How strange that Yasmine had never opened her mouth to say anything about her training. If positions were reversed and Yasmine had implied her older sister was a leech on society, Monica would have flashed that education like a neon sign under the offender's nose. So much for assumptions. Yasmine's cultural orientation gave her a different way of moving through the world, not necessarily wrong or bad. Just different.
Monica reassessed her proud baby sister perched like a princess beside her. And then the clock on the wall gave her no more time to mull anything over.
Crusty tapped his watch. "Max, good luck settling this one out and handling the home front. We gotta roll for preflight."
Ready to roll.
Blake crouched beneath the guard tower, below where the guard now lay crumpled and dead in his perch. Sweat burned salty trails into his eyes. Adrenaline kinked muscles tight, ready to spring into action.
C-17s circled five minutes out, waiting for the all-clear that the hostages had been secured so they could offload the Rangers. No more waiting.
"Go!"
The order through his headset unleashed him into action, noiseless, fast, lethal, like a bullet through his silencer. Under the stealth of night, he moved in. Not as dark or late as he would like. But hopefully confusion from the camp loading up to leave would give him a new edge.
They all fanned out in pairs. A movement flickered on his right. M-4 hip level, he popped the terrorist sentry, silencer hissing. Another hiss sounded behind him. Carlos shooting. Blake swallowed. Damn. What had he missed?
For the first time he questioned the wisdom in his being here. He would die to save Sydney. He would take a bullet for Carlos. No question. But what if he screwed up? Carlos would take a bullet for him, too.
Shit. Get it together.
He ducked, dodged, wove around parked vehicles. Three steps through the open, then behind the cover of a one-story building. Back flattened to cement, he sidled.
Almost there. The next barrack-style building. Blood thundered in his ears.
Six would go inside to secure hostages. Ten would guard outside the building through seizing the compound. One company of Rangers had been specifically tasked to sweep past this particular building first. Fast.
He scanned the UWB along the wall. One heat source. Two. And... Nothing.
There were only two people inside the cell.
Intensity upped the adrenaline. Rekinked his muscles. He prayed to a God he wasn't even sure existed anymore that Sydney would be inside that building.
Time to go in. No alert from the compound, so no need to set explosives and mousehole through for speed. Only seconds more and he would have her safe.
He made eye contact with the other five team buddies heading in with him. Go.
Adrenaline surged. Two shots, he double-tapped the guard outside the door.
By mutual consent, he was first in. No one questioned his right. Unhooking the key off the dead guard, Blake stepped over the lifeless body, opened the door...
A man. A woman. Both familiar faces from hostage profiles. Neither one Sydney. The hostages Kayla and Phillip stared up with shell-shocked surprise from a cot and card game.
Blake's brain sparked with miniexplosions. Embers flecked his vision.
Carlos spoke first. "U.S. Navy, we've secured the building. We'll be holding position until the rest of the compound is in our control."
Blake charged in. "Where's the other hostage? Where's Sydney?"
Kayla cowered closer to Phillip. "They took her for questioning during our walk this afternoon. She never came back."
No. His mind refused to accept it. He'd seen her walk earlier, could have sworn she looked right at him, but then she'd left, returning to her cell, he'd assumed. "Where?"
"Barracks next door."
He'd walked right past her.
Blake spun, charged around. Carlos clamped a hand on his arm. "Hold on."