“Be realistic, Elliott.”

“I am. Realistically, who do you think did this? There’s one terror network in the region: al-Shabaab. They hate America. We’ve got extremely high-value targets in the area. It’s them. They’ve got her.”

“Her?”

“Our people.”

The director exhaled. “Our people could be at any number of camps.”

“I agree. We hit them all at the same time. It’s the only way.”

“Jesus, Elliott. You want to start a ground war in southern Somalia?”

“I want to raid known terrorist camps in search of American hostages. Since when did this become a tough sell?”

A pause, then the director said, “Hang on a second.” Elliott heard mouse clicks. “All right, there’s a White House conference call in fifteen minutes—”

“I want to be on the call—”

“No, Elliott. It’s invite-only. The president and national security advisor are going to be there. Please don’t make any more calls. I know you’re worried. I am too. I’ll call you as soon as the conference ends, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Elliott slammed the phone down and sat, listening to his breathing for a long moment. A text popped up on his cell phone, which lay on his desk:

From: Rose

Message: Thinking of switching from Miller Union to Kyma. Okay with you?

Elliott tapped the phone and dialed his wife.

“We’re going to have to cancel dinner.”

Rose instantly read the tone of his voice. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Peyton.”

“Oh my God.”

Elliott avoided giving his wife all the details; he merely told her that Peyton and her team were out of contact, and they were trying to determine if it was a technical problem or something else. White lies had become a routine part of his job, especially during his time in the field, but they had been less common since his promotion and years at CDC HQ. He far preferred being honest with Rose, but now wasn’t the time for it.

Ten minutes later, an email appeared in Elliott’s inbox. The NRO had made the sat footage available.

Elliott clicked the link and watched as black-suited soldiers attacked the camp at dusk. The footage ended with soldiers hauling two women out of the back of an overturned SUV. They placed black bags over their heads and dragged them to a clearing, where a helicopter landed and took them away.

Elliott grabbed his office phone and dialed the NRO analyst, defying the CDC director’s order. “Where’d the helicopter go?”

“We don’t know. The area’s huge; we don’t have coverage over the whole thing.”

“Does the helicopter show up again—on another sat?”

“We don’t know—”

“What the hell do you mean, you don’t know?”

“It’s an unmarked Sikorsky. We can’t be sure it’s the same helicopter.”

“Do you have satellites over the al-Shabaab terror camps?”

The analyst hesitated.

“Do you?”

“That’s… classified, sir.”