The Darkest Hour

by Banks, Maya

  Sam eyed him, his demeanor calm, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a harsh gleam. Anger. Something Ethan could relate to. “We need an extrication plan. Why don’t you get with Van, pull out some maps and learn everything you can about the lay of the land. Download satellite imagery from Hoss while I get on the horn to some of my contacts. I’ve got a guy with the DEA who should be able to tell me if we’re stepping in the middle of a drug war.”

  Ethan’s lips twitched and he glanced sideways at Donovan. “You mean I get to touch Hoss?” He relaxed the slightest bit. He had every faith in Sam and KGI. They employed some of the brightest military minds in the world. They could do this. Soon. Rachel would be home. Soon.

  Donovan grunted. “No. I’ll do the touching. You just sit and watch. I don’t want you fucking with my computer.”

  “That’s as close as he gets to a love affair,” Sam muttered. “I think he came in his pants when we got the thing.”

  “Ha ha. You’re such a comedian,” Donovan said as he flipped Sam off. He motioned for Ethan. “Come on, little brother. I’ll show you the real brains behind KGI. Peckerhead over there couldn’t wipe his ass without me to tell him when and how.”

  Action. Something to do. Something to keep his mind off the fact that right now, at this very moment, Rachel was terrified and alone. And worse, she thought he wasn’t ever coming for her.

  THREE days later, the war room looked precisely like its name-sake. There were blown-up satellite images and maps covering all surfaces and even some spread out on the floor. Donovan sat at the computer, his brow creased in concentration while Sam spoke in low tones to Steele over the satellite link.

  Garrett stood across the elevated planning table from Ethan while the two of them studied the picture of the encampment they’d put together with satellite images as well as photographs taken by their man on the ground.

  Ethan looked up when Sam walked back over. “What’s up? Have they made a positive ID yet?”

  Sam stood next to Garrett and picked up one of the photos. “Things are quiet there. Too quiet. Steele got there two days ago and has been pulling round-the-clock surveillance with his team. They’ve seen the woman in question twice.”

  Ethan surged forward, putting his palms down on the table. “So she is there. She’s alive.”

  Sam hesitated. “That’s not what I’m saying, man. We don’t know that it’s her.”

  “Bullshit. You’re telling me Rachel has some goddamn twin in the exact same place she went on her mercy mission a year ago?”

  Garrett and Sam exchanged glances. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, Ethan,” Sam said. “We agree that whoever the woman is, it’s obvious she’s not there by choice, and the fact that she strongly resembles Rachel is enough for us to go in for the extrication.”

  Ethan’s shoulders sank in relief. “When?” he asked. They’d already spent three days—three agonizingly long days—waiting for information, data, satellite photos, and Steele’s recon.

  And then another thought hit him. “You’re not leaving me out of this.” It wasn’t a question. There was no question. He wasn’t staying here while KGI went in after Rachel.

  “To be honest we thought about it,” Garrett admitted. “But I also know if it was my wife, no way in hell would anyone keep me off the mission. So yeah, you’re going, but you’re going to keep your head on straight. You’ve been out of action for a while, and you have a personal stake in this.”

  Ethan nodded, adrenaline stirring in his veins. “When?” he asked again.

  “As soon as we can be assured we know exactly what we’re getting into,” Sam said. “Steele’s on the ground with his team. He’s positioning them so we have a tight circumference around the encampment. As soon as I can get a chopper lined up for the extrication, we’ll gear up and fly down on the jet to Mexico. We take the helicopter into Colombia and drop into the jungle. It’ll be a bitch, but it’s doable.”

  Garrett’s jaw tightened. “Hell yeah it’s doable.”

  “Just got an email from Beavis and Butt-Head,” Donovan called over his shoulder. “Are we telling them what’s going on?”

  Ethan grimaced. The youngest two Kelly brothers, Nathan and Joe, were still active military and currently deployed to Afghanistan. Ethan was sure Sam and the others probably kept the twins updated on the goings-on at KGI, but the last thing he needed was for his brothers to be worried and distracted when they were fighting in a hot zone.

