It was the clearing the Colonel could not put down. The kills, the way Jake had done it.
“These people don't take trophies,” he had said, and began dealing the photos out across the open folder one by one, slow and deliberate, certain of every card before he turned it. Recovery stills, pulled off the gun-cameras and the helmet feeds in the seconds before the units went dark.
“Augustine's own brief says so. So tell me why I've got three men in the field with their heads off their shoulders, every comm wire cut clean inside the cockpit, a locator chip dug out of a man's forearm by something that knew exactly where to dig, and the plates stripped off a downed AMP like somebody wanted to know how thick they were.” Two signatures over the same three bodies. One too savage for the Omaticaya. One too trained.
“Somebody's in there with them, Sully. And I want the voice that's in their ear.”
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