Code Name: Rook

by Sawyer Bennett

  This week has been weird in that it’s been a week of lies in the form of hiding the truth. My coworkers wanted to know how Vegas was. I told them it was great, crazy, the food was plentiful, and I had a very bad hangover, but I didn’t say I was married.

  I also haven’t told my parents yet because it’s something I feel needs to be done in person. I also don’t want to do it with Cage at my side as I don’t know how they’ll react, and I don’t want it to be awkward for him. I don’t want their anger projected at or attached to him.

  It would be good if I could have done it this week, but work has been hectic. There’s just not enough time to drive out to their place to have what is going to be a long and involved talk.

  Rather, my aim is to head out there on Sunday for family dinner while Cage moves his stuff in and lay the bomb on the entire family.

  I’m not scared about it, though. I’m excited to have Cage become a part of my family—because I know once the shock wears off, they are going to love him. I also can’t wait until we go to tell his parents, which is a trip I’ll make with Cage.

  Or at least, that’s our current game plan.

  Cage was due back Friday—tomorrow night—but he’s been delayed a day. He was short on details though, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

  This week while he was at his car auction, communication has been weird. Or maybe inconsistent is the better term.

  Don’t get me wrong. I heard from him every single day. Like toward the beginning of the week when he left for Georgia, he called me a couple of times a day, and the texts were plentiful. It made me miss him so much, and I wonder if this frequent traveling will be an integral part of his job.

  Of course, I wonder if he’ll even keep this job for the long haul since he’s not overly fond of it. I know my dad could get him on at the plant if he wanted to go into manufacturing.

  I got one last call from him Wednesday morning. He said the auction was going full tilt, and he would probably have his phone turned off most of the time. He assured me I could still text whenever I wanted, and he would reply as soon as he could.

  That worked well the remainder of the week, and we exchanged a few chatty texts and one dirty one.

  But today, I’m feeling a little off-kilter about his trip. Friday was his set date to return, but I got a text this morning that merely said he was going to be delayed by a day and he’d explain everything when he got in on Saturday evening.

  And immediately, I had a moment of distrust. It was exactly how I felt when my ex, Terry, started getting squirrely with me. Not able to commit to times to see me, and sometimes having to back out of things at the last minute. Now that I think about it, the phone calls became almost nonexistent as he just wouldn’t answer and I’d be forced to leave a voicemail, then he’d text me when he got a chance.

  Was Cage cheating on me?

  Was he actually with another woman this week?

  No.

  No way. This isn’t like what Terry did. He actually ghosted me for days at a time, which led me to my suspicions. While Cage may not have been able to talk on the phone at times, he’s been in contact with me every single day, mostly by text the last few days. His words are teasing and light. He jokes with me, always telling me he misses me and can’t wait to get back. I never had any of those reassurances from Terry.

  Cage is nothing like Terry.

  And yet… there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on that seems a bit off.

  Shrugging to myself as I hold up a white t-shirt with some type of orange stain on it—probably spaghetti sauce that never came out in the wash—I tell myself that Cage and I need to have a frank discussion about what it is that’s bothering me. It’s definitely centered around his job and the dissatisfaction he has with it, hence his unwillingness to talk about it.

  I make it through the top two drawers—the pile of items I’ll need to determine if they give me enough joy to keep growing larger—and start to open the third on the bottom when someone knocks on my door.

  I tense, not because I’m worried about unexpected visitors at my apartment, but because it might be Brian stopping by to cause me heartburn. With a sigh, I push off the carpeted floor, exit my bedroom, and move to the front door. Eye to my peephole, I exhale in relief to see not my brother, but my sister.

  After unlocking the chain, deadbolt, and regular lock, I open the door to find her grinning while holding two bottles of wine.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise. She rarely drops by, despite the fact her apartment isn’t that far from mine. She moved out of the dorms and into an apartment with roommates her sophomore year.

  “You said you were doing some “spring” cleaning even though it’s not spring, and you have ignored me all week.” She holds the bottles of wine out more prominently. “So I decided to come to you and bring wine as well.”

  It’s true. Laney had been trying to nail me down for dinner, drinks, or both this week, but I just couldn’t face her knowing I was keeping a huge secret from her. So I kept putting her off with my “I’m busy spring cleaning” lame-ass excuse. I never in a million years thought she’d just drop by unexpectedly. She’s not that type of sister, even though I’d never close the door in her face even if she were.

  Except now.

  Now I want to close the door in her face as I’m not ready to look her in the eye and keep this secret.

  Reluctantly, I motion her in, trying to put a smile on my face but failing miserably.

  She notices. “What’s up your butt?” she asks as she walks in.

  As I close the door, she whips around with a horrified expression. “Oh my God… did you and Cage break up, and you’re in here sulking, hiding away from the world, and listening to sad music?”

  I roll my eyes, a smile coming to my face unbidden. “Of course not. Cage is merely away on a trip as I told you. I’m just busy working, and I don’t have time to socialize.”

  “I’ll help you clean,” she says brightly, moving over to the small counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. She rummages in the drawer she knows holds my wine opener. “And we’ll drink while doing so.”

