Page 108 of Silent Target

“I can open this.”

“Quietly?” Rook asks.

Cobra looks offended. “Occasionally.”

He removes two tools from his pack and releases the corroded locking mechanism without an explosion.

I’m almost disappointed.

Shark climbs through first and signals that the maintenance room is clear.

One by one, we enter.

The room smells like machine oil, damp concrete, and something older—the dust of a place built decades ago and intended to remain secret forever.

Fathom connects his tablet to a wall panel.

A three-dimensional map begins taking shape on the screen.

Corridors.

Elevators.

Storage rooms.

Emergency exits.

The bunker extends far deeper than the surface building suggests.

Fathom’s eyes widen.

“I’m reading more than a hundred heat signatures.”

Falcon checks his rifle. “That’s a lot of guards.”

“Wait.” Fathom enlarges the image. “Some aren’t moving.”

“Sleeping?” Cobra asks.

“Too hot and too uniform.”

Caleb leans over the screen. “Decoys.”

Fathom nods. “Heat panels behind the walls. They’re making the bunker look more heavily occupied than it is.”

“How many actual people?” Rook asks.

“Approximately forty. Maybe fifty.”

Mac looks grim. “Inner Guard.”

The name chills me.

“Who are they?”

“Operators recruited from intelligence and special operations. They protect the First Circle’s leadership.”

Caleb studies the map. “Forty trained guards are more dangerous than a hundred mercenaries.”