Daisy | Simon Riley

|9|

The sun had just risen as she made her way along her familiar jogging route; down to the southern perimeter of the base and through the trees. There wasn't a trail that far out, and only a few spots even had footpaths, but she preferred it over the crowded streets of the base.

It also gave her a quieter environment to think.

She returned to base nearly a week ago, working with her team doing background research on Frank, searching through the files she'd copied from him, and watching the activity on his computer.

It was a program she'd tracked down through an old contact that gave them remote and unmodifiable access to the target's computer—meaning all they could do was watch the computer, but that lowered the possibility of the program being found out.

They kept 24-hour surveillance on the computer, but there had been no activity, leaving them alert but focused on other tasks. Like getting a rough estimate of the number of weapons the terrorists had gathered.

Too many, they realized.

Guns and bombs, among other resources like protective equipment had been purchased through the German middleman, but they still hadn't found the information they needed. No names were associated with the deals; every party had been given a codename and as of yet, none of them were identifiable.

Another team was analyzing the blueprints, trying to see if they could track where they had been manufactured and therefore where the terrorists might have purchased them from. But she had no connection to that team, so as of that morning, she hadn't heard anything on their progress.

The only solid information she had were locations of trades, letting them map out sites of importance.

It was good, but also a stark reality. The terrorists had connections everywhere; in the last six months there had been 107 transactions associated with 23 countries, without pattern and without a destination listed.

But it was significantly more than they had before, and enough that they could begin preparing themselves.

The option of arresting Frank was tempting, but everyone involved knew that was the best way to lose any possible lead. If he disappeared, the terrorists would certainly know something was up and would likely hide underground or even retaliate somehow. Not a risk they could take.

Her feet touched pavement as she crossed a road, slowing down as the backside of the barracks came into view. She calmed her breathing, returning it to a normal pace as she walked leisurely along the grass. In the distance she noted a few joggers, finishing their own workout before breakfast, but other than that it was quiet.

Until a voice greeted her from behind. "Good morning, Lieutenant Farrell."

She turned, eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Fox a few feet away. "Morning, private," she responded, watching him drop his salute.

"I was hoping to speak with you."

She shifted her weight, glancing down to her watch. "What about?" she asked as her eyes met his again.

"I wanted to discuss what happened in PT. Clear it up."

Of course, he did. In all honesty, she was surprised it had taken so long for him to approach her on the subject. "Alright," she agreed, nodding for him to continue.

"I believe I've been treated unfairly. You singled me out, and it's not right for me to be paying such a significant consequence for it."

Her hackles rose immediately. "Private Fox, we are not having this conversation if you still don't see what you did wrong."