High above the dig site, like an eagle soaring on the winds, a tiny, almost–invisible, unmanned aerial vehicle, or UAV, turned and began to follow a small convoy of vehicles as it snaked its way along the bumpy red dirt road. Painted ghost-gray to blend in with the sky, the UAV was nearly impossible to see. It flew along, silently watching, its high-tech cameras sending a feed directly to a laptop computer over twenty kilometers away.
Jen March sat in the back of the Humvee, holding on tight as it bounced up and down the rough track that passed as the local highway. She bit her lip and blinked away tears. Jen could not fathom why anyone would want to kidnap her for ransom. Neither she nor anyone in her family had any real money. It was baffling. Who would be so monstrous as to plan to kill seventy students and locals just to cover her abduction? Feeling thoroughly despondent, she was about to hunker down deeper into her hard seat, when out of the corner of her eye she saw a vehicle burst out of the thick jungle, like some charging metal rhinoceros. An instant later, with a loud crunch of compacting metal, it smashed headlong into the side of the closest Humvee behind them, sending it spinning off the road and into the tropical forest.
Nate Jackson held the vehicle’s steering wheel tight in his large hands. The impact of hitting the Humvee at over fifty kilometers an hour had instantly crumpled the Land Rover’s engine bumper guards and shaken up Jackson and his passenger. Quickly spinning the wheel around in his hands, Jackson turned the vehicle onto the road, only a few meters behind their target.
“Aren’t you glad we were wearing seatbelts?” quipped Jackson’s passenger.
“I hope they weren’t,” Jackson replied, with a wide grin on his face.
“Time to lose our company,” said Ryan Mitchell as he unbuckled his belt, turned about, and crawled over his seat until he was standing in the open back of their Rover, his hands resting on a machine gun mounted on the vehicle’s roll bar. Quickly, he pulled back on the charging lever and loaded a round from the belt already inside the GPMG. With his shoulder jammed tight into the butt of the weapon, Mitchell aimed it squarely at the cab of the Humvee behind them.
The driver of the Humvee saw Mitchell and tried swerving from side to side, but with the thick jungle on either side of the narrow dirt road, he had nowhere to go.
Mitchell slightly lowered the weapon’s sight and let loose a long burst of 7.62mm rounds into the engine block of the Humvee. Within seconds, steam and black, oily smoke rose from the stricken engine. The vehicle lurched forward, slowed, and finally stopped moving altogether, a cloud of steam blocking it from view.
When he saw that the vehicle was no longer a threat, Mitchell jumped back into his seat. He could see the lead Humvee trying to get away, but the awful road conditions combined with Jackson’s driving skills meant that they were not going to escape that easily.
“Now what?” said Jackson.
With a bang, Mitchell slammed home a fresh thirty-round magazine into his M4 rifle. “I don’t know. I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he replied dryly.
“Wonderful,” Jackson muttered under his breath as he changed gears and floored the gas pedal, narrowing the distance between the vehicles.
“What the hell is going on? Who are those people?” screamed Teplov at his perplexed driver.
“I don’t know, sir,” the young man replied.
Jen squirmed around in her seat. Looking out the rear window, she watched the vehicle in question racing at them, like a lion chasing down its prey. She had no idea who they were, but for the first time since this nightmare had begun, Jen dared to hope that she might be saved.
“Pull up beside them, I’ll try to shoot out their tires,” said Mitchell, as he raised the M4 to his shoulder.
Jackson shook his head; this was something that was easier said than done, and then only in the movies. Edging up, Jackson brought Mitchell in line with the rear driver’s side tire and held his breath.
Mitchell took quick aim and fired off a three-round burst into the tire. The sturdy tire did not shred, but started to leak air.
Mitchell signaled to Jackson to speed up so he could shoot the driver’s tires, when the loud pinging sound of automatic gunfire hitting the back of their Rover caught their attention. Pivoting around in his seat, Mitchell was surprised to see the battered Humvee they had smashed off the road speeding up behind them. He’d hoped they had dealt with them in one blow, but it was not to be.
