Gillian received Cassidy's text when they were driving into Logan airport, giving her a hangar number. The field office's Pilatus PC12 was right outside, some men working on it. The pilot came to meet her when they jumped out of their cars. Gillian stayed behind, talking to him while the team hurried up the steps into the plane, the men carrying two heavy cases with some of Ron's devices.

The jet wasn't the glamorous Falcon 20 Cassidy used when he needed a ride, but it wasn't too far behind. The eight executive seats were set in two lines, and the first rows faced each other with small tables between them. Across the aisle from the door, a coffee machine and a hot-cold water dispenser were set on top of a small fridge, under a square cupboard, between the back of the first seat and the toilet.

They picked their seats, but left one on the first row for Gillian.

She joined them a moment later. "Wheels up in ten," she said. "So let's use this idle time. T, we have satellite internet here, so get a direct, steady channel with the agents at the compound. Ron, Kurt, you try to increase the motion scanner range as much as you can. And we're gonna need personal trackers, just in vase. Fred, Hank, you guys take a good look at the place and give me two extraction plans."

"What about me?" asked Aldana in a shaky voice.

Gillian barely glanced at her, as she dialed Cassidy. "You ain't no good in the state you're in. So go wash your face and make some coffee until you get a grip on yourself."

Aldana glared as if Gillian had slapped her. Gillian held her eyes, eyebrows up, inviting her to argue. Aldana breathed deep and stalked to the tiny toilet next to the cockpit.

"Sir, I'm gonna need some things," Gillian said on the phone.

She instructed the Section Chief in a tone he'd never heard from her before. Dry, tight, not a useless word, not a hint of any kind of emotion. It caused him a chill. This had nothing to do with the crazy-driven woman he was used to, always passionate despite her two decades in the field. This was the voice of a hitman making battle calls. A controlled overdrive to get the best out of her experience applied to the crisis, her feelings locked under seven keys she'd just thrown away.

Her mind went over as many possible scenarios as she could think of. And there was death in all of them. So Gillian assessed how to push death to the other side of her front line and keep it there.

As he held his phone on speaker for Cooper to listen, and Helen took note of Gillian's requests, Cassidy made his own battle call. So when Gillian asked her question, he already had an answer for her.

"How much deathly force am I authorized to use?"

"As much as you deem necessary."

"You sure, sir?" Can I really kill these sons of bitches slow and bloody?

"You do what you have to, Gillian. I've got your back."

"Yessir."

Gillian disconnected, thinking she would've liked to scoff at such a cunning gambit. That bastard! She knew he meant it. She could skin all the subjects alive, and then burn down the whole place with them inside, and Cassidy would support her decision. But aware of his unconditional support, she wouldn't do anything that might mean trouble for him. Cassidy knew it. That was exactly why he'd given her such a liberal green light. Damn politician, manipulating her like that in such a situation!

"I'm on with the site, Reg," Tanya said then.

Gillian signaled the girl to give her a minute. Aldana scowled up at her, hands at each side of the coffee machine. Gillian met her reddened eyes without a hint of a smile and stopped just a step away from her. "I really need you with me on this, Al. So please get your head on the game and help me find a way to get Russ back alive."

Aldana drew in another sharp breath, clenched teeth, and nodded.

The pilot showed up to let them know they were ready to leave. As soon as they took off, Gillian told Tanya to call the site.

From outside the compound, a bruised and shaken Allen told them what had happened: when they were just about to breach the compound, three big four-by-four pickup trucks came out of nowhere down the road, each with three or four men on the back who opened heavy fire with long automatic arms against the command post. The trucks drove around the post in a tight circle as some of the men jumped off them, attacked the tent and retreated to their trucks. Before the Tacs reached back the command post, the electric gate on the compound fence opened and the trucks drove into the compound, keeping their steady fire on all the federal and state officers still standing, to keep them from following.

Only when they were away, past the closed fence on their way to the cottage, Allen and the others realized Brock and Russell were missing. Four agents had died in the attack, ten others were wounded. And now they knew that before reaching their post, the trucks had attacked the roadblocks the state police had on the road to the compound, killing all six troopers keeping both positions.

Gillian ignored the team's murmurs at hearing the news and asked Allen to call whoever was in charge of the Tac groups. The young man was back a moment later with two serious, sweaty and concerned officers, one of them federal, one of them with the state police. The three men listened to her orders in open surprise.

The FBI Tac leader raised his hand. "Excuse me, ma'am, but who put you in charge of this operation?"

Instead of replying, Gillian snorted and dialed her phone before the computer, for the man to see and hear. "Sir, can you please tell the cowboys who made me boss? 'Cause I really don't have time for this. Thanks." She disconnected and leaned in to the screen. "Keep your sat phone at hand, soldier. Agent Allen, call me when the three backup teams get there. What about the wounded? D'you need me to send you ambulances, medics, anything?"

"We could use a chopper to move them, but the only open place to land is inside the compound. Anyway, if you could check we have the ambulances on the way..."

Gillian glanced up. Aldana was already on the phone. A Tac agent trotted to bring his leader a satellite phone. "Anything else?" she asked, giving the man time to get the enlightening call.

"We're still shaken, ma'am, but I'm confident we'll be good to go when you get here."

"That's not enough, Allen. Assess your fellow agents and send home anyone who's not ready to risk their lives. You included. Call me back in ten minutes to report how many of you are retreating."

Allen stiffened, taking offense. "That's not necessary, ma'am. We're all ready and we're all staying. We just need a moment to catch our breath."

"You have thirty minutes." Gillian saw the Tac leader give the phone back to his man and approach the computer again. She anticipated him. "Restore the circle right now. You're authorized to shoot down anyone who refuses to identify themselves or shows any hostile intention. Nobody leaves the compound, except Agents Brockner and Coleman. Expect the other three teams there within an hour. They already have instructions, so help them with all they might need. You're not authorized to take any action until my team and I get there, in two hours."

"Yes, ma'am."

"We're keeping this channel open. Report any news."

Gillian turned to her team and motioned for them to come closer. She flashed a quick smile at Tanya. "Get eyes on that damn compound, T. I trust you way more than any of those cowboys."

Then she turned to the others to study the area on their tablets and listen to their ideas. They were all aware that rescuing Russell was their top priority, because his mixed blood would make him the main focus of those violent bigots. So they invested the flight time discussing every alternative they could think of to get to Russell before it was too late.

During the pause imposed by the landing, Gillian allowed herself a silent moment of fear.

There were thoughts she couldn't share with them, and those thoughts threatened to paralyze and choke her. Brock would know too that Russell was in more danger than him as their prisoners, so he would try to keep them from hurting Russell too bad. He'd probably tell them Russell was his superior, to make him more valuable alive as a leverage. And if it wasn't enough, he'd try to fight them. Or escape. Anything radical to get their attention and force them to let Russell alone. Gillian sighed. The stupid caring man would most likely try both things.

So she could only hope they would just knock him out for a while. If he tried anything before she had a chance to set her plan in motion, if he succeeded to escape, they would chase him down. And there was no way he'd make it through, lost at night in the cold woods, unarmed and surely beaten.

They'd shoot him down like a dog.

She wished she could get there sooner. Anything could happen in two hours. Anything, but nothing good.