The burner phone on the shack’s windowsill buzzed.

  Sawyer grabbed it before the second buzz. Cormac was still towel drying his hair from the cold shower and perked up from the corner of the shack.

  “Talk,” Sawyer said.

  Bradford’s voice came, thick with tension. “I called in a favor. High orbit drone, a heat signature pass using real time footage. You’re nowhere near a werewolf den, that’s the good news.”

  Sawyer blinked. “Good to know.”

  “But you are in deep trouble,” Bradford growled. “Listen closely. You’re in new terrain. Nobody has a perfect map of Panama’s dark zones. But from what I just saw? That road you’re on? You have a GCP troop transport heading straight for it. They’re sweeping the area, door to door.”

  Sawyer looked to Cormac. “Bradford says we’ve got company.”

  Cormac tossed the towel and slipped into some pants.

  Bradford continued. “They’re doing a rolling patrol grid, coming from the southeast. They’re about eight clicks out. They’re looking for you.”

  “How do they know?”

  “They know you killed General Isandro and they’re reacting. They got intel, somehow. My bet is they don’t have a lock on your exact position or you’d be dead. But if they find that hideout?”

  Cormac clipped his vest shut. “So we ghost the place?”

  “Ghost it for now,” Bradford confirmed. “They have a combat outpost nearby. It’s connected to their forward operating base in Panama City. But they have COPs scattered from Colón all the way to the Gap.”

  Sawyer looked out the side window. The hood of their police car glinted under the moonlight. They hid the vehicle under the cover of broad leaves, making it invisible to passing helicopters, but if ground troopers arrived on foot then it would be an obvious sign.

  “What happens if we hit their closest combat outpost?” Cormac asked aloud.

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  Bradford’s voice dipped darker. “You can hit a COP but you can’t be seen doing it. That means no signatures and no evidence. Make it look like someone else if you can. CIA, Cartel, a ghost op. Let them keep guess. That will give you the breathing room to continue operating in the region. If you destroy their outpost, it will clear up the regional heat for a while.”

  “And if we’re caught?” Sawyer asked.

  “If your names start making it onto Panamanian reports,” Bradford said, “then it’s going to be difficult to protect you.”

  An image flashed onto Sawyer’s cellphone. “I’m sharing something with you,” Bradford said. A blurry image of a jungle combat outpost flickered to life on the screen. It was an aerial view of sandbags, jungle camouflage netting, and a generator beside a battered Quonset hut.

  Bradford’s voice returned. “This is your nearest COP. I’ve spotted four men via satellite. Could be more. There’s one truck and a radio tower. If you torch the place clean then the rest of the net should go slack for a while.”

  Cormac rubbed the back of his neck. “Would be easier with my ranger platoon. It’s just us, Colonel.”

  “No,” Bradford said. “You’re something else now. Get creative.”

  Sawyer narrowed his eyes. “Why are you still helping us? If we’re stepping in the kind of trouble to kick up heat in Washington, then why risk it?”

  “Because I know what these monsters are doing to my country. I took a vow that I would never stop hunting them. Good luck, Kestrels.”

  He hung up.

  Sawyer lowered the phone.

  Cormac finished zipping up his tactical pack. “So…we drive?”

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said. He snapped the burner in half and tossed it into the trash.

  They moved with no wasted motion. They swept through their shack and collected their gear. Sawyer slid his .45 into his sheath. Cormac packed a flashlight. They each grabbed suppressors. They left no trace, no dishes, no documents, and no loose rounds.

  Before they left, Sawyer paused in the doorway. He looked back into the shack. It wasn’t home, but it had been safe for a while. He hoped to return.

  They removed the leafy covering from the police car. Sawyer slid into the driver’s seat. The rain stopped, but the air was still thick and wet.

  The engine growled and they rolled without headlights.

  “How do you see in this?” Cormac asked, straining to look through the fog.

  “Better than you,” Sawyer said.

  Cormac leaned back and placed an unlit cigarette between his lips. “What if we see more of those Reapers? Machine freaks.”

  “Pray we don't," Sawyer said.

  “What’s our play, then?”

  “Burn the COP to the ground.”