Chris didn’t pick up anything from Jonas’s headset, meaning the radios didn’t even work when a mere three feet apart. Yet his NVGs worked. If he still had night vision, then their electronics hadn’t been wiped out by an electromagnetic pulse. An EMP wasn’t selective. It took out all or nothing. So this wasn’t your average signal jammer, and it wasn’t an EMP.

Fucking great.

Phelps, who was usually the glass-half-full type, also swore. “Assholes. It’s not bad enough that we’re dealing with a freezing monsoon? They had to cut out communication too?”

Chris tucked the sat phone away. This little wrinkle meant that after they secured the hostages and identified an extraction point, they’d have to use a landline to call in the helicopter. And they’d have to find their teammates to coordinate without revealing themselves to the trainer/tangos.

The degree of difficulty had gone up exponentially.

Odds were they were going to need that preset oh-four-hundred meet point.

That’s it. Rivera wasn’t invited to the divorce party. Cohen was out too.

Any hope they’d complete the first task and start the second phase of the training in a matter of hours was shot to hell. It was going to be a long cold-ass night.

Usually, he lived for this shit. He’d be pumped, full of adrenaline, ready to take on the world, but today, he just wanted to get it over with so he could go home, confront his wife, and begin divorce proceedings.

At least for a few minutes, Pam had slipped from his mind. He ruthlessly shoved her to the dark space at the back. He needed to take this training seriously, as if it were the real deal. Anything less could put him and others at risk of injury and get him kicked off this team, which, thanks to her, was all he had left.

Audrey was going to be sick. She buried her face against Xavier’s tactical vest, trying to hold herself together. Everything was surreal. Grotesque. This couldn’t be her park. Her lodge. Her life.

She’d felt ownership of these mountains and this forest since she was a kid. The park belonged to everyone, but the eleven-year-old girl who’d just moved to Forks had desperately needed to belong somewhere, to feel something was hers. She’d adopted the park, which had, in the form of ONP Archaeologist Roy Heller, adopted her right back.

The park was a haven, her escape from classmates who’d rejected the awkward new girl, and also from her hostile mother, who’d resented the move to Forks even more than Audrey had.

But this, right now, was straight out of a horror movie, and ONP and Lake Olympus Lodge didn’t belong in this reality.