TWENTY-EIGHT
“Two miles out,” I hear Eduardo’s scratchy voice say over the radio from the front seat. “Two miles until we reach our location.”
Everyone is gearing up, strapping on black boots and their black bulletproof vests, double-checking their guns and tucking away their knives, ammunition, and zip ties. Luke struggles with the Velcro on his vest.
“Here, let me help you,” I say as I tighten his strap, looking into Luke’s eyes for the first time in an hour. His lips curl up into a small, relieved smile. I’ve felt his eyes on me, desperate for me to give him some sort of sign of how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. I’ve been seesawing between moments of numbness and moments of panic. I haven’t wanted him to look at me and see vapid emptiness or hysterical fear. The truth is I don’t know how I should feel. There isn’t exactly a guidebook on how to feel when you’re on your way to rescue your kidnapped parents from their psychotic colleague turned traitor.
I know Luke. He’s been watching me, trying to figure out what to do, what to say. But there’s nothing to say. Just being here is more than enough because he doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t need to put his life on the line to save my parents. But he has, and I know he would even if I begged him to stay.
I move my hand along Luke’s strong shoulder, adjusting the vest so it sits evenly on his body.
“Thanks,” he says as I pull one last piece of Velcro across his stomach and memories of my dad helping me with my own vest come flooding back to me. Once a month, Dad would run one of his drills with me in the basement using different situations. Hostage standoffs, bomb threats, terrorist take-downs, just to see how I’d react, what guns I would take, what martial arts skills I would use. All those Saturdays strapping on a vest I didn’t really need, loading a gun I wasn’t even going to shoot, sidestepping quietly through a house with no one inside, has all led to this moment. And now I’m ready for the real thing.
Luke, Eduardo, and I are suited up even though we’re staying in the truck. Eduardo behind the wheel, Luke and I monitoring the satellites and intel from CORE. We’re extreme backup. Sam actually used the word extreme like seventeen times when referring to us as backup. Sam, Laz, and Cooper will take down the guards and storm the barn.
“One mile from the field,” Eduardo’s voice comes over the computer monitors. “One mile.”
“All right, everyone have their earpieces in?” Sam asks from the back of the truck. She’s surrounded by monitors, watching the satellites, intercepting last-minute data, and talking directly with CORE.
The tiny blue light of my earpiece shines up at me from the palm of my hand. I slip it into my right ear so we can all hear one another.
“Thomas, are you online? What’s the latest?” Laz asks into his earpiece. There’s a small crack on the other end.
“Yes, I’m here,” Thomas answers. “From our satellite images, Torres went out to the barn around eight o’clock and stayed there for sixteen minutes before returning to the main house. It’s dark now so the images aren’t as clear, but it looks like several of the guards from around the house have started to make their way in for dinner. There should still be four guards around the barn. I don’t think Torres will let those guards leave their position for anything.”
“So all sources point to them still being inside the barn?” I ask, my voice carrying up to the tiny black microphone built into my earpiece.
“Affirmative,” Thomas replies. “And a word of caution; even if you disarm these guards, they most likely are concealing weapons too. With what happened at the airport in Kentucky, I’ve gotten full clearance from the higher-ups to shoot to kill.”
Shoot to kill, I repeat in my head. In just a few minutes, the team has full permission to take a life. I have never wanted to kill anyone. It’s the part of the job I’ve hated, the idea of being the hand that forces someone’s last breath. But tonight’s different. If it’s a choice between them or us—if it means my parents can go free—then let there be bodies and blood on the ground.
My pulse throbs anxious beats against my neck. My thigh and calf muscles begin to twitch and tingle and I have to stop myself from sprinting out the door of the moving truck. I lean my head against the metal wall and close my eyes. I breathe and try to focus on something to calm me down. Moments of my life filter through my brain. They’re not full memories, just flashes—Mom dressed in her cream robe, the squeak of Dad’s office chair, the clink of coffee cups on the kitchen counter, Mom’s biscuits in the oven, Dad’s paper on the island. They’re meaningless, mundane moments that now mean everything to me.
