Cole sucked in a deep breath and headed out of the warehouse, toward the staging area. He couldn’t take being in there and not finding her. It was worse knowing she was somewhere out there with the bad guys. That they’d snuck out right under their noses.
Tanya’s phone buzzed, then his work line and personal cell. He nearly dropped his rifle scrambling to get one of the devices out of his pockets. The work phone was the closest on hand.
It’s Tanya. In warehouse behind Warehouse. In storage container. 19 hostages. Group escaped b4 we did thru tunnel. Find them.
Cole froze and stared at the screen. Tanya was alive and communicating with him. She could still be rescued.
What were the suspects doing with them? What did they want now?
He ran as fast as the eighty pounds of gear strapped to his person allowed. He jerked the command center door open and climbed inside.
“My wife’s with the suspects,” he practically yelled.
All movement in the trailer ceased for a single beat.
The phone vibrated again.
Lily and several other officials moved to peer over his shoulder.
These 3 guys being manipulated into terrorism. Not terrorists by choice.
“Let me see that,” Lily said.
Cole thrust his work phone at her and dug out his personal cell. The same messages were there too.
“She’s texting all our phones,” he explained and tapped out a reply. He had to. Each communication with her might be his last.
Brass has my work phone. I have mine and yours. Love you. Stay safe. No heroics. Coming to get you.
“O’Neil.” Cole crossed to where his commander had his head together with another officer. “I want to be in on the team that goes into the second location. I know you have to say no, it’s not policy, but I want on that team.”
The two officers glanced at each other and for a moment, it seemed as if no one moved or breathed.
O’Neil slapped a stack of papers on the desk and placed his fists on his hips. The corners of his mouth were twisted as if he’d tasted something sour. “Westling, you’ve been on the front line for the last two hours. You sit your ass down and wait for orders. We’ll let you know when the team is going in.”
Cole clenched his fists. “Sir—”
O’Neil held his hand up. “You’re leading Alpha Team, Westling. Don’t make me regret this.”
* * * * *
Tanya sank to the ground and leaned against the wall of the shipping container. The adrenaline and stress were wearing on everyone. There was no way she could close her eyes and sleep now, but when this was over, if she survived, Tanya thought she might be able to sleep for days.
She put her hand over the cell phone at her hip. Touching it, knowing Cole was on the other end, comforted her a little. Not a lot, but it was her lifeline. It had vibrated a few moments ago, but she didn’t dare pull it out again.
“Hey. Hey, lady,” a man on the other side of the shipping container whispered. They’d all been trying to keep their voices down.
Tanya glanced up, despite the little voice in the back of her head telling her to ignore him. Play dumb.
Shit.
“You still have my phone?” His voice was low, but everyone in their makeshift prison turned toward her. She was the meat in the piranha pool.
Tanya nodded and pressed the phone against her hip.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
The man leaned toward her. At least six people sat on the floor between them, glancing back and forth as if watching a tennis tournament. “You get hold of your husband? You said he was SWAT?”
“Sh!” She glanced behind her, but the door remained closed and their captors unaccounted for. Tanya could feel Mallory and Goldie staring at her.
“Are they coming to get us?” one woman asked, her voice pitched higher.
“Keep your voices down,” she snapped. Her muscles protested, but she pushed to her feet. “Everyone stay calm. We need to stay quiet.”
Tanya glanced over the people staring at her, a glimmer of hope in their eyes. She’d always shied away from telling people Cole was part of SWAT because she didn’t want to talk about the dangerous aspect of his job with other people. Maybe it was the wrong choice, but it was the one she’d made. That, and people treated her differently when they knew what he did. Now she was going to have the opposite problem. People were pinning their rescue on her, and Tanya didn’t know if she could carry that weight.
“Yes, my husband is SWAT. I’ve been texting him, so they know where we are. I do not know their plans. They can’t take that risk that telling me will tip them off.” She thumbed over her shoulder at the doors.
“Is there nothing we can do?” the owner of the phone asked. He was Hispanic, with a belligerent tone she didn’t trust.
“I understand your frustration, but no. We—”
The doors behind Tanya squeaked, protesting the movement. Dim light filtered into the container. People shielded their faces and scooted farther into the prison.
“You. Come here,” Trigger Happy snapped.
Cold fear gripped Tanya by the spine, rooting her to the spot.
They all knew which “you” he was referring to.
Had they been listening?
“Now,” he snapped.
Tanya slowly turned in place. Trigger Happy stood in a rectangle of dim light. Night must have long since fallen and their new digs didn’t exactly come equipped with electricity and a spa.
Trigger Happy grabbed her arm and jerked her out of the container. She stumbled and nearly pitched forward into a stack of broken shipping pallets, but Nicolas caught her.
“Easy,” he muttered.
She felt the cylinders and wires attached to his vest and her skin crawled.
Tape. Trigger Happy had peeled tape off his detonator.
“What do you want?” she asked, backing away from Nicolas. He was still a terrorist.
