The space heated up until it felt like an oven, and she finally caved in and turned back the corner of the cloth to let in a little fresh air. It was still oven-hot. But at least she was free and enduring this heat on her own terms, not tied to some damned chair, waiting passively like a lamb for the slaughter.

Where are you, Griffin? Are you looking for me?

She had to believe he was searching for her by now. If she heard any aircraft pass over, she had the mirror shard to signal it. Until then, she dared not leave any trail signs for Griffin in case her captors were hunting her.

Surely, they would. If they’d gone to all the trouble of kidnapping her, they must have some definite reason for doing so.

Yet again, she wondered who her kidnappers were and what their beef with her was. But it was a mystery.

Her last thought as she drifted to sleep was I’m coming, Griffin. I’ll run all the way to you if I have to.

* * *

“Phone call just came in to the Training Center main switchboard!” a communications tech called out over the general noise. The ops center went silent instantly.

“Who is it?” Duquesne barked.

“Recorded message. Electronically altered voice.”

“Play it on speaker,” the admiral ordered.

Griffin listened tensely to the deep, inhuman drone of an electronically generated voice saying, “We have Tate. We want Griffin Caldwell. We’ll make a trade.”

Every stare in the room snapped to him, and he stared back. What the hell did these jokers want with him?

The voice was still speaking. “…one hour, you will call the following phone number and receive further instructions.” A phone number was recited.

The call ended and a dial tone replaced the odd metallic voice.

Duquesne demanded, “Caldwell, who the hell was that, what the hell do they want with you, and how in the hell did they know you’re here?”

Cal moved to stand beside him in front of the admiral as Griffin answered, “I have no idea who that was or what’s going on.”

“Enemies?” Duquesne asked.

Griffin frowned. “I’ve been an operator a long time. I can’t even begin to list the people I’ve pissed off.”

“Anyone recently?” Duquesne bit out.

Cal interrupted. “Your office, sir?”

Duquesne nodded and headed for an office attached to the communications center. Its owner wasn’t present, and Duquesne appropriated the desk, sitting down in its chair. Griffin closed the door behind Cal as Duquesne asked, “What’s up?”

Cal said grimly, “Are you positive that this isn’t some sort of response by rogue SEALs to the presence of a woman at BUD/S, sir?”