“Half a mile from target,” Eduardo updates us in our ears, flicking my eyes open.
“Everybody locked and loaded?” Sam asks, standing from behind the mountain of monitors.
Team members nod or answer, “Ready.”
“Luke, Reagan,” Sam says, stepping closer to us. “As soon as we’re out those doors, you guys are on. We’ll have cameras strapped to our helmets so you’ll be able to see. Do you remember how to work everything? Have any questions on what I’ve showed you?”
“No. We’ve got it,” I confirm.
“Silencers on?” Laz asks, twisting a silencer on his M4.
“All set,” Cooper answers, running his fingers along the smooth metal of his silencer. Everyone around me nods.
“Two hundred yards from target,” Eduardo says in my ear and I can feel the truck beginning to decrease its speed.
My lungs feel like they’re collapsing. I breathe in, but the air in this truck is metallic and suffocating. After hours of talking and planning and replanning, no one speaks. The only sounds I hear are the tap, tap, tap of Luke at the keyboard, Velcro ripping apart as Sam adjusts her vest, and Cooper’s fingers drumming nervously on the metal wall of the truck.
Soft whispers break up the quiet. I look up at Laz. His hands are collapsed together, his eyes are closed, his mouth moves quickly. I catch snippets of what he’s saying. Dios mio. Seguridad. Jesus Cristo. He’s praying. I watch him as he carefully crosses himself in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. He raises his hand to his lips and gently kisses his fingertips. He opens his brown eyes and they immediately meet mine.
“Who were you praying for, Laz?” I ask, my voice quiet.
“For your parents. For you. For all of us,” Laz answers and nods.
“Thank you.” I lean my shoulders against the truck. “I hope God hears you.”
“Have you asked God to protect you?” Laz asks, taking a step closer to me.
“I haven’t really prayed in a long time,” I say and shake my head. “It feels selfish to ask for help now.”
“Dios te escucha,” Laz says, his index finger pointing up toward the heavens and then down to his right ear. He nods slowly, his brown eyes glistening. There’s a flash of sadness in them. Maybe the sorrow is for me. That I walk through life without God in my heart and prayers on my lips. I study his face: He blinks and the sadness is gone. He looks peaceful, envy crushing my already-aching heart. I wish I believed God would always protect me or that prayers carry power or that good really does conquer evil. Life would be easier that way.
“God hears you,” Laz repeats, this time in English. “God hears you always.”
I want to believe that if I pray hard enough for strength, protection, and the lives of my parents, that God will hear me and make it so. But I don’t think it works that way. God doesn’t choose who gets to live and who has to die. And if he does, he’s a God I don’t think I want to know.
The truck’s heavy tires squeal as the truck comes to a complete stop.
“Go time,” Sam says, clutching her gun to her chest.
“Let’s bring them home,” Thomas says. I push my earpiece deeper into my eardrum.
Cooper unlocks the back door of the truck and it swings open with a screaming creak. One by one, they jump the five feet down to the ground, their boots scraping against the gravel road.
“Are you sitting down with me?” Luke asks from behind the monitors.
“Yes, just one second,” I say and walk toward the back of the truck. “I can’t breathe in here.”
I jump quietly off the back of the truck and onto the gravel road. I take in a breath. The air outside is humid and salty and sweet. The shore is only two miles away and Colombia’s fragrant flowers are in full bloom.
I watch as Sam, Laz, and Cooper walk into darkness, their calves and lower thighs disappearing in the field’s high grass and weeds. A half mile is what separates me from my parents. A half mile until they come face-to-face with some of the most ruthless assassins in the world.
With each breath, my racing heart slows. Something resembling peace washes over me. Maybe it’s my training or the smell of seawater. Maybe it’s Laz’s prayer. Whatever it is, my heart isn’t filled with fear. It’s filled with something I’ve never felt before. Whatever it is, I need it to stay with me. I breathe in the Colombian air and hold it in my lungs. Stay with me, please. Dear God, please stay with me.
