Nick reached down to pull the encrypted tablet from the mahogany desk, turning on his heel to execute Arora's command and mobilize the primary strike team for the Icelandic drop.
"Wait," Jack said, his low, steady voice cutting through the room like a drawn blade.
Nick froze, his boots pivoting on the plush rug, his dark eyes locking onto Jack with instant, lethal hostility. "What?"
Jack didn't look at Nick. His bright blue eyes remained fixed entirely on Arora. "Before you send your men into a sub-zero slaughterhouse, Arora... ask Nick to step outside for two minutes."
The request was quiet, but the absolute, unyielding intent behind it filled the vast executive penthouse.