“God damn it,” said Jackson, bobbing and weaving in his seat while bullets whistled past him. He jammed his foot down on the gas, sped up and shot past the lead Humvee, intending to use it as a shield. “Think of something, will you, Ryan? We need to ditch that other vehicle, and fast.”
Mitchell looked over his shoulder and smiled to himself. Pressing his throat mic, Mitchell gave a quick set of orders to the UAV operator who was watching the struggle on his computer from their base camp, and settled back down in his seat.
“Mind telling me what you’re thinking, Captain?” said Jackson, struggling to keep their battered vehicle on the bumpy road.
“I hope UAVs aren’t too expensive,” said Mitchell, as the shadow of their UAV suddenly raced over them like a massive bird of prey.
A second later, the damaged Humvee exploded in a bright-orange fireball, as the UAV smashed straight through the windshield.
“The general is gonna be pissed when he hears what you did,” said Jackson, slowing down as he tried to force the last Humvee off the road.
“He can bill whoever these people are working for,” replied Mitchell, once more unbuckling his belt and crawling back to the machine gun. Mitchell’s patience was growing thin; the shot tire was not deflating fast enough for him. He fired a short burst into the Humvee’s hood; right away, the vehicle started to slow down.
Keeping pace with the Humvee, Jackson braked and pulled over beside it, leaving plenty of room between Mitchell and his target.
With the GPMG aimed at the driver’s compartment, the driver’s door to the Humvee slowly opened, and an AK was dropped unceremoniously onto the dirt road.
“Show us your hands,” said Mitchell, keeping the machine gun trained on the vehicle.
A pair of shaking hands emerged from behind the door.
“Good. Now get out, slowly,” ordered Mitchell.
The driver, shaking in fear, stepped out of the vehicle, his eyes wide as he stared over at the weapon trained on his chest.
“Lie down,” said Mitchell firmly, leaving no doubt in his voice that he meant business.
Nodding, the driver got down on the road and lay there.
Jackson grabbed his M4, chambered a round, and hauled his heavyset frame out of the Rover. He stood silently, eyeing the vehicle.
“You inside. Play it smart, let the girl go and slowly step out of the vehicle,” said Mitchell. “Don’t do anything foolish. I’d fill you with a ton of lead before you could grab a weapon.”
Teplov sat there silently, staring out of the open driver’s side door at the people who had ruined his plans.
“Get out,” said Teplov to Jen, his voice bitter with defeat.
Jen slowly opened her door, showed her hands like the driver had, and stepped out of the back of the Humvee. A feeling of relief washed over her the instant she stepped out of the vehicle.
“Okay, miss, now keep it calm, and slowly walk over beside me,” said Jackson to Jen, never taking his eyes off the Humvee.
Jen nodded and walked over beside Jackson. The African-American man was built like a defensive lineman in the NFL, and easily dwarfed Jen’s more diminutive figure.
“Now you,” ordered Mitchell to Teplov. “Throw out any weapons you have, and crawl out through the open driver’s side door. Make any sudden moves, and I promise that I’ll turn you into Swiss cheese.”
A moment later, a pistol dropped out of the Humvee. Mitchell could hear a string of Russian curse words as the last occupant of the vehicle emerged. Standing there with his hands by his sides, he stared defiantly at Mitchell and Ja
ckson.
Mitchell lowered the machine gun, grabbed his M4, jumped down from the Rover, and walked toward the Humvee. He looked at the imposing, solid frame and cold, uncaring eyes of the man standing in front of him and knew he was dealing with a professional, and not one of the local criminals they had already clashed with today.
“Okay, mister, hands on your head, and slowly get down on your knees,” said Mitchell, as he waved at the dirt with his rifle barrel.
With a look of disgust on his face, Teplov reluctantly did as he was told.
Mitchell carefully walked forward, picked up the discarded pistol, and then, before Teplov knew what was happening, Mitchell pushed him onto the ground and slapped a set of handcuffs on him.
Mitchell left Teplov in the dirt and joined Jackson and Jen. “Are you all right?” he asked Jen, putting a reassuring smile on his face.
