble cause. The Principal wasn’t evil; he was something colder, more dangerous: utterly convinced of his own indispensability, a man who saw the world in spreadsheets and geological models, entirely missing the unpredictable variable of human will.

“I’m just a man looking for a friend,” Grizzly said, keeping his tone flat and unthreatening. It was a lie, but not entirely. He was looking for his friend, but he was also a weapon, now actively engaged.

The Principal’s voice came crackling faintly through the communications duct, distant and disembodied. “You’re a man who interfered with the controlled development of a critical planetary resource, and in doing so, you have placed yourselves in direct opposition to directives that supersede your current leave status,” The Principal corrected, his tone firm, unwavering, as if stating an undeniable scientific fact. “Consider your actions insubordination of the highest order, an interference that will have severe and lasting consequences for your careers, if not your freedom.” Grizzly heard his boots echoing on the steel catwalk outside, as The Principal turned and walked away.

Grizzly waited until the heavy door hissed shut. He listened, straining his ears for the tell-tale hum of air circulation, the faint buzz of security systems, the cadence of footsteps fading down a corridor.

Closing his eyes, he replayed every detail he’d sensed while blindfolded: the metallic scrape of boots on concrete, the heavy thud of the steel door closing, the low hum of the ventilation system mixing with the faint electrical buzz of security cameras or sensors. He measured the corridor length by his counted footsteps, felt the chill of cold metal bars, and noted the sharp click of locks engaging just out of reach. The sharp scent of cleaners and the lingering tang of iron filled the air around him. Piece by piece, he stitched a map of the cell and its surroundings inside his mind: a puzzle of sounds, smells, textures, and shadows that no darkness could erase.

The Principal’s words hung in the air, a calculated strike at their military ethos. Critical national security. Insubordination. Supersedes your leave status. It was designed to make them question their actions, to believe they were breaking their oath. But Grizzly knew the difference between legitimate orders and political machinations masquerading as such. He knew The Principal’s “highest levels of government” likely meant a handful of well-placed, self-serving individuals, not the true chain of command. His country and his people were more than a signature on a drilling permit.

He opened his eyes and looked across the narrow corridor. Through the reinforced observation window of the cell directly opposite his, he could see Reef. They were being monitored for sound and sight, but the camera in the corner was fixed at a high angle.

Grizzly shifted on the bench, leaning his weight forward as if resting his head against the wall. The movement was natural, but it angled his torso just enough to create a small, shielded pocket between the small of his back and the concrete. Keeping his hands low and using his own body as a screen from the camera, his fingers began to move in a sharp, rhythmic sequence of a combination of their team’s military signs and ASL.

Catch that? he signed, his fingers flashing against his own waistband.

Across the hall, Reef copied the move, shifting his weight so that his right side was shielded by his shoulder. He responded with micro-gestures, the movement so small only another operator would recognize it as communication. Yes. Missed Wyatt. And the boys.

Grizzly felt a cold, hard satisfaction settling into his chest.

He signed back sharply, fingers snapping through the air:

Missed more. Thinks we sailors.

Grizzly’s eyes darted to the flickering overhead light, casting shifting shadows across the cramped cell walls. The faint hum of the ventilation system mingled with muffled footsteps in the corridor beyond.

Doesn’t see Wyatt—AF PJ. Looks at Navy list.

A distant clang echoed, a heavy door slamming somewhere down the hall. Grizzly’s throat tightened. The stale air tasted metallic.

Not sky for PJ. Doesn’t know Mace, Logan. They share satellite feeds.

His fingers ached from signing fast, urgency pushing each movement.

Feeds he uses to jam. Ranch know where we are.

He’s arrogant, Reef signed, eyes catching the faint glow of the emergency panel above the cell door. A ghost of a smile flickered there.

Thinks house locked down. But back door wide open.