There’d been Dutch ovens in various sizes stacked along one wall. If George was successful in drilling a hole in the lid of one and filled it with black powder—which Jeb had in abundance given all the empty bottles they’d spotted on the counter—it would make a sizeable bomb.

He shared this theory with Audrey. “So you agree with me that George is our bomb maker?”

He nodded. “I believed you before. The blast just confirmed it.”

“Why don’t you think it was the Russians?”

“They’re all about stealth and silence. Most of their guns have suppressors. That blast was a beacon. Meant for the SEALs.”

She smiled. “Let’s go find George.”

He dialed in his focus, becoming the operator he’d once been. Gone were thoughts of pending fatherhood. There was no room for that now. Not when they were in the forest and he had a team in danger and, finally, a path to victory.

He discarded his planned argument that he should be the one to meet George because the meet point she’d described was too close to the mercenary stronghold. Audrey knew George. And his SEAL team needed the Native American soldier’s intel and weapons.

Chris stopped in his tracks as a massive blast shook the ground under his feet. When the world stopped quaking, he and his Fire Team picked up their pace to return to camp. He guessed the explosion was good news to offset their disappointing find in the forest. They’d found the signal-blocker van, and it had been destroyed, probably yesterday.

Something else in the forest was blocking all signals, and the device—or devices, he now suspected—could be anywhere.

Given that disquieting find, the explosion could be the boon they needed. The SEAL on lookout duty might be able to tell them where the blast had occurred.

Chris had a strong suspicion that the ghost in the mist had left a little something in the boat for the mercs. If so, then they had a friend. A very good friend. With firepower.

But how would they find this friend? Whoever the person was, they moved through the forest with ease, managing to avoid both a platoon of SEALs and, he figured, about a dozen mercenaries.

Undoubtedly, he or she was one of the inholding landowners, but who? Which cabin held the arsenal? He would very much like to visit that place. All they had right now were Molotov cocktails, and in this wet forest, those would be ineffective as assault weapons.

His team reached their hidden HQ. Three men guarded the perimeter while another climbed the tree to relieve the seaman who, hopefully, had witnessed the blast.

The lookout descended, a wide grin on his face. “The blast took out the boat and dock. It even took out a few trees close to the shore.”

Chris nodded. “Must’ve been set by the ghost I caught a glimpse of.”