  “I’ll pass,” I murmur, not because I’m remembering my Vegas headache, but rather I’m afraid wine will loosen my tongue.

  “Nonsense,” she scoffs. “It’s your favorite, and you’re drinking at least one glass with me.”

  “Fine,” I snap. One glass can’t hurt.

  Laney grins and pours two hefty glasses, pushing one across to me. She holds hers up for a toast. “To sisters.”

  “To sisters,” I repeat, then take a sip.

  I can do this. One glass of wine, then I’ll usher her out, claiming the need to get to bed early for work tomorrow.

  ♦

  Laney tips the last bit of wine from the second bottle into her glass, having just topped mine off. She giggles, exclaiming, “I can’t believe we killed both those bottles.”

  “You’re totally staying here tonight,” I say sternly.

  She gives me a snappy salute, and I laugh. I did not drink as much as she did, but this is my third full glass, and I’m past the mellow point and heading into drunk territory. Laney’s pretty drunk.

  Helping to organize my room never happened. We decided we needed snacks with wine, so I pulled out some meats and cheeses, along with grapes, and we sat at the kitchen island drinking, eating, and talking.

  She wanted to know all about Vegas, but luckily, that was while we were on our first glasses of wine, and I was able to give her the details while skirting around the wedding. We then moved onto other subjects, and while Cage came up periodically, I was able to hold my tongue.

  “Oh, by the way,” she says with an exaggerated wave of her hand that sloshes wine. She ignores it as she leans across the counter a bit. “Brian hit me up for some money this weekend.”

  My eyes flare wide. She doesn’t know about my money troubles with Brian, and I’m thinking since I was gone t
o Vegas, he went to Laney instead.

  “What for?” I ask, playing dumb.

  She shrugs. “He called and asked for three hundred dollars. But I’m a struggling college student, and I didn’t have it to give. I offered him a twenty, which didn’t make him happy at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was agitated,” she replies with a worrisome expression. “Said twenty wouldn’t help him, and then hung up on me. Very un-Brian-like.”

  Which is true. Brian is the affable one out of the three of us.

  “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” I say, trying to dispel any concern she might have.

  Laney frowns, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Jaime. He’s hiding something. Pretty sure he’s in some sort of trouble. There’s a secret there for sure.”

  I am wholly unprepared for the guilt that swarms over me, causing my teeth to grind down on each other. My body seems to have no control over my actions, my conscience dictating what to do.

  Setting my glass down on the counter, I say, “I have a secret to tell you. And it’s huge and you’re going to freak out, but we’re a family that doesn’t keep secrets and we value honesty, so I need to tell you.”

  Laney’s mouth forms into an “O” and her eyes get just as round. “What?” she whispers.

  No sense in beating around the bush. Ripping off the band-aid I blurt out, “Cage and I got married in Vegas this weekend.”

  Laney just stares at me, eyes unblinking, mouth still open but sagging. “You what?”

  “We got married.”

  “In Vegas,” she says as if she needs to repeat some innocuous detail.

  I nod. “In Vegas.”

  “But… but… but why?” she stammers.

  My shoulders rise, and my smile turns sheepish. “Because we were drunk?”

  I say it as a question because I’m not sure that’s the real answer.

  Laney doesn’t move a muscle for a second, then she starts laughing. Not a happy, joyful sound but one of dire warning. “Oh… Mom and Dad are going to be so pissed at you.”

  “No, they’re not,” I say, lifting my chin and trying to act confident. “We may have been drunk, but we have deep feelings for each other.”

  Laney’s expression turns skeptical.

  “I love him,” I declare. “And he loves me.”

  I get an eye roll from her. “You love him what… after only knowing him a month?”

  “Almost six weeks,” I correct her. “And it’s not just about love, Laney. It’s about knowing something is right and true. If we didn’t get married this weekend, it would be next month or next year, but it would happen. I don’t know if I can make you understand, but he’s the one. I just know it.”

  Tilting her head, Laney’s eyes go all soft and misty. Her voice is awe-filled. “Really?”

  “Really,” I assure her. “I have no regrets. It was the right thing to do.”

  Laney holds her glass out, and I pick mine up. “Well… then congrats, sis. I’m truly happy for you.”

  We tap edges and sip.

  Before I even lower mine, she’s reaffirming, “But Mom and Dad will be pissed.”

  “Not pissed,” I correct her, lowering my glass. “Maybe miffed.”

  Laney bursts out laughing, motioning with her hand that she needs more details. “Okay… tell me everything about Vegas because you clearly left a lot out, like how in the hell you ended up married.”

  I settle onto my stool, curl my hand around the wineglass, and smile. Then I tell my sister about what will be considered my fairy tale with my happily ever after.

  CHAPTER 18

  Cage

  Given my choice between hiking with thirty-five pounds of gear in the jungle or the desert, I’d prefer the desert. The jungle is nothing but hot thick air, bugs, and foliage slapping you in the face.

