Disavowed

Chapter One





Present day



It was never a good sign when his work cell rang in the middle of an op. Barely anyone had this number and those who did knew he was on a job, so the sight of the number on the call display had Matt’s heart rate kicking up as he answered.

“We’ve got a problem,” Assistant Director Harrison of the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division said without preamble.

Matt’s entire body tensed at his tone. “What kind of problem?”

“Someone infiltrated the target area before you arrived on scene.”

What the hell? Matt went dead still. He didn’t ask if Harrison was sure. He wouldn’t have called if the intel hadn’t been verified. “When was this?” And how was it possible that no one had noticed before now?

“Still trying to figure out exactly when the infiltration occurred, but likely an hour or so ago. We’re watching the recorded satellite feed now, trying to locate and track whoever it was. But someone’s been there and is likely still in the area.”

Matt’s jaw tensed. Dammit. “Civilian?” How incredibly ironic would that be, to have some random person stumble upon this remote site just as a critical and exhaustively planned op was going down?

“We don’t think so. Analysts are working on this as fast as possible. You’ll be updated when we have more.”

Shitload of good that did him now, when the team was minutes from their target. “Yessir.” How the hell had this breach been missed in the first place when they’d had eyes in the sky watching the target for the past two days? Someone was gonna be in deep shit for this lapse. “Excuse me a second, sir.”

“Sure.”

Lowering his cell, Matt cursed and tapped his earpiece. “Tuck, hold up,” he told his team leader, poised at the head of the seven-man HRT assault team halfway up the slope leading to the isolated cabin. The one no one else should have been anywhere near.

On the laptop screen in front of him he watched the team halt as Tuck spoke in a whisper. The snow helped deaden sound, but none of his guys could risk speaking at normal volume in their position. “Roger, maintaining position. What’s up?”

“Op’s been compromised. Stand by and maintain your secure perimeter,” he responded, anger building in his gut. Somebody was going to lose his or her job over this lapse. Hell, the entire Critical Incident Response Group taskforce had flown to Denver four days ago in preparation for this op, after months of investigative work and specific training for it. They’d had to wait for a break between storms and act during a tight weather window to execute it, all the while praying the target would stay put long enough for them to move in.

No op ever went completely according to plan. But this wrinkle was a concern until they figured out who had been skulking around because they could be an additional threat to his guys. Matt shook his head.

They’d come up here to the mountains this morning and spent the past five hours getting everything and everyone into position for the op so the team could move under cover of darkness. A shitload of taxpayer money was funding this—the entire investigation—and he was not happy to learn that someone else might have received classified intel and beaten them to the target as well.

An incredibly high value target the HRT had been tasked with capturing. Hassan Ramadi, an Egyptian-born chemical engineer, responsible for training militant operatives in chemical weapons use and planning attacks here on American soil.

Matt didn’t like the unknowns here. There was no way any of this intel had been leaked to the outside world, so it had to be someone with training.

His gut said someone else was after Ramadi. There was no other plausible explanation, not in these conditions.

He put his phone back to his ear. “My team’s waiting in position.” He listened to what Harrison was saying about the person who’d infiltrated the perimeter earlier. He could just imagine what his guys were thinking right now, huddled down in the snow in the darkness, freezing their balls off because of the biting wind chill, despite their cold weather gear. Until a few years ago, he’d have participated in the op as a sniper.

Now that he was overseeing everything he wasn’t sending his guys anywhere near that cabin unless he knew it wasn’t a trap. Because it was beginning to smell like one to him.

“…no other security breaches, from what we can tell,” Harrison was saying.

An icy gust of wind roared down the mountainside, biting through Matt’s Gore-Tex jacket. He angled his body, putting his back to the worst of the wind. “Understood. What does the video show?”

“A single individual, approaching the cabin location on foot. From the way he used the trees as a screen to avoid satellite detection we think he has training and so far we can’t get a good image of him. I’ve already called around and nobody else within the intelligence community authorized anyone to be here except us.”