Page 98 of Dangerous Mission

When I get to Aria’s lines, my senses rev up. Folding the line back, I inspect the edge of the place where it leaked air. The opening is smooth. Not a puncture. Not a tear.

Bastard.

I don’t know who, but someone must have cut this.

After taking a few photos with my phone, I zoom in on them. How did I miss this when we were getting ready to dive?

Irritation makes my fingers tense as I dial Justice. He answers a beat later, sounding out of breath. “Are you running?”

“Yes. There’s been a diving accident?—”

Static fills the line.

“J, can you hear me?”

A garbled reply comes through. Goddamn these fucking phone carriers in Vandemora. I jog to the front of the truck and grab the satellite phone from the case of gear.

When I call Marshall's satellite phone it goes to voicemail. I shoot off a text to him.We’re on our way back to the cave. J said there was an accident.

A text comes back immediately.Affirmative.

Me:Who?

Marshall:I’m not there, I got a call from J, but it dropped.

Fuck.

A diving accident. Would Griff go into the cave? That mother fucker. He better not. No one else should have been in that cave. It’s our S&R mission.

One last attempt to get information results in more frustration. Agent Torres’s cell phone doesn’t even ring.

I head for the cabina to get Aria at a sprint, but something catches my eye, and I slow to look across the field. One of the Russian’s SUV’s is thundering over one of the farm roads.

The one they call Gregor stops behind my truck and rolls down his window. “The cell tower on the ridge just got hit by lightning. Vik just got the information.”

Vik, their team’s leader, always has truckloads of information.

I give him a thumbs up and take off toward the house. He shouts, “Did you hear about the diving accident?”

“Yeah, do you know who was involved?”

“An American, they think he’s dead.”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

When I sling open the door to the cabina, Aria jumps to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Get dressed. We need to go to the cave.”

Color draining from her cheeks, she drops the blanket and runs to the bedroom.

Like some neurotic asshole, I clean up the mug, throw away the tea bag, and put away the honey.Fuck. What if it’s Griffon?

He wouldn’t have.

Would he?

The man’s been sick. Surely he wouldn’t have done something so reckless. It has to be Keith. It has to be. That fucker. It wouldn’t surprise me, given that he went diving alone. But still…