TWENTY-NINE
“There are four guards around the perimeter of the barn, do you copy?” Sam’s voice whispers in my ear. I take my right hand off the keyboard and touch my ear.
“Copy,” I say and hear the rest of the team repeat “copy” after me. Luke and I are seated on the floor of the truck, watching the team’s cameras on our monitors. The team is one hundred yards away from the barn, crouched in the grass, watching the guards. One guard is at the front of the barn standing stationary, the MP5 machine gun cradled in his arms. The guard on the side facing the field paces back and forth. Like a good soldier. Torres probably loves this kid. He’s tall and muscular and incredibly alert.
“Are you guys seeing this?” I warn, my voice carrying up to my mouthpiece. “The guard on the south side of the barn is super intense. We have to wait for him to calm down a bit if we even want a chance in hell.”
“We see him,” Sam answers me. “Good eye.”
“Thomas, any indication they’ll change guards soon?” Cooper asks. I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say yes. We need a lazy guard, one that’s more concerned with cigarette smoking than gun holding.
“No. They just changed guards an hour ago,” Thomas answers. His voice in my ear sounds hollow and reminds me just how far away I am from home. “They probably won’t change again for another hour and a half, and by then it might be too late.”
“All right,” I hear Cooper say on the other end. “We have to move in now. This is the only chance we’ve got.”
“Wait one more minute,” Laz’s voice enters my ear. Hearing his calm, deep voice helps me breathe. “The right time will come.”
“We don’t have time to sit and wait,” Cooper hisses.
“Un minuto,” Laz repeats. “Un minuto.”
Cooper sighs in my ear as we watch the guard pace. After a minute, his steps slow, his stride narrows, and his weapon looks heavier in his hands. When he reaches the front of the barn, his hand wraps around the wall. He peers at the guard on the other side, then ducks back around. My eyes stay glued to him. Put it down. Put it down. Put it down, I silently beg. The faithful soldier looks around once more before his shoulders slump and his puffed-out chest caves in. I release the breath I’ve been holding as he leans his weapon against his leg, digs into his pocket, and pulls out a cigarette. The light from a match flickers around his face, smoke rises from his lips, and just like that, the good soldier lets down his guard.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Move in. Now,” Cooper says into my earpiece.
The cameras on their helmets bounce ever so slightly as they creep toward the barn. Each step they take is delicate, careful not to crack a stick or rustle the weeds and grass. The light positioned at each side of the barn plays to our advantage. The guards can only see directly in front of them. They’re practically blind to the team hiding in the field.
Luke and I watch the team move quickly and quietly, one right behind the other, crouched low to the ground, the weeds still covering most of their bodies. My heart picks up speed with each yard they cover. Forty yards away. Thirty yards away. At twenty yards away they pause. I turn my attention back to the guard. He lifts his cigarette to his mouth and sucks in the tobacco. He holds the smoke in his lungs and tilts his head toward the sky. A line of smoke billows from his lips and rises in the air, separating and then dissipating a few feet above his head.
“Hurry, he’s almost done with that cigarette,” I say as I watch him pull the cigarette back up to his lips. A puff more and he’ll be at the filter. Then the gun will be back in his hand and our one shot of taking him down without a fight will be lost.
“We see, Reagan,” Laz’s voice says in my ears. My shot of the bodyguard disappears. I hear the grass rustle in my ear. They’re on their stomachs, watching their prey, waiting to strike.
“This is still not a good angle,” Sam whispers and my earpiece cracks and pops. “He’s going to see us coming, cigarette or gun in hand. We have to take him down from here.”
“Sam’s right,” Luke says next to me. “He’s going to see you guys coming no matter what.”
“Take him down, Cooper. Let’s hope he falls to the right and not the left,” I say. I study the guard’s position. If he’s shot in the head and falls to the right, the other guards will have no idea. If he falls to the left, he’s close enough to the front of the barn that the other guard may see him fall forward and know we’re here. But it’s a risk we have to take.
“Do it,” I say and reach for the M4 at my side. “Now.”
