Rounding the corner in the dilapidated billeting hall, he took reassurance in the guards at both ends and an extra outside his room—where Sara and Lucia would sleep.
Where they waited inside for him.
Throughout most of the day escaping and the evening mission planning, he'd done a damn fine job of pretending his heart wasn't jackhammering in his ears. But now, in the silent corridor with only his boots thudding, he could hear his heart just fine. And he would be spending the night in the same room with Sara—and their four-year-old kid.
Quarters were limited and no way would he or any of his people bunk downtown in Cartina's capital even if the accommodations were more spacious. So they'd doubled up for the night, their last in Cartina before taking off after dark tomorrow. As much as he wanted to leave in the morning, he preferred an after-sundown takeoff with NVGs—night vision goggles. Those hulking gray C-17s made too large a target for some rebel with a shoulder-held missile launcher.
Not much longer and this would be behind them.
He knocked twice, softly in case Lucia slept. "Sara? It's me."
>Rage simmering low, fueling him past normal endurance, he checked the bathroom next. The washrag was damp. Whoever had been here left within a few hours.
He spun on his heel to leave...and hesitated. He searched the small bathroom looking for a trash can or hamper. Yanking open cabinets one after the other, he found only basics—toothpaste, toothbrushes still in the boxes—the shelves otherwise empty except for towels I and a bucket of cleaning supplies. Behind the door? Nothing.
The other bedroom looked much the same except for a double bed this time, with the spread tossed in place. Not even stray dirty clothes to offer a clue as to who I lived here. No laundry? Odd.
He started toward the door again, pivoting. His foot hooked on the small rubbish basket. Pissed, he punted it out of his way. The wicker container ricocheted off the rocker, tumbling across the floor, trash scattering. A syringe rolled free.
A syringe? For Sara's diabetes?
Could be a coincidence. But he hadn't lived this long by believing in coincidence. Sara had been here in a safe house reputed to belong to the United States government. If she was a prisoner, she needed rescuing. If she'd gone willingly? Even considering such disloyalty threatened what little reason he had left after losing his family. She and Lucia were all he had left. If she'd betrayed him, he had no reason left to live. He would know for certain either way when he looked into her eyes. His openhearted Sarafina had never been good at deception.
And he knew where they were heading. Lucky for him, because of his old days as a freedom fighter, he also knew a well-kept secret he had been saving for just such a time.
The time had come to once again travel the underground tunnels leading into the Cartina National Air Base.
Finally, she was safe at the Cartina National Air Base.
Sara cuddled her daughter in her lap while Lucas was reunited with his squadron—or at least some of his crew members. From her viewpoint in a squeaky office chair in the operations center, she watched him rule in his element. She yearned for any extra hints for figuring out this man who gave away so little about himself.
Apparently, she wasn't the only one he shut out. He was in charge of these aviators currently gathered around him. Their relief at seeing him was obvious — yet they kept a deferential distance. Seabrook had been dead right about the squadron's shock if Lucas acted like a "regular dude."
They'd all been reunited an hour ago, the base on the lookout after the alert was sent from the safe house before they'd evacuated. Sara studied the flyers. Some names she couldn't remember fully from the emotional introductions—call signs like Bo or was that Beau or Bow? Some strange ones, too—Tag, Gabby and Mako.
The others in the group, she recalled better from discussions with Lucas.
Nola Seabrook, of course, steely strong after an ordeal that would have shattered most.
Carson Hunt, the squadron's third in command, with a blond godlike air of wealth and assurance.
Darcy Keagan, a coltish girl-next-door type and also the wife of the agent they'd met at the safe house. She tossed sunflower seeds into her mouth with a jittery excitement no one could miss. Her husband was already on base, as well, due to join her any second now. Thank heavens they wouldn't endure the pain of losing each other.
Lucia wriggled, eating tortilla strips while Sara cradled the phone to her ear, waiting for the call to go through. Again Lucas's thoughtfulness tugged at her heart. He'd simply passed her the phone and said a call would be patched through in another few seconds to— Tomas. Lucas had tracked down her brother earlier while she'd been checked out by yet another doctor.
"Sarafina?"
Was that deep, adult voice really her little brother? She clutched the phone tighter to her ear as if to bring him closer as she swallowed down the emotion clogging her throat and nose. She wanted to talk to him, which she couldn't do if she was crying.
"Si, Tomas." She sniffled.
She could have sworn she heard him swallow just as hard even with all the activity in the conference room, crumbling stucco walls providing little soundproofing. Soldiers bustled outside, some guarding, others going about their regular duty as they prepared for possible retaliation from Ramon's remaining men.
"I still can't believe..." he continued in lightly accented English rather than Spanish, and a small part of her ached that he'd left that part of himself behind. "But I'm so damn grateful." He cleared his throat again. "I hear from Lucas that I'm an uncle?"
"You are—" she cuddled her daughter closer "—and she's smart and beautiful. Her name's Lucia, and we have so much to catch up on I'm not even sure where to start. I want to know everything, every detail of your past five years. Please say that you have pictures, lots of them."
"Uh, Lucas is a great guy, but can you really envision him running alongside the soccer field with a video camera in hand?"