videos by heart now, but there was one part I could never quite make out. Even the closed captioning failed to decipher the words. It was during the part of the mission where John got separated from the rest and ran into Brick. The cartel had popped up out of the bushes, and number six was speaking behind the camera to his leader. I could tell it was him from the tattoo of a weapon on his arm.
Suddenly, the leader stopped talking and leaned his head toward his shoulder as though he was listening to something, then he began to wave his arms around as he yelled at them.
What the hell happened then? What did he see or hear?
The heel of my shoe tapped as I swung my chair in a half moon, just needing to keep moving. My adrenaline was high, and my need to discover something gnawed at my insides and made me feel about to burst.
Then it hit me, like a bright flash of light. I grabbed my phone and called Frank.
“Well, hello there,” he started without waiting for me to speak. “You and I certainly need to have a chat.”
“Yeah, for sure, but first—”
“Care to explain what the hell happened on your trip?”
Damn you, John.
“It wasn’t John. It was Cole.” He answered my unspoken mutter.
“Frank.”
He immediately stopped talking when he heard my tone. “What is it?”
“Remember when Pix from Eagle Eye was in trouble, and there was that video of him at that bar, but no one could pull the audio mess on the witness?”
“Yes.”
“They used something to retrieve it. Do you know what that was?”
“Um, yeah.” He tapped on his keyboard. “the Army is now using it in court. I think it was turned into an,” he paused, “yup, an app. It’s called Static Retriever.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you later.” Before he could argue, I hung up and tapped on the app icon on my phone and quickly downloaded the handy little tool.
“Please work,” I pleaded out loud.
Turning the volume up and placing my phone a few inches from the speaker, I pressed play. The words popped up over the screen, and sure as anything, the moment it got to the part I needed, I read those four little missing words.
What the hell does that mean?
I grabbed my coat, called Tripper, and raced back up to the house.
“Doc,” I closed the door behind me, “I need to talk to someone on the team. Is Daniel, Dell, or Davie around?”
His brows pinched together above his glasses, no doubt once again trying to read my mind.
“Davie is in the kitchen with Savi. I haven’t seen the others yet today.”
“Thank you.” I rushed by him and across the living room. Savannah and Olivia were watching TV, and the babies were playing near them on the floor.
“Hey, girl,” she called, and I waved but didn’t stop. I could hear his voice, and as I whirled around the doorway, he looked up from his laptop.
“Hey,” he stood slowly, “everything okay?”
I heard footsteps behind me, but I didn’t take the time to look.
“Twenty-nine red fires,” I blurted, and his face dropped. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Davie,” I took a step toward him, “I’m vetted, and this is my job. What does it mean?”
“It’s one of Blackstone’s code terms,” Dell chimed in from behind me. I didn’t even turn; I just kept my eyes on Davie. “We use them, like, when we’re talking to North Rock.”
“They change them up.” Davie spoke up now, knowing it was okay to do so. “Each day is a little different. That’s a Tuesday term.”
“But it’s impossible.” Dell rubbed his head. “No one knows this stuff but us. It’s our only form of protection.” He pulled out his phone and went to make a call.
“I need a radio. I need to reach the guys, right now.”
“Um,” Davie hesitated, “Sloane, you can’t just—”
“Here.” Savi was by my side with a huge satellite radio, already pushing some buttons on the face of it.
I gave her a nod of thanks and held on to her arm while it rang.
“Black.” John’s voice burst over the air waves.
“John.” I took a moment to get my words in order.
“Sloane?” He sounded completely different. “Why are you calling me here? What’s happened?”
“John, I need you to hear me.” My heartbeat raced at the sound of the propellers. “Twenty-nine red fires.”
Silence.
“John, they know your codes!”
“Sloane,” his voice lowered, “that doesn’t surprise me. They have one of our radios, so they are