“Answer the phone next time it rings. They keep calling.” Trigger Happy tossed the phone at her. She caught it, but barely.
She glanced from the smart phone to her captors and back. “What should I tell them?”
“Tell them to back off or we start killing hostages,” Silence said.
Tanya froze and all three gunmen seemed to pause as well. As if they were resolving themselves to this action. Had they seriously gone into this with the idea they’d threaten some people and get what they wanted? It was unrealistic. Hadn’t they seen TV? It was fake, but it still made a point. The cops didn’t bargain with criminals, even less with terrorists.
“Why are you doing this?” Tanya asked.
The three men glanced among each other. Had she stumbled on to a sore topic?
“For the release of Ali Saed,” Silence said in an unconvincing tone.
Nicolas snorted and rolled his eyes.
Silence crossed the distance to Nicolas in two strides and thrust his finger in the other man’s face. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”
“I haven’t.” Nicolas shoved Silence back. “You think I want them killing my grandparents?”
Tanya edged away from the contentious duo. Did she dare make a run for it? The warehouse was pitch dark, save for where a few skylights provided natural light. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Grandparents? Someone else was sitting on another trigger somewhere?
Silence grabbed the front of Nicolas’ vest and hauled him closer, their faces intimate. “Don’t forget that. My brother and mother are worth more to me than your life. Remember that.”
“Cut it out,” Trigger Happy said, taking over as the voice of reason. He directed his gaze toward her and the other two swiveled in her direction.
Tanya shifted her weight from foot to foot. She should have run. The same decision was etched onto each face. She knew too much. They’d given her some key, some vital information to unlock the truth behind what was going on.
“She can’t go back in the container,” Silence said
.
Tanya held her hands up, more than ready to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Silence stepped toward her slowly, his gaze narrowed. “Yeah, but you’re smart—”
The phone in her hand broke out into song, flashing and vibrating. Tanya yelped and jumped, surprised by the sudden noise.
“Answer it,” Trigger Happy snapped.
“Okay, okay.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Hello?”
“Tanya?” Lily’s voice was a welcome sound.
“Yes, hi, Lily.” Tanya pressed her other hand against her chest.
Trigger Happy lowered his gun, pointing the muzzle at her.
“Tanya, are you safe? Are the other hostages okay?”
“I can’t answer your questions. What I can say is that the cops need to back off or-or th-they will begin killing hostages.” She sucked in a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “They still demand the release of Ali Saed.”
“Would one of the men talk to me? I can’t help them if you can’t talk to me.”
“Let me—”
“That’s enough.” Silence grabbed the phone and ended the call. He glared at her, as if she’d said too much.
Tanya held her hands up, shielding herself behind her palms. “I’m sorry, she just wanted to know if she could talk to you or ask you questions through me. I’m sorry.”
“Go sit over there,” Silence ordered, pointing at a stack of mostly unbroken pallets.
Tanya was going to die.
It was a fact of the circumstances, but maybe she could save the others. She turned to face her captors. “I—I have to pee. I’m sorry. I drank so much water before the game, I really have to go.”
“Fucking hell,” Nicolas muttered. “Come on.”
“No,” Silence snapped. “She goes nowhere.”
“What do you expect her to do, man? Piss herself?” Nicolas grasped her upper arm. “The others are going to have to pee if we stay here much longer.”
“Fuck,” Trigger Happy spat.
“There’s another shipping container over there. Stick a bucket in there and we’re set,” Nicolas continued, reclaiming his title as Mr. Reasonable.
“Hurry up,” Trigger Happy said.
Silence watched the unfolding decision, his brow drawn down and his expression screaming disapproval.
“Come on,” Nicolas whispered, hauling her along the thin path between pallets and discarded metal.
There was so much scrap, she briefly wondered if she could grab some of it, use it as a shield or weapon, but that wouldn’t help. It would just get her into trouble with the rest of them and put the other hostages in danger.
“Are you really going to kill us?” she asked.
Nicolas didn’t meet her gaze, just kept leading her through the scrap until the maw of another darkened shipping container loomed in front of them.
Tanya grabbed the door when he tried to shove her in. “Nicolas, please tell me the truth.”
He didn’t meet her gaze, but stared off into the junk.
“Nick?”
“I don’t want it to be like this, but we don’t have any choice.” He met her gaze then, with his dark, soulful brown eyes. Light from the overhead skylight glinted off unshed tears. “You have to understand, we don’t want to do this. We have to.”
“Why?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”
She spread her arms wide. “You’ve all but admitted that I’m the first to go. Why not tell me why I’m dying?”
Tell her so she could pass it on. Maybe save another life.
Nicolas wiped his face with his hand and held it over his mouth for a moment. “Maybe it will help ease my soul.” His gaze flicked to her face and she felt the weight of his choice, the turmoil in his soul and the steel of his personality. It stank to high heaven that she met him like this, because Nicolas seemed to be made of the kind of mettle she liked in people. “Ali Saed’s people have my grandparents. They have M— They have relatives to all of us. If we don’t do this, they’ll die. What are we supposed to do? How can I choose strangers over my family?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It was easier before you had faces, names. Before all this.” He gestured to his fashion statement of a vest.
