Chapter 5

FIVE

The hangar stretched out like a steel cathedral, cold and industrial. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their sharp glare bouncing off the polished concrete ground. The cavernous space amplified every sound—the distant clang of tools against metal, the low hum of maintenance carts moving along the edges, and the faint echo of voices calling out instructions. The air was heavy with the scent of jet fuel and the faint metallic tang of grease. Hatch’s boots barely made a sound as she moved across the vast space, her eyes taking in every detail.

At the far end, a Gulfstream G550 sat, sleek and deadly. Its pristine silver body gleamed under the artificial lights, every angle designed for efficiency and dominance. The cockpit windows glinted like the eyes of a predator, and the faint vibration from its engines hinted at the raw power waiting beneath its sleek exterior. Hatch could smell the familiar blend of jet fuel, engine oil, and rubber from the stacked Goodyear tires nearby. It was the smell of readiness, precision.

Tracy’s voice cut through the quiet. “Ready for this?”

Hatch slowed her walk and flicked her gaze over to him. He stood next to a heavy-duty Pelican case, an encrypted digital tablet in hand, his casual posture betrayed by the tension in his shoulders. There was always tension with Tracy, and the fact that she still didn’t know the full scope of the mission didn’t help.

It wasn’t like him to hold back details this late in the game. She wondered if it was strategic or if he was just unsure about what they were walking into. Either way, it grated on her nerves to be in the dark.

“Hard to be ready when I’m flying blind,” she shot back, her voice dry.

Tracy handed over a file, the paper inside crisp and freshly printed. “You’re on asset protection. Senator Masterson, New Hampshire. He’s up for re-election and is concerned about his safety after a leaked campaign donation from Crystal Springs.”

“Heard of them.” Hatch flipped through the file. “Most of it not good. The media’s been hammering them. Claims of small-town buyouts for profit.”

She’d read enough to know how companies like Crystal Springs operated—faceless money machines swallowing communities whole while politicians lined their pockets with the aftermath. Masterson might well be just another cog in their assembly line of greed.

“Apparently they’re putting some of those profits into backing political candidates.” Tracy crossed his arms. “One happens to be Masterson. It’s caused him a bit of trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He’s been getting death threats. The list of potential suspects is endless. Environmental groups are after him, pissed-off locals, and so on. Nothing specific, but Masterson’s security isn’t taking any chances.”

“Sounds like he’s in bed with the wrong people.” Hatch continued scrolling the page. “Why am I involved if he’s already got a security team?”

“We’re providing an additional asset to ease the senator’s worry. And that happens to be you.” Tracy passed her a dossier. “Your point of contact is Ethan Reeves. Head of security, ex-military. Solid record. You’ll be in good hands.”

Of course, it wasn’t just about security. It never was. If Thorne was involved, there were layers she wasn’t seeing yet—layers that would probably surface when it was too late to do anything about them.

Hatch lifted her gaze to meet Tracy’s. “Seems like overkill.”

“Masterson’s a close friend of Thorne’s. The General offered up Talon’s services as a personal favor.”

Hatch snorted, a sharp laugh escaping her. “So now the general’s pimping us out for personal favors? Funny, considering he chewed my ass out for doing the same for you.”

“I get it. But this is an opportunity to clear things with Thorne. Get back in his good graces.” Tracy rubbed the back of his neck.

Hatch knew better than to trust easy missions or empty promises of reconciliation. People like Thorne didn’t forget or forgive—they calculated. This felt less like redemption and more like being maneuvered into position for the next move on the chessboard.

“Easy op. You go in, keep an eye on the senator, and get out. No complications.”

“Things can get complicated all by themselves,” Hatch muttered. “And if that happens, is the general going to have my back or hang me out to dry?”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

“What’s the timeline on this babysitting assignment?”

“Just a day. Two at most,” Tracy said. “Masterson has a town hall meeting tomorrow. Once that’s done, he’s back on the campaign trail, and you’re back at base.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“Play nice, and maybe we’ll get off Thorne’s shit list.”

Hatch turned and headed toward the Gulfstream, the morning sun catching the polished metal as she climbed the narrow staircase.

This wasn’t the kind of assignment she’d signed up for when she joined Talon, but maybe that was the point. You don’t get to pick and choose in this world—you take the orders, do the job, and hope you can live with yourself afterward.

Inside, the cabin was everything she expected—dark leather seats, polished wood accents, and enough tech embedded in the walls to run a small-scale operation from the air. The air smelled faintly of leather and disinfectant, a sterile kind of luxury. The ambient hum of the aircraft’s systems provided a low, constant background noise, and the recessed lighting cast soft pools of light across the cabin’s gleaming surfaces. Everything about it screamed wealth and efficiency—tools of power wrapped in comfort.

Dropping into one of the plush seats, Hatch opened the file again. Senator Masterson’s grinning face stared back at her, his eyes filled with the kind of arrogance that only came from years of politics and corporate handshakes.

The Gulfstream’s engines roared to life as they taxied out of the hangar. The aircraft glided forward, its tires rumbling softly over the hangar’s concrete floor. Outside the window, the landscape blurred into motion—metal scaffolding, fuel trucks, and distant runways disappearing as they approached the open sky.