The next few days at Valor were designated to prepping for the arrival of campers and candidates, most of whom would be sprung from juvenile facilities across the U.S.
In many ways, the preparation for their arrival looked like it would for a traditional summer camp—dragging out canoes, sweeping acorns and mouse droppings from musty cabins, mowing grass around the baseball diamond. Then there were other activities, ones more specific to Valor—fueling the military vehicles and motorcycles on base, inspecting the weaponry (RPGs, M4s, and flamethrowers, pistols, carbines), testing the drones, and so on.
To Cody, the division of labor between these two types of tasks seemed a little unfair, as he and Mum, along with Fabian Grant (Mackenzie’s brother, who helped in the kitchen), took care of the more mundane tasks. Meanwhile, in the bowels of the Caldera, his father, brother, and Avi prepped the weaponry. Supplies for the summer were flown in by military plane or helicopter and brought in by boat, loaded onto the Sea Goat. At the end of each prep day, as a reward for hard work, Eldon would take his sons to the shooting range and let them practice their marksmanship with handguns, M4s, and Uzis.
Cody might not have been the strongest one physically, but one thing was clear: the kid could shoot. “This is just awesome,” he said, expending a magazine and watching the bullet rip through the target.
“Believe it or not,” said his father, “a couple weeks from now, the only thing you’re going to want to do at the end of the day is crawl into your bunk. Or take a swim in the lake after it warms up a bit.”
“No,” said Cody, hefting his Glock. “I’m gonna be right here … practicing.”
Crackling embers and glowing ash rose from the great bonfire, reaching into the vast northern sky in a column of air, only to flame out and drift back down to earth. Wyatt stared into the fire, remembering the previous year’s End of Summer ceremony, which concluded with the somber orange glow of three funeral pyres. Of the three, only one contained a body—Old Man, who fought valiantly but died in a shoot-out. The other two heaps were empty, devoid of human remains, but the effect was the same. Three Valorians—two campers and one staff—had given their lives. Of course, they could not have known that Sergeant Eric Hallsy, who’d led the funeral ceremony, had been conspiring against Valor during that sacred moment.
And once again they had gathered—Eldon, Avi, Mackenzie, Wyatt, and Mum. The purpose, this time, was to tie loose ends that hung like nooses around the camp’s neck. There was one new face around the circle: Viktoria Kuokalas, an eastern European immigrant who had spent a year at Valor before becoming a naval aviator and F/A-18 pilot. And former instructor at Top Gun. Together, the leaders sat in the firelight, each with a stack of dossiers on their lap.
“The purpose of this meeting,” Eldon began, “is to arrange the groups and teams that operate within them while we await orders from the DoD.”
Everyone nodded, knowing without Eldon having to say it that there was a more pressing agenda—quickly assembling the team that would hunt down Hallsy.
“This year,” Eldon continued, “we only have three members of Group-B from the class of Group-C that graduated last summer: Wyatt and two others who will be coming soon—Rory and Samy. Three operators, no matter how good, are not enough to support a group or a team. So, as I see it, there are two options. We can select two Group-A members from the dossiers in front of you and pull them down to Group-B. Or, we can pull the three Group-B members up into A for the summer, creating a team at the highest level. As my son is part of this discussion, I’m going to recuse myself from this decision.”
Viktoria was the first to assert herself. “Here’s the question: Is it fair to effectively demote qualified Group-As? Or promote Group-Bs that haven’t progressed through that level?”
“Well,” Mackenzie said, “if we’re strictly following protocol, then Group-As should be pulled down.”
“Agreed,” Viktoria said, “making an exception for these three would set a precedent.”
“That precedent has already been set.” Cass stepped out of the woods and took her place in the circle by Avi. “We’ve pulled members of Group-B into Group-A before.”
“But never an entire group,” Viktoria said, not missing a beat.
Cass took the stack of papers from Avi and set them in her lap, the gunpowder on her palms smudging black all over them.
“You’re late,” Avi said under his breath. “Bomb-making again?”
“Defusing.” She smiled.
Viktoria continued, “Sergeant Hallsy is former Golden One Hundred. To say he is a highly trained operator is a huge understatement, and to send young operators after him before they’ve completed their third summer of training is simply reckless. I motion to let this issue rest and pull two members back.”