  “No,” he and Sam said at the same time.

  Sam glanced over at Ethan and nodded. “No reason to get anyone’s hopes up until we know for sure that Rachel is alive.”

  “So what are we telling Dad?” Garrett asked.

  Donovan turned around in his seat to tune in more to the conversation.

  “I’ll tell him it’s a classified mission,” Sam said with a shrug. “Not like we haven’t had a dozen of those.”

  “Yeah, but what are you going to tell him when he notices that our holdout isn’t holding out anymore?” Donovan asked with a jerk of his thumb in Ethan’s direction.

  Ethan shifted uncomfortably when all three of his brothers focused their gazes on him.

  “Just that he’s not holding out anymore,” Garrett said. “Dad will be glad to hear it. He’s worried about Ethan.”

  Donovan nodded and turned back to the computer. The satellite link beeped and Sam walked back over to the receiver.

  “Do we have any backup?” Ethan asked Garrett in a low voice. As much as he wanted Rachel back, safe and in his arms, he didn’t want to risk his brothers’ lives with a dangerous extrication. Things could and did go wrong all the time.

  Garrett grunted. “I won’t lie to you, man. This kind of operation usually takes a hell of a lot more planning. We don’t have the backing and manpower of the government for this. It’s not as easy as picking up the phone and asking for shit like when we’re contracting for Uncle Sam. If we start a goddamn war with fucking Colombia, our asses are in a sling and there ain’t no one there to bail us out.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have asked,” Ethan said as he stared back at his brother. “But I had to. I can’t leave her down there.”

  Garrett’s eyes grew cold. “Hell no, we’re not leaving her down there. We’ll get her back, Ethan. No one fucks with the Kellys.”

  Ethan cracked a smile then reached out to bump his fist against Garrett’s.

  “All right, we have a go time,” Sam said as he returned.

  Donovan swiveled in his chair again. “I’m downloading the local maps into our GPS’s along with the digital images Steele captured. I’m done on my end.”

  Ethan leaned forward. “When?”

  Garrett and Donovan also looked to Sam for the answer. “We rendezvous with the guy getting us a chopper in Mexico in forty-eight hours. From there we fly into Colombia, do the drop, get Rachel, then get the hell out. Rio and his team are still over in Asia, but he’s heading to South America as fast as he can get there. He’ll be our backup if we need him.”

  “How many will we have on the ground?” Ethan asked.

  “Steele and his team . . . and us,” Garrett said. “More than enough to take out these assholes.”

  Ethan sat back and blew out his breath in frustration. Forty-eight hours. It was a lifetime and not enough time all at once.

  Fear for the danger he’d placed his brothers in gnawed at his gut, but at the same time, he’d do anything to bring Rachel back.

  “You’re not wimping out on us, are you?” Garrett asked Ethan.

  Ethan yanked his gaze to his brother in surprise. There was a gleam in Garrett’s eyes. A calculated gleam that bordered on challenge.

  He met Garrett’s stare with resolve. KGI was the best at what they did. He had every confidence in their ability to head up the mission to rescue Rachel. His brothers had all served time in the military, and there wasn’t another badass out there who could hold a candle to his brothers.

  “Hooyah,” Ethan s
aid softly.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t start that navy shit with me, frog boy.”

  “Oohrah,” Garrett said with a smirk.

  Donovan laughed and echoed with an oohrah of his own.

  Sam shook his head. “Why is it Nathan and Joe showed the only good sense among my brothers and followed my example of joining the army?”

  “They’re the dumb ones,” Ethan said.

  “Yeah well, what’s your excuse?” Garrett demanded. “Donovan and I set such a good example for you with the marines. But no, you had to go be a navy boy. Although you look damn pretty in the little sailor suit.”

  Donovan snickered, and Ethan reached out to slug Garrett in the gut. Garrett doubled over as a laugh escaped.

