I turn my face slightly away, and he takes that as an act of submission and fear but truly it’s because his breath is fetid. A meaty hand grips my T-shirt right at my chest, and I know he’s going to rip it from my body.
All of a sudden, the lights go out.
Jorge’s hand falls away, and he curses. I can’t see anything, but I can feel the men shuffling around, barking questions about what’s going on.
There are shouts down the hall, and one of the gang members takes out his phone and turns on the flashlight, illuminating the cell. He swings it toward the open cell door and leans forward to peer harder.
I hear men shouting from somewhere outside my cell. Demands to start the generator, more shouts to guard the prisoner. and to get Mejia to safety.
Inside the cell, one of the thugs questions if this could be a rival gang—the Revolucionarios—and that had not crossed my mind. I had hoped this was a CIA rescue team, but the most obvious threat would be a rival gang here to steal the weapons stashed inside.
The outer hallway is pitch-black, but I can hear booted feet running this way. I’m positive it’s the guard who’s been patrolling outside my cell since I was brought here. Through the shouts in the main warehouse and the grumbling inside my cell by the confused gang members, I think I hear a soft whiffing sound and then the distinct thud of a body hitting the ground. The guard isn’t running this way anymore.
My body goes taut with instinct, my training kicking in, preparing to engage in battle. Someone is coming who is not a friend of the guard outside my door and I’m going to assume is my friend. There are still four very dangerous men in here with me, and I suspect somebody is going to be coming through that door any second.
While the men surrounding me may be violent and willing to do whatever is asked of them, they are in no way trained to protect themselves at this moment. Not a single one of them reaches for a weapon but merely crowd closer to me. They mutter to each other in Spanish, wondering which gang is coming and whether they should throw me out as an offering. This takes no more than a few seconds to discuss, valuable time they could’ve used to pull weapons to defend themselves, but they don’t understand what I heard.
A bullet muffled by a silencer, which isn’t gang style at all.
Then it happens.
Another whiffing sound. And another. And another. And one more.
The sound of wet, tearing flesh, and then all four men fall. I expect each one has a bullet in his brain.
Unfortunately, the light in the room is extinguished when the phone flashlight clatters to the floor.
I tense slightly as I feel someone in front of me. Hands are on my wrists, and a man whispers, “Going to cut you down.”
“Is there anyone else with you?” I whisper back.
The man growls low. “Be quiet. We don’t have long before they start the generator and the lights come back on.”
I’m able to piece together a few things as my wrists are cut free and the rope is pulled away. I know that whoever is standing before me is a good guy, I assume CIA.
While he didn’t answer my question about whether he has support, I’m going to assume he does because you can’t mount a rescue operation against this many people on your own.
I also assume he’s well-equipped with night vision goggles because he’s able to see what he’s doing, whereas I can’t. The man grabs one of my hands, places it on his shoulder, and I can feel the edge of his bulletproof vest. I automatically curl my fingers into it and grip hard, knowing he’s going to lead me out of here.
CHAPTER 5
Ladd
I lead Greer from the cell, anger and adrenaline causing my blood to flow hot. In shades of muted green, my night vision goggles helped me see clearly enough that Greer was in a bad spot when I arrived. Had I been just a few minutes later…
I don’t want to think about it, and I can’t afford to think about it. I’ve got very little time to get us out of here before the power comes back. Prior to entry, I surveyed the propane generator on the north side of the building and have to assume it’s operational, as long as it’s been properly maintained.
We move quickly from the cell, and Greer is able to keep pace, even though she’s blind and trusting my lead. I know this woman, and while she’s tough as nails, I know she’s also feeling vulnerable.
Not because she’s walking through a dangerously dark field with no bulletproof vest, but because she’s wearing nothing but a T-shirt, panties, and tennis shoes, which they didn’t bother taking off her when they removed her pants. I’m guessing a knife was used.
My kill count is up to six, including the guard who was at the door. I had to take him down quickly and silently, so I cut into the chain-link fence just out of his sight on the side of the building. It was precarious because some of the men out loading one of the trucks could have seen me had they looked closely. But I made it through and was able to sneak in soundlessly and squeeze off a silenced bullet into the guard’s head.
He dropped, and I gave Bebe the go-ahead. “I’m ready to go in.”
She replied, “It’s dark. Go.”
I opened the door to blackness, lowered my goggles into place, and entered, shutting the door and extinguishing the outdoor light. Immediately, the guards stumbled around, hands reaching for walls to try to feel their way to safety. The benefit of having no windows in this warehouse was that only I could see.
I dropped another guard on the way to the cell as Bebe followed the building plans and guided me via my earpiece.
The four gang members were a pleasure to take out for their evil intentions. My only regret is I didn’t run into Mejia, and I have no clue where he is. I can’t worry about that now—my main goal is to rescue Greer.
I have no clue how many others are waiting for us, but I move stealthily to the end of the hall, which ends in a T. To the left is the main warehouse where the open dock doors allow light in. While it’s dusk, there is still plenty of illumination for us to be seen.
I cut right instead, which leads to the back door I came in through. I expect to find the door open, but it’s not. I expect guards to be coming our way, but they don’t.
It’s a clear exit, and I don’t know what I did to appease the man upstairs, but I’m grateful our path out is unencumbered.
But then the lights flicker on, and our time of stealth is over.
I don’t hesitate and order Greer, “Hang on. We’re making a run for it.”
The exit door looms, and I push through it, the flash of light in my goggles momentarily blinding me. I yank them off, just as someone behind us yells, “Detenganse!”
Stop.
Not fucking likely.
I spin fast, which dislodges Greer’s hand on my shoulder. Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, I’m facing her and whoever just yelled is right behind her.
A man in his thirties, oddly wearing a light gray suit with a tie. He raises the gun in his hand.
I barely catch a glimpse of Greer’s face as she looks at me with stunned recognition, and then I’m firing. One more bullet whiffs out of the silencer—one more head shot—and the man crumples to the ground.
Greer turns to see, but I’m reaching for her hand and pulling her along.
“That’s Diego Mejia,” she gasps as she runs behind me. “Hugo’s son.”