“Yes, I guess so,” replied Jen, looking at the men dressed in US military fatigues who had just saved her life. “Who are you guys? Are you with the army?”
Jackson let out a little chuckle.
“No, miss, we’re not with the army; at least, not anymore,” said Mitchell, as he offered his hand. “Where are my manners? My name is Ryan, Ryan Mitchell, and this mountain of a man standing beside me is Nathaniel Jackson.”
“Nate,” said Jackson, in a deep, booming voice while offering his large hand in greeting.
Jen shook both men’s hands. She studied Mitchell for a long moment, her attention caught by his intense, blue-gray eyes. He and Nate were both over six feet tall, but Ryan was trim and athletic, in contrast to the other man’s broad frame and muscular arms. She could tell by Ryan’s tanned skin that he was a man who spent a lot of his life outdoors. She thought that Mitchell had a rugged, confident air about him, which she suspected women liked. Belatedly, Jen realized that she was staring, and looked away.
Ryan’s friend—Nate—cleared his throat, and Jen started. Her head was obviously somewhere up in space. She focused her attention on both men once again. “I’m sorry, I’m not thinking straight. My name is Jennifer March, but please call me Jen.”
“Jen it is, then.” Mitchell smiled at her before stepping to one side. He pressed his throat mic. “Yuri, send a sitrep.” Yuri, their UAV operator, quickly filled him in on what was going on. In the distance, a police car with its siren blaring sped down the dirt track, leaving a red dust cloud behind it.
“Cavalry’s coming,” said Jackson dryly.
“Better late than never,” replied Mitchell. He took in the worried look on Jen’s face. “Don’t worry about your friends, they’re safe,” he said, caught on the sight of Jen’s alluring, deep-brown eyes.
Tears welled up in Jen’s eyes at the news. “How do you know that?”
“It’s a case of dumb luck, really, but Nate and I and several others were over here helping to train the Philippine national police’s latest counter-terrorism unit, and by pure accident, we spotted several vehicles heading in the direction of your camp. Yuri, my UAV operator, wanted to show off his new toy to the class, so he followed the convoy until they stopped short of your dig site. When we saw armed men jumping out of the back of several Humvees, we knew it wasn’t going to be a friendly house call. Nate and I decided to come after you, while the remainder of my training team, under the command of the Philippine counter-terrorism team leader, swung in via chopper. It went from a training exercise into a live-fire confirmation in real short order.”
Jen wiped the tears from her cheeks, smudging red dirt across her face.
Mitchell smiled and handed Jen his bandana.
A police cruiser came to a sliding halt beside the Humvee. Two officers got out. Mitchell filled them in on what had happened. Grabbing Teplov by the arms, the police dragged him away and placed him in the back of their car before speeding off back the way they came.
“So, shall we take you back to your camp?” said Mitchell to Jen.
“Yes, thank you,” said Jen, more composed now that her tormentor was gone.
Ten minutes later, Jackson turned off the mud-filled road and headed toward a group of Philippine special police, who were standing around with several overjoyed students.
Alanis Kim saw Jen sitting in the front seat of Mitchell’s vehicle. In an instant, fear changed to elation. She broke into tears as she ran forward and threw herself into Jen’s arms. Both women sat there for a moment, not daring to let the other go for fear of losing one another again.
Mitchell and Jackson left Jen alone with Kim, and together they walked over to a small, young, Asian woman dressed in similar fatigues to theirs. She was busy helping dress the wound on an injured local. Samantha Chen was the team medic, but she was just as deadly with a rifle as any man on the team. Sam, as she preferred to be called, stood just over five feet tall, with a petite, but firm, build. Her dark-brown eyes burned with a passion to be the best at everything she did. A former airborne medic, she was a professed adrenaline junkie and loved to free climb and parachute whenever she could.
