NOVA
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30/05/2002 - 1pm
Phoenix, Arizona
Redhawk Base
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Nothing's changed.

I still don't like him.

Still a prick.

North is talking as he leads me toward my new cabin, his voice rumbling like gravel under boot soles, but I can't focus. My brain is still back there in that office, trying to scrub the image of Leo Hendrix's smug goddamn face from my retinas. I'd rather gargle broken glass than communicate with that self-righteous asshole again.

"Did you get all that, Shields?" North asks.

My head jerks slightly. "Hm? Yes, sir."

Lie. Flat-out.

He cuts me a sideways glance, unimpressed. "No you didn't. You were too busy relivin' your little reunion with the shithead. Christ, your generation's worse than mine was. You might hate each other, Shields, but you goddamn work together now. You two have skill sets that fit like a lock and key. Don't fuck it up."

Well shit. I've been told. 

His calloused hand grips the doorknob to a plain-looking terraced cabin, exactly like the ones in my old base, and shoves it open. Dim light filters in through the single dusty window. One bed. One nightstand. A bathroom off to the side. Spartan, but that's not unusual. Comfort doesn't mean shit around here.

"This was Richards' old space," North mutters. "Try not to burn it down. Or cry over his ghost. Either way, six o'clock sharp, main office. You're expected."

He doesn't wait for a reply. The door clicks shut behind him.

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It doesn't take long to unpack. Lisa had already sorted everything before I left Falcon base. All my gear's in place, neatly folded or snapped into designated pouches, and my rifle is already mounted where it belongs. The only personal item is a small framed photo I set down on the nightstand.

Yosemite. The four of us.

I'm six, beaming from my mom's shoulders. Frank, my dad, stands beside her with an arm looped around her waist, dragging my half-brother Nicholas into frame with his free hand.

He didn't get all of him in. Only half his scowling face and a sliver of his shoulder. Even then, it's like he didn't belong.

That photo is the last time I remember everything being okay.

Mom disappeared the next year. No ransom, no trace, no body. 

Dad searched for her like a madman for three years before he finally folded into himself. Nicholas left just before she vanished. Fifteen years old and already halfway to becoming a criminal. I haven't seen him since. 

Good fucking riddance.

After Mom was gone, Dad trained me like I was a soldier, not a kid. Not because he wanted to, but because I think he was scared. Scared that if he didn't teach me how to shoot, fight, and survive, he'd lose me too.

That training got me into CST at eighteen. I wasn't planning on Fleetwood. I thought maybe I'd land somewhere inside Langley with a desk and a badge. But then this scary-looking bastard came to talk to me in the final month of training, said I had "a particular skillset."

One week later, I was off to Camp Peary. The Farm. The real shit. Seven years later, here I am.

Dad remarried for the 3rd time when I was 17. An Australian woman called Debbie. Despite my relief to see he's moved on from them hard years; I don't think he's ever truly going to be able to let go of my mom without having closure.

He doesn't know what I do. He thinks I work for a division of the FBI. I let him think that. He's been through enough.

—

5:45 p.m. sharp, I step out of my cabin, slamming the door shut behind me like I mean it. 

The air in Phoenix is dry enough to choke on, and I swear every set of eyes on base lingers just a little longer than I like. But I hold my head high, S&W in my belt, boots hitting the dirt. Confidence is the only armour I've got that doesn't weigh a goddamn pound.

A set of footsteps falls into step beside me. I glance sideways and clock a guy with sun-bleached blonde hair and a smile too easy for this line of work.

"Nova Shields, right?"

I nod, cautious. "That's me."

He extends a hand. "Jed Nolan. Welcome to Redhawk. Heard you're the one replacing Richards. Big shoes to fill."

"Yeah, well, North'll have my head mounted if I disappoint," I say, shaking his hand. Firm grip. Kind eyes. Doesn't seem like an asshole, thank Christ. Not yet, anyway.

"Where you headed?" He tilts his head. 

"Mission briefing."

"Same. You probably don't know your way around yet. Come on, I'll show you."

I give him a nod of thanks and fall into pace beside him. The base is a sprawl of dust. Feels like a place you come to disappear.

When we reach the main office, North's gravelly voice greets me before I even get through the door. "There you are, Shields. Took you long enough."