Tanya stared at her captor.
What would she do if someone had Cole? What lengths would she go for him to live?
The truth was she didn’t know. In Nicolas’ place, maybe she’d make the same decision.
“Go.” Nicolas jerked his head toward the dark space. “I’ll get you a bucket.”
Tanya stepped into the container and Nicolas closed the door, hinges squealing in protest.
She didn’t wait to hear his steps retreat or for the bucket she didn’t actually need. She pulled the phone out of her shorts and tapped out everything she could think of.
Tape on triggers.
Hostages being used to leverage terrorists.
Goodbye.
The container door opened so fast she couldn’t stash the phone. Tanya jerked her head up and stared into Nicolas’ grim face.
“What are you doing?” he asked quietly. The lack of volume sounded more dangerous than if he’d yelled at her.
Tanya licked her lips and glanced over his shoulder. Could she get away? Did she dare?
“I’m sorry,” she blurted for lack of anything better to say.
Nicolas stepped into the container, his face disappearing into shadow. Tanya took a step back and ran into something.
“Nick, please—”
“Give me the phone.” He held out his hand.
Tanya hunched forward and rushed Nicolas, but he caught her and pushed her roughly against the wall. She didn’t stop struggling. She kicked and tried to hit him in the face, doing her best to stay away from the vest.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he got out through clenched teeth. He wrenched her arms up and over her head. The phone clattered to the floor.
“No, you just want to kill me,” she spat in his face.
His arms relaxed and Nicolas stepped back and rubbed his face. “No. I don’t. What were you doing?”
“Saying goodbye to my husband.” It was a partial truth.
“You’re smart, Tanya.” Nicolas stepped back, giving her space. He put his hands on the rifle. “Hand me the phone.”
Did she die now, or in a minute when he read the texts? She was a goner and whatever plans Cole had in place for rescuing the hostages or outmaneuvering the terrorists would be ruined.
Nicolas leveled the gun at her. Somehow it didn’t inspire the same amount of fear it had in those first few moments. Either she was going to die by gun or bomb, but there was no way she was surviving this.
He knelt slowly and retrieved the phone. With one eye on her, he flicked through the messages, reading her last correspondence with the man she loved most.
“Is your husband a cop or something?” Nicolas asked, without the anger she expected. He offered the phone to her.
Was this a trap?
She glanced from phone to Nicolas.
He sighed heavily. “I’m going to take your silence as a yes. I want to help him. What can we do?”
“Wait. What? Are you serious?” Tanya snatched the phone. If this wasn’t a trick, Cole needed to know as soon as possible.
“I never thought it would go this far and I’m not ready for any more people to die. The others, they’re serious. I won’t have any more blood on my hands. Let me help them.”
Did she trust him?
Chapter Thirteen
Cole tightened his grip on the rifle. The team moved with near silence down the tunnel, crossing from warehouse to warehouse. Three other teams were entering the building under the cover of darkness, moving through the haphazard paths in search of the shipping containers Tanya’s texts and the other survivors who’d fled this way had mentioned. It was a stroke of luck the small group of escaped hostages also passed near where Tanya’s group was being hel
d. Their information coupled with Tanya’s was invaluable.
But the value of the intel didn’t matter to Cole. What mattered was keeping her alive.
Her final text message was burned into his mind.
If I don’t survive, I love u with all my heart and soul. You r my world. I regret nothing.
Tanya was not going to die. She wasn’t.
The team emerged into what appeared to be a scrapyard, except for the layers of dust, cobwebs and obvious dilapidation of the structure.
If a bomb went off in here no one would survive. The metal, shattered wood—all of it would be turned into projectiles. If the blast didn’t kill them all, the shrapnel would. But they weren’t going to lose anyone else. Not today.
“No. No! He didn’t mean it,” Tanya’s high-pitched cry broke the relative silence of the warehouse.
Cole’s gut reaction was to break into a run, go to her, but that would only put her life and all the other hostages in danger. He held position though every fiber of his body said to save her. Now.
He used hand signals to communicate to his team, move them into better position for the narrowness of the path ahead.
Men’s voices rose, but not enough he could make out what they were saying. Cole listened for Tanya’s voice, but couldn’t pick her out from the rest.
Cole crept through the heaps with his team at his back. They had to move without the aid of flashlights, but the support teams outside had accommodated for this, moving floodlights into position to shine through the skylights and give them that much more visibility. It wasn’t protocol for most missions, but there was nothing about this situation that followed typical process with suspects.
Between a haphazard pile of shipping pallets and metal oil drums, Cole caught a glimpse of a man surveillance photographs had led them to believe was named Nicolas Al Harbia. He was a Saudi Arabian immigrant, but according to records he’d moved to America as a young boy and never returned to his birth country. He seemed normal, no prior convictions, worked in the medical field and had even married a white woman. He wasn’t someone Cole would suspect of being a terrorist, which made it even scarier.
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