The desert sun was a relentless hammer by the time Ethan emerged from the jagged mouth of the canyon. It was nearly midday. His clothes were torn, caked with dried mud and streaks of glowing blue residue, and his face bore the grim exhaustion of a man who had spent the night wrestling with demons.
To the few locals and "laborers" scattered near the trailhead, he looked like a ghost rising from a grave.
Ethan didn't spare them a glance. He walked with a heavy but steady stride toward his SUV, the gravel crunching under his boots. He climbed in, ignited the engine, and tore away, leaving a plume of dust in his wake.
At the top of a hill, a man dressed in the heavy-duty gear of a construction foreman watched the vehicle disappear. Without hesitation, he pulled an encrypted satellite phone from a hidden pocket.
"Speak," a cold, professional voice answered.