“Not so fast.” Mum sat on the other side of the fire, stoking it with a long stick. “As you know, I’m here on an honorary basis. This program was my husband’s baby, his dream. He considered it his greatest achievement—building each one of you into the operators you are today,” she said, the firelight catching her watery eyes. “I never personally operated in a mission, never shot a gun in combat, but I’ve supported all of you. Forty years of campers—I’ve fed them, clothed them, buried more than a few. And I’ve never seen a group of campers who’ve been through more real experience, who’ve shown more promise and aptitude, than Rory, Samy, and Wyatt.”
Mum paused, looking over at Wyatt. “And because of that, I think it’s within the bounds of Valor to promote the three to Group-A for the summer. I vote that this point be settled.”
“All right,” said Eldon. “All in favor say aye.”
A series of ayes rang up around the fire.
“Okay, then,” Eldon said. “Wyatt, looks like you’re in Group-A.”
Wyatt nodded, fighting hard not to smile.
“As you were Top Camper last summer and team leader,” Eldon went on, “it’s your responsibility to request team selection.”
Wyatt adjusted his headlamp and looked at the pages in his hand. The dossier for each camper included their police report, a short biography, and their performance record at Valor.
“The first thing I’d like to request,” he said, “is that Rory and Samy remain on my team.”
“Any opposed?” Eldon asked the circle.
Again, Viktoria spoke: “I don’t oppose it, per se, but we all know that the teams benefit from operating with different groups, providing varied experience and teaching the members to not rely on familiarity. This was a key lesson I learned flying for the navy. We always rotated pilots with WSOs.”
“Yes, Lieutenant Kuokalas, I agree with you,” Wyatt said, “and under normal circumstances, I’d like to work with the other members of Group-A, but we have a critical mission: finding Agent Hallsy. Learning the idiosyncrasies of each other’s operating styles is a luxury we don’t have. So for the sake of time, I’d like to retain the team I know best.”
“Okay,” Viktoria conceded. “Who else would you like?”
“Well”—Wyatt cleared his throat—“our primary challenge is the absence of a trail. Hallsy has reduced his digital footprint to nil, so I think we need someone with old-school tracking ability. Mackenzie Grant’s nephew, Pierce Grant. He’s sixteen—young for Group-A—but he’s already a world-class tracker.”
“True.” Mackenzie chuckled. “Growing up in Alaska with Fabian will give you some of those old-school hunting skills.”
“We need someone with experience in covert ops.” Wyatt shifted through some papers. “I noticed an interesting camper here … Mary Alice Stephenson. She’s participated in Group-A two years in a row and been operational the past two summers, so Hallsy would have interacted with her very little, if at all. She’s been on intelligence-gathering assignments in Europe, Russia, and the Middle East, posing variably as the daughter of diplomats, a Live-Aid intern, and a beauty contestant. Mary Alice can help by planning a traditional espionage-intelligence gathering role so that Hallsy doesn’t see us coming.”
Viktoria piped up. “I understand your rationale, but I’d planned on Mary Alice leading the entire Group-A this year. If she’s part of your team, the entire program will not have her experience and leadership here. Also—as the director said”—she looked to Eldon—“the DoD is going to instruct us where to apply our resources. I think aligning our teams to track down one traitor when the leading threat to the United States is the terrorist known as Encyte is putting the cart before the horse.”
“With all due respect,” Cass interrupted. “I think there are plenty left behind to fill the leadership gap.”
“Yes, but we’re all forgetting that there’s an internet terrorist on the loose—one who killed over fifty people. Do you really want to send our best kids on a revenge mission and spread ourselves thin when at any moment we could be called upon to help with Encyte?”
“Lieutenant Kuokalas, when were you last at Valor?” Cass asked calmly.
“I graduated fifteen years ago. Attended the U.S. Naval Academy, flew combat missions in Iraq and Afghanistan, and since then, I’ve been leading programs with the CIA. I’m here for the summer, at Eldon’s direct request.”
“And I deeply appreciate your service. But I don’t think you’ve ever met my sister.”
“No, not in person, but I’ve read her file.” Viktoria lowered her eyes.
“Well, she was a Blue, an elected leader of her group as a Rover, and the best member of Group-C last year. She did not go down easily. Her body was found beaten, likely tortured, and the person who did this to her is the same person who killed Avi’s brother. He did it to cash in on a multimillion-dollar bounty on Eldon, his former mentor!” Cass cut her eyes at Avi, who stared blankly. “This man has waged a full-scale assault on the Valor family for a payout. He has no scruples. Not only does he know our secrets, he knows some of the most classified information at the highest levels of U.S. intelligence. So we need to set our other goals aside, do our duty, and bring this bastard back.”