The grass rustles in my ear as Cooper rises from his hiding spot and lifts the gun to his shoulder. I turn my attention back to the guard. Please fall to the right. Please fall to the right. He takes one last drag of his cigarette, flicks the last bit of burning ash onto the ground, and leans down to his right to pick up his gun. Then I hear it. The stifled pop of a M4 carbine. The bullet whizzes through the air and strikes the guard square in the temple. Blood rushes out of his ear and pours down his face as he falls to the ground. To the right, thank God.
I press my lips into a relieved “O” and allow the breath I’ve been holding to escape.
“Three guards to go,” Sam says, her voice hushed and steady. “Cooper, you take the back. Laz and I will take the front and then the three of us will attack from both sides on the north side of the barn. We go on my count. Ready?”
“Let’s do this,” Laz says. I can hear small metallic pops and cracks through my earpiece as they all ready their weapons to shoot.
“Eduardo, Luke, Reagan, we’ll give you a signal when we’ve got Jonathan and Elizabeth,” Sam whispers. “Then you come immediately to us, but not a minute before that, you got me?”
“Got it,” I say, my mouth struggling to push out the words, adrenaline strangling my vocal cords. I climb onto my knees and stare at the dead guard on my monitor. Even through the thermal cameras, I can make out the bloodstains on the ground beneath him. His gun is still in his hand.
“On my count,” Sam says, her voice heavy, carrying the weight of the danger that’s in front of her. In front of us. “In five, four, three, two, one.”
Their bodies rise from the grass. They dart to the side of the barn, their breaths heavier in my earpiece with each yard. I feel Luke shift with anxiety next to me but I don’t take my eyes off our guys. Their backs against the wall, Sam stretches out her arm, nods, and points to the back of the barn. Cooper crouches down, his weapons pointed in front of him. He steps quickly toward the back side of the barn. Laz and Sam point their weapons in the opposite direction, step over the guard’s dead body, and make their way to the front of the barn.
Please, God, please, God, I repeat over and over again in my head. I’m gripping the gun at my side so hard my hands are becoming cramped and sore. Please, God, please, God.
“On my count,” Sam whispers again in the earpiece. “Five, four, three, two, one.”
; With that, all three swing around the sides of the barn and pull their triggers at the exact same time, the power from their shots forcing them back. I watch as the guard in Sam’s monitor falls to the ground. But just as I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief, the bright, pulsating flashes of a gun light up Cooper’s monitor. Pow. Pow. Pow.
“Shit,” Laz says in my ears, his normally calm voice now panicked. I watch Cooper’s camera bounce as he races around the back side of the barn, seeking refuge from the gunfire. He missed. He fucking missed.
Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. Pow. More gunfire from the back of the barn. From Laz’s camera, I see lights turn on inside the house and within seconds I know every guard on this property will be sprinting toward the barn.
Without a word, I rise and grab my M4 off the ground.
“Reagan, wait,” Luke says, pulling himself up, but I’m already jumping off the bed of the truck and sprinting through the high grass.
“We’re going in,” Luke yells somewhere behind me as we sprint toward the barn.
“No, go back!” Cooper booms in my ear. “The mission is blown. We’re aborting. We have to get out of here or we’re all going to die.”
“I’m not leaving without them,” I scream into my ear, tightening my grip on my weapon.
“Go, go, go. They’ll be here any second,” Sam yells back and I don’t know if she means to go back to the truck or get to the barn. But it doesn’t matter. I’d be sprinting into the line of fire either way.
I run so fast, my feet feel like they’re not even touching the ground. Please, God. Please, God, I plead with each step. Please let us make it to the barn before the guards. I scan the grounds as I sprint. I see them. Their flashlights dot their positions in the distance, bobbing with every strike of their heel. We’re one hundred yards. Now seventy-five. Now fifty. Now twenty-five. Now ten. I reach the barn first and jump over the dead body that lies in front of the door. I yank at the heavy barn door. The curved metal of a lock pulls the door back.
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