The room's already full. Eight officers sit around a table, two empty chairs waiting like they've got our names on them. I offer a polite nod. It falters the second my eyes lock on Leo Hendrix.

That smug, punch-me-right-in-the-mouth grin is smeared across his face like always.

"Right on time, partner," he drawls.

North gestures for me and Jed to sit. I get the honour of sitting opposite Leo. Of course. Absolutely classic. 

North tosses ten files across the table like playing cards. "Before we start, this here's Officer Nova Shields. She's your new co-captain. Filling Richards' shoes for a reason."

Most of the squad offers nods or polite smiles. Leo doesn't even blink, just smirks.

"Shields, that's Tara Mulvey, our sniper. Banksy, don't ask his real name, explosives and recon. Jed, you already met. . . you'll learn the rest." North continues. "We're counting on you to fill the gap Richards left. Don't fuck it up."

"No pressure," I mutter, pulling my chair further beneath the table.

"Chance would be a fine thing," Leo mutters, just loud enough.

I shoot him a glare, but North bulldozes ahead.

"Our target is Paolo Ramirez. Cousin of Taro Vasquelez. Since Taro ate a bullet from Carlos two months ago, this prick's been recruiting local kids in Medellín, using them to mule and then offing 'em when they screw up. Cocaine by the ton, smuggled through container walls, into Mexico, then the States."

He pins up a satellite photo. "Here. Warehouse outside Comuna 13. Looks abandoned. It ain't. Intel says this is where Ramirez is holed up. Our job is to breach, extract or kill Ramirez, and torch the operation to the ground. If we can capture him, great. That's the ideal scenario. If not-" he shrugs. "Well. No one's crying over a corpse."

He lays out the timeline. "June 6th, 10 p.m. You got a week. Plan it yourselves, like grown-ups. But if anyone screws this up, I will rain hell. Now get to work and have fun, you fuckers." He spins out of the door and slams it shut. 

Silence follows. It stretches just long enough for me to decide I'm not letting Leo run the show, so I rise from my seat. "I've got a plan. You all good to hear it out?"

Everyone nods. Everyone except Leo, who leans back like he's watching a goddamn play.

"Of course you do," he says. "Barely through the door and already swinging your big dick around."

I almost laugh. Almost. "You got a better idea, Hendrix?"

He doesn't answer. 

I grab the marker and circle a position near the edge of the forest. "Ramirez is here. Standard warehouse layout, probably multiple exits. If he gets wind of us, he'll bolt. Tara-" I look across to the sniper, who is adjusting her long black cornrow braids. "You take this rooftop. It gives you sight-lines on every side except the back. If he runs front or side, you drop him."

Tara nods, cool and confident. "Can do. Half-mile shot, easy."

"If he heads out back," I continue, tapping the forest edge, "we'll need cover out there. Uh - Banksy, you good for that?"

He gives a thumbs up with an easy grin. "Trees are my specialty."

I dish out the remainder of my plan, learning identities as I go. "We breach through windows and flank entry points. Quiet at first, then fast. Detonate the place once Ramirez is secured."

Leo lets out a sharp laugh. "Flawed."

Could've seen this coming. "How?"

He strolls up beside me, snatches the marker from my hand. "He's got to know the forest better than we do. If he runs west, you'll lose him in the dark. And you're assuming he won't already have a vehicle stashed."

"Then we'll post someone along the tree line too," I say, grabbing the marker back and claiming my space. "It's not damn rocket science."

"You think a few trees and one guy are enough to stop a fucking mob boss with armed backup, Shields?" He curves his body over. He's trying to intimidate me. 

Tough shit. He can't. "Got a better plan, Hendrix? Or just more bitching to do?"

Jed clears his throat. "Leo, come on. The idea's solid. We'll double coverage in the forest. It's adaptable."

Leo shoots him a glare, then finally mutters, "Fine. We'll do it your way. But if you fuck this up in any way, I'll hand you your fucking ass, Shields."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I shoot back.

The rest of the team murmurs agreement. Tara already starts checking maps. Banksy's jotting down supply needs.

I glance back at Leo. His jaw's tight, arms crossed, but he's quiet.

Good. Let him stew. Let him realise I'm still not one to back the fuck down against him.