Desmond stopped at the fire. He won’t go into it, Conner thought. He was sure of that. Avery gripped Desmond’s shoulder, but he threw her off, and to Conner’s shock and horror, he ran directly into the fire.

Conner stood and exited the office.

“Sir?”

He couldn’t watch. “I’ll be back. Don’t leave,” he said.

Conner made his way outside, wondering if he had made the right choice.

Ten minutes later, he returned to his office, where the agent was still watching the feeds.

Three figures stood outside the building: Peyton, William, and Desmond. So. He had made it out. And Peyton was with them. That further complicated things.

“What do you want to do, sir?”

“Let’s make a new plan. One with no chance of failure.”

Chapter 93

Chapter 93

Standing in the falling snow, Desmond, Peyton, and William watched the building burn. They were too tired and too injured to walk.

Desmond activated his mic. “Avery, do you copy?”

No response.

Peyton eyed him.

“Avery—”

The roar of an engine pierced the silence. The vehicle was moving toward them at high speed. Desmond couldn’t make it out, but a cloud of dust rose from the road.

Headlights came into view, their yellow light fuzzy through the sheets of snow that blew in the wind. They crossed the threshold of the complex, past the iron gate, and into the courtyard, tires throwing gravel as they went, barreling directly for them.

The vehicle swung around and slid to a stop.

The driver door opened.

Avery stood and peered across the roof of the black Volga GAZ-21. The engine rattled like an ancient radiator on its last legs.

“Figured it wasn’t the best night for a walk.”

Desmond smiled as the three shivering passengers got in and the old Soviet-era sedan pulled away from the burning building.

They decided to take off immediately. If the explosions had been set off deliberately—instead of by an automated trigger—an incursion team might be inbound. They flew north initially, then banked east, then south, hoping to confuse anyone trying to track them across multiple satellites.

When they were at cruising altitude, William activated the autopilot and limped back to the passenger compartment. Peyton desperately wanted to examine his leg wound, but he waved her off. She had just now recovered from her time in the smoke-filled building. She was still getting sicker, and the physical exertion of the last hour hadn’t helped her situation. Her body ached all over.

To Avery, William said, “We need to figure out where we’re going. You have the folder?”

Avery handed it to him, and William threw open the manila cover and began rifling through the pages.

“I thought there was more here,” he mumbled.

“What is it?” Peyton asked.

“Requisitions. Shipping manifests. Medical supplies. Water. Food. Tents. Antibiotics. Rehydration salts.”