neatly tended solar arrays took up most of the space, but he found enough room to assemble his parabolic dish and set up the connection.
Two terse messages were waiting for him after he connected to the GhostNet. The first was a simple demand for updated coordinates. The second was more sinister, implying that Luna’s continued welfare depended on an immediate check-in.
He typed his carefully prepared response. Delayed by storm. Currently in Dalton. Provide final coordinates for rendezvous.
The tablet beeped almost immediately. Incoming video request.
Shit. Knox took two deep breaths and let emotion fade. The comfortable numbness he’d once embraced so easily came slowly now. It pinched in places. Emotion still surged beneath the thinnest of masks, and he briefly considered using the video software to anonymize his face. It would shroud any tells—but the choice to use it was a tell. The kidnapper already knew who he was. Trying to obscure his face would only indicate he had something to hide.
Bracing himself, he accepted the connection.
The kidnapper had no compunctions about hiding. The face that formed on his screen was a default avatar with generic features—neither masculine nor feminine, the skin a light brown, just like the short hair and perfectly symmetrical eyes. It hovered on the edge of the vast chasm between too real and not real enough, and unease crawled up Knox’s spine as he met those blank, emotionless eyes.
“Captain Knox.” The voice was shrouded too, faintly mechanical and utterly without accent or affect. “These continued delays have been most problematic. I thought you were professionals.”
“I am,” Knox replied blandly. “But few professionals do their best work under duress, and with insufficient intelligence. You left a great deal of information out of your brief.”
A long pause. The avatar flickered, and Knox wished he knew what expression it was masking. “It was unnecessary,” the kidnapper finally replied, and even the modulated voice sounded sharp. “You had the information you needed. I will accept no further delays. Once I transmit the final coordinates, I expect to see you there within thirty-six hours. Anything else would be unfortunate.”
Knox hardened his heart against a spike of panic. “I want proof of life again. Now. Let me talk to Luna.”
Another pause. “Fine,” the kidnapper replied. “Thirty seconds. And then you’ll receive the coordinates, and the clock starts. I wouldn’t be late, Captain.”
The avatar vanished. The screen stayed blank for so long that Knox wondered if he’d been disconnected. Then a bright light flashed, and the video swung down to frame Luna.
She looked exhausted. Her hair was scraped back from her face in a ponytail this time, and the light did the shadows under her eyes no favors. “Luna, are you okay?”
She swallowed a few times, like she was trying to work up the ability to speak. When she did, her voice was steady, but it held an edge of brittle defiance. “The food here sucks, but I’ll make it.”
“We’re coming, okay? Just hold on. Everything’s going to work out.”
“Knox—” Her voice cracked, proving just how tenuous her bravado was. “Tia Ivonne. If I don’t make it out of here, Rafe knows what to do.”
If Luna didn’t make it out of there, Rafe would be in no position to do anything. Then again, knowing Rafe’s devotion to family, it was likely he’d set things in motion to protect Luna’s aunt in any eventuality. “Don’t worry. You know how Rafe is. And he’s not leaving without—”
The screen went dark. A moment later, a set of coordinates appeared. Knox took a deep breath and plugged them into the GPS. It would take a solid day of driving to put them within striking distance of the rendezvous point, but if they made it most of the way by tonight, they’d have time to camp, strategize, and go in with a plan.
Knox packed away the parabolic dish and slipped back downstairs. But instead of going to his own room, he knocked quietly on Rafe’s door, then Gray’s. Within minutes, he had them all gathered in Conall’s room, perched on the bed or leaning against the wall. Three sets of eyes stared at him in respectful silence.
Knox cleared his throat. “Gray pointed out to me yesterday that the squad doesn’t exist anymore, and that I’m not your captain. He’s right. I don’t want to make these decisions for you anymore. Breaking free of the Protectorate means we get to decide when we fight. Why we fight. How we fight.”
“Who we fight,” Conall said quietly. “That’s what this is about.