  But the benefit is there’s lots of cover so our advance crew—me, Jackson and Bodie—can scope out the agreed-upon area where we’ll make an exchange of the ransom money for the hostages. All of this was worked out between whatever douche was leading this band of kidnappers and the contract negotiator the family had hired.

  In most instances, the exchange goes down without a hitch. There will be a lot of posturing, and their leader will try to extract more money, but in the end, it should happen without a single bullet being fired. Deeper back in the jungle surrounding us is a Special Forces unit for the Colombian military that will do nothing more than observe as the exchange goes down. If things get heated, they are backup for the Jameson crew and will come in guns blazing.

  We hope.

  Hell, they could be on the ELN’s payroll for all we know, but this is how it’s done.

  We’d been thoroughly prepped by the negotiator as well as a representative of the family. It was the brother of the man taken, and he apparently had no trouble coming up with the three million dollar ransom that was ultimately agreed upon. We also liaised with a colonel in a Colombian Special Forces unit, and we spent hours brainstorming every contingency.

  The hostages include a father, a mother, a sixteen-year-old daughter, and a nine-year-old son. If things go south for any reason, the overreaching goal is to protect the kids at all costs, but again… not overly worried about it. Everything about this event seems pretty par for the course, and it’s a sad world when that can be said about kidnappings, but they happen all too frequently in Latin America.

  We’re all miked up with earpieces, and I hear Jackson’s voice coming across in a low rumble so his voice doesn’t carry. “Targets spotted. I count eight armed men—three armed with what look like old Soviet AK-47’s and the others with machetes. It appears all hostages are intact.”

  None of us move, waiting for the ELN members to reach the designated clearing where we’d been given coordinates to meet. Jackson’s com crackles, and he continues, “Guns are on the kids.”

  Makes sense. They know our highest priority is the kids’ safety, and if they only have three guns, they’re going to keep them on their most prized possessions.

  Bodie’s voice comes across. He’s set up a little to the south of the group. “Two have pistols in the backs of their waistbands.”

  “Start moving in,” Kynan, who ended up joining the mission after Malik opted to stay back in Pittsburgh, orders us.

  We all move, slipping as quietly through the dense foliage as we can until we come back together as a group.

  All of us except Ladd. He’s up in a tree somewhere with his sniper rifle, ready to pick off enemies if needed.

  Kynan, Bodie, Jackson, and I enter the clearing just a few moments after the kidnappers. All hostages are accounted for, but despite the dirt and sweat on them from being hauled around the jungle for the last several days, I can see exactly why they got kidnapped. They’re all wearing designer clothing, not that I can identify by brand, but I know expensive when I see it. I suspect the family has already been alleviated of luxury items like watches, jewelry, and handbags. They were begging to be kidnapped.

  All four family members have gags in their mouths, tied so tight at the back, their skin has turned white along the borders of the cloth. They look appropriately terrified, especially the daughter. I hope to hell she and the mother haven’t been violated, because absolute safety is never guaranteed.

  One of the men with a machete steps forward, clearly the leader. They’re all wearing olive-green camo pants with military-style shirts, but their attempts at having a unifying uniform fall flat. They look dirty and slovenly, but these guys are just the muscle for the higher echelon of this group.

  The leader starts speaking in Spanish, rapidly firing off words that are meant to intimidate us white rescuers. Little do they know both Ladd and I speak Spanish, but I let him have his fun. He goes on about stupid Americanos traveling in their country, just begging to have their wealth lifted, blah, blah, blah, blah.

  Each of us stares blankly back at the man, pretending ignorance. I give him a halting
, “No hablo Espanol.”

  He smiles, a tooth missing in front, and inclines his head. “I merely bid you welcome to our beautiful country. We are looking for a mutually beneficial exchange that is conducted respectfully and safely. My name is Miguel.”

  Keeping my expression bland, I hold my silence. Kynan is our spokesperson—and the one carrying the money. He steps forward, pulling the backpack off and holding it down by his side.

  Miguel eyeballs the bag a moment before staring at Kynan. “My boss has been thinking about this, and he feels the family could perhaps be a little more generous in their offering. He’s requesting another five hundred thousand as a gesture of goodwill and gratitude for us keeping the hostages in good condition.”

  It strikes me that this man is no dummy despite his slovenly appearance. He may not be anywhere in the top ranks, but he was clearly chosen to lead this little mission because he’s smart, fairly well-spoken, and has balls of steel.

  Kynan nods toward the hostages. “I’ll hear it from the hostages now. Remove their gags so I can get assurances.”

  Very smart. He’s not even entertaining the man’s request for more money, but it sure sounds like he’s considering it by asking for personal verification of their welfare.

  Miguel instructs his men to remove the gags, and they do so efficiently. The dad rubs at his jaw while the little boy tries to spit, nothing coming out, and the mom and daughter both swipe at their mouths as if to rub the filth off.

  Looking directly at the dad, Kynan asks, “Have you been treated well?”

  He appears affronted by the question. I’m sure he’d like to go on a long-winded rant about how it’s not being treated well to be dragged through the jungle, made to sleep on the ground, and eat military rations for several days. Instead, he wisely holds his tongue and nods.