Standing beside Sam was a tall, slender man with a thick, black goatee. Gordon Cardinal, a Canadian from the west-coast Rockies, was the team’s sniper and surveillance expert. Where Sam was excitable, Cardinal was as cool as a mountain glacier; nothing ever seemed to faze him. While relationships in their business were generally frowned upon, Mitchell turned a blind eye to Sam and Cardinal’s blossoming romance. He reasoned that if he did not see it, he did not know about it. Besides, with the horrific things they saw and dealt with on a regular basis, a little companionship could be a really good thing.
“How did it go?” Mitchell asked Cardinal.
“Smooth, really smooth,” he replied. “We were on them before they had a chance to kill them all.”
“They’re actually quite good,” Sam said of the police special unit. “Not a single terrorist got away. Unfortunately, five people were killed before we got here.”
Mitchell reached out and squeezed her arm. “We did the best we could. There are many people alive here today because of what we, and especially our police counterparts, did. We should be proud of ourselves.”
Sam smiled and went back to her work.
The adrenaline that had built up in his system slowly left Mitchell’s body, making him start to feel fatigued. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, and decided to check on Jen one last time before rounding up his team and heading back to their camp. As he wandered through the compound, students and locals alike came up and shook his hand. This was not normal; Mitchell’s people usually did their work in the shadows, without notice, and without thanks. In his mind, he reasoned that he and his team were simply doing their job.
Mitchell and Jackson had known each other for years, serving on numerous deployments to Afghanistan together. Both former U.S. Army Rangers, they had recently been enticed to leave the service and come to work in the world of private security. Reticent at first, both men decided to take a leap of faith and retire from the army to a more stable life that paid far better than the military ever could, when Jackson’s eldest son got into trouble with a local street gang during his last deployment.
“Mister Mitchell…Mister Mitchell,” called Jen from behind a growing gaggle of police and students.
Mitchell walked toward her. A bright, warm smile on her face greeted him.
“I’m glad that you found me. I wanted to see how you were doing,” said Mitchell. “It’s not every day that a person gets kidnapped.”
“I’m doing quite well, thanks to you, Mister Mitchell, and Mister Jackson,” replied Jen.
“Please, call me Ryan.”
“Okay then, Ryan.” “We will be leaving soon, but I was wondering when you might be heading back to the States, and what your plans might be when you get back home?” asked Mitchell.
Jen looked into Mitchell’s eyes and instantly knew that this was a man she could trust. She realized she was staring again. The phrase, keep it casual, flashed in her mind like an alarm. “We’ve been tol
d by the police that they are going to leave some men with us tonight, but we have to wrap up our dig by tomorrow morning and head back to Manila for a flight out of the country.”
“Prudent move; it’s not too safe around here, not after what happened today.”
“No, I guess not.”
Mitchell canted his head. “You still haven’t said what you plan to do when you get back to the States.”
Jen smiled at Mitchell’s attention. “Why, Mister Mitchell, are you trying to ask me out?”
“The thought just came to me. It may seem a bit forward, but in my line of work hesitation never pays off,” Mitchell said with his own smile. “I know several good restaurants in New York City, if you were interested in some fine dining. And its Ryan, please.”
Jen smiled back. “I would love that, Ryan, but I happen to be living with my mother in Charlotte, North Carolina, right now.”
“Good thing I know several excellent restaurants there as well,” said Mitchell, not backing down.
Jen felt out of sorts; first a kidnapping, and now a man she just met was asking for a date in the middle of the jungle. There was no way she could explain this one to her mother. “Okay, you win, dinner when I get home. Now, how will I get in touch with you?”
Mitchell dug out his wallet and handed her a business card.
Jen took the card and studied it for a moment. Then she tapped it against her chin. “Ryan, there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why did they choose me? Why was I kidnapped? There are people here who are worth millions.”
Mitchell shrugged. “I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t know. Perhaps the police will find out when they interrogate their prisoner. Until then, try to put it out of your mind.”
They made their farewells, and Jen watched him fade into a crowd of milling soldiers. A smile broke across her face. She suddenly felt alive, hoping that her heart was not going to take her down the wrong path again. She could tell that Mitchell was unlike any man she had ever met before in her life. Jen stood there for a long moment, knowing that she could not wait until they met again.
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