Zack’s plan was simple, as the best-laid ones often are—an assault from the woods in the northwest quadrant of the neighborhood, on the other side of the main drive from where he’d violently announced his presence in the earlier phase of the siege. He just hoped that he’d be able to kill Griffin and Barrett first, before the remaining contractors and hired henchmen counterattacked and overwhelmed him. The wildcard was his neighbors, the hostages. He prayed that once the shooting started—and it would start; it was a guarantee—they would run the right way. He’d been briefed on too many hostage situations that always ended with civilian casualties, either from bullets from the hostage-takers or stray rounds from law enforcement. It was the ugly nature of the business of hostage rescue.

Zack had once trained for two weeks with the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, executing in extremis hostage rescue missions under the most intense conditions—pitch-black darkness, blaring music that would make a heavy metal band proud, smoke, lasers, and even government-grade tear gas. The one thing that had stuck with Zack was that no matter how good they were or how precise their shots were, innocent civilians died nearly every time. Well, you better have a perfect run, then, because no one else should have to die because of Griffin Huntsmen. He’d stopped the madman from causing collateral damage before, and he knew that with a little luck, he could do it again.

As he drew near, lights from the hub in the middle of Founder’s Circle began to flicker in the dark, solidifying in the widening gaps through the trees. His internal clock notified him that he had less than two minutes before Brandon Harper offered himself up as a sacrificial lamb to provide time for Zack to escape with the coveted computer. Zack just wasn’t good with that plan, even though he’d remained resentful toward Harper for what he’d done, for it had been Harper who’d conveyed the agency’s position to him regarding Malta.

Everything that Griffin had enthusiastically thrown in his face on the USS Carney had come to pass exactly as he’d predicted, and there was nothing Brandon Harper could do to prevent it. Zack knew Harper had likely tried to advocate on his behalf, but it hadn’t been enough to keep Zack from resigning and walking through the door past the Memorial Wall and great CIA seal on the floor. The fact that Director Hartnett had retired and was on the speaking circuit, as well as appearing on cable news as a political and national security pundit, provided no solace to Zack. The damage had been done. But you can fix it, at least partially, right now.