  “It’s good to have you back, Ethan,” Sam said, his tone growing serious.

  Ethan glanced up at Sam. “I just want her back, man.”

  “Yeah, I know, and we’ll get her. I promise.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE jungle around them was alive with hundreds of critters. The air was so heavy and concentrated that it swam in lines in front of Ethan’s eyes. Breathing was damn near impossible. The heat was so oppressive that it weighed down on them like two tons of concrete.

  Seamlessly, the men—and the lone woman—moved stealthily through the jungle, closing in on their target.

  P.J. Rutherford, their best sniper, took position and trained her rifle on the distant guard towers. She held up two fingers to signal there were two men in each of the two western posts.

  David Coletrane, or just Cole, was half a mile directly in front of P.J., poised to take out the two east towers. Steele, P.J. and Cole’s team leader, held up a fist and signaled his ready.

  Donovan and Garrett disappeared from sight as they maneuvered to the south. Their job was to set explosives, provide distraction, and take out anyone in their path.

  Steele and the rest of his team would take the north.

  Sam and Ethan surveyed the ragtag camp in front of them, taking in each of the straw-thatched huts. Sam held up his finger and motioned toward the three to the north and then he pointed at Ethan and gestured toward the four huts on the southern perimeter. Ethan nodded and hunkered down to wait for the fireworks to begin.

  It took every ounce of his training to sit there and not charge into the camp, gun blazing, throwing grenades and leveling everything in his path. It was still his preference. These bastards didn’t deserve any mercy. If it weren’t for the fact they weren’t sure where Rachel was being housed and that she might get caught in the cross fire, Ethan would say fuck the plan and decimate the village.

  Sam checked his watch and then signaled Ethan that they had two minutes to go time.

  Ethan’s gaze drifted through the leaves and tangle of vines, but the only person other than Sam he could see was P.J. At one minute to go time she’d take out the guards and then she and Cole would pick off anyone in the way of Ethan and Sam.

  She was an interesting character. When Sam had told Ethan about her, he’d assumed she’d be a doggish-looking woman, stocky in build with a manly haircut and tattoos. Instead she was delicate looking and utterly feminine. That she was a highly skilled assassin was incongruous with the image she projected.

  Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was painted camo. She was hunched over her rifle, her expression one of intense concentration as she found her target.

  At one minute to go, only the slight shift of her body told Ethan that she’d taken the first shot. Within two seconds she’d taken the second and then she swung her rifle over to aim at the other guard tower.

  She took two more quick shots then held up her hand to signal her success.

  Twenty seconds to go time.

  P.J. repositioned so she’d have Sam and Ethan’s path within her rifle sights. Five seconds to go-time and she was on her belly, her rifle up and steady.

  A thunderous explosion shook the ground. Multiple fireballs lifted through the jungle canopy, lighting an eerie path into the sky.

  Ethan lunged forward, his gun up as he ran through the tangle of jungle growth and into the cleared area of the camp.

  Machine gun fire erupted on both sides of Ethan as he made his way toward the first hut. He hadn’t checked Sam’s progress, and he just hoped the sharpshooters did their jobs.

  SHE huddled in the darkness, hugging her knees to her chest. She rocked back and forth, a constant motion as she rubbed her hands up and down her legs.

  Her medicine. She needed her medicine. Where were they? Had they forgotten? Had she done something bad? Was she being punished? She needed her medicine. The pain crawled over her flesh, leaving a burning trail over her body.

  She closed her eyes and rocked harder. Sweat bathed her shoulders, and she shook uncontrollably. The dirt floor felt hard and cold. Despite the oppressive heat and humidity, coldness seeped into her bones. Chill bumps broke out on the surface of her skin.

  Rachel. Rachel. Rachel.

  She said the name, a litany on her lips. If she didn’t say it, she was sure she would forget, and she had already forgotten so much.

  My name is Rachel.

  Some of the panic subsided as she managed to hold on to that one vital piece of information. Pain and nausea welled in her stomach, twisting it around in knots.

  She sucked in deep breaths and tried to focus her thoughts. She closed her eyes again to conjure the image that had brought her comfort in the long months she had lived here.

  Rachel couldn’t remember his name. She didn’t even know if he was real, but as long as she could see him, she could believe there was still hope.

  Her guardian angel. He hovered on the fringes of her shattered mind. Big, strong, a warrior. Her protector.

  Where was he?

  How many days had she sat here wondering if he would come? She had lost count long ago, the scratches on the wall to mark the passing time a long-forgotten diversion.

  Oh God, she was going to die. They weren’t bringing her medicine. She needed it. She couldn’t take the pain. Fear lodged in her throat, and she tried in vain to breathe around it. Her chest burned with the effort.

  She rocked faster.

  A huge explosion echoed like a million thunderclaps. The ground shook beneath her and she threw her arms over her head. The sound of gunfire rang sharply in her ears, and fear clutched her with dead fingers.

  The lock on the door of her hut rattled impatiently, and then another gunshot, much closer, pierced her hearing. She glanced up just as the door flew open. Sunlight blinded her, and she ducked away. When she looked back, silhouetted against the odd orange glow behind him, stood a man.

  He was big and menacing, his features drawn and made ghoulish by the fire and smoke and more sunlight than she’d seen in days. His rifle swept the room before he focused all his attention on her.

  Oh God, he was going to kill her. The day had finally come. The one they had taunted her with.

  She whimpered deep in her throat and wrapped her arms protectively around herself.

  “Jesus,” the man swore. “Rachel, honey, we’ve come to help you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She flinched. They had never used her name. In her darker moments, she wondered if she had made the name up.

  The man turned his head sideways and spoke into some kind of a receiver he was wearing. “I’ve got her. Hut three. North. We’ll need cover.”

  He looked back at her and started forward.

  She threw her arms over her head and shrank as small as she could. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see what was to come.

  Above her the man swore softly, but he stopped. She could no longer hear him move. She chanced a peek from under her arms and saw him standing sideways to the door. He was looking out, his profile illuminated by fire.

  A few seconds later, another man burst through the door, a gun cradled in his arms. His gaze settled immediately on her.

  The second man ripped off his helmet, and h
er mouth dropped open in shock. She knew this man. She’d seen him so many times in her mind. But he wasn’t real, was he?

  He knelt cautiously in front of her and extended his hand. “Rachel, it’s me, Ethan. I’ve come to take you home.”

  He knew her name. Her guardian angel knew her name. She began to shake harder, her teeth chattering loudly in her head. Pain gnawed incessantly at her. She needed her medicine.

  “Medicine,” she croaked out. It hurt to speak. She hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time. “I need my medicine.”

  Ethan frowned and looked back at the other man. Then he reached out and gently took her arm. The first man moved from the doorway so that the light shone more fully in, and she flinched away from the glare. Ethan turned her wrist over until the inside of her arm was exposed.

  He let out a hiss of anger.

  She yanked her arm away and shrank from the power emanating from him.

  “Shit, Sam,” Ethan murmured.

  The man he called Sam echoed the curse and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We have to move. Now. It’s three miles back to the chopper and we’re still taking fire from all sides.”

  She stared between the two men, mystified by what was transpiring. Where were they taking her?

  Ethan touched her cheek and then scrambled up, pulling her with him. Pain wracked her body and she was bathed in heavy sweat. Yet she’d never felt so cold in her entire life.

  “Trust me, baby,” Ethan said softly. “I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to do as I say.”

  She barely had time to nod before he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He fumbled with his rifle with his free hand and then charged out the door behind Sam.

  The ground spun dizzily underneath her and his shoulder dug painfully into her belly until bile rose and ate at her throat. Around her the world had gone mad. Fire blazed a path across the village and beyond. Gunfire peppered the ground and trees around her, and she was sure she would die. Now, when rescue was imminent, it would all be for nothing. They would never let her go. They’d told her as much.