The teams needed to get in and out quickly, because this op was happening without official sanction. The Belizean army didn’t want to know what went down here, so this was a stealth operation.
“Status,” Gray said into his headpiece. He listened briefly, then flashed the team a thumbs-up. “We’re a go. Stand by.”
The Black Hawk descended rapidly over the compound to the garage as the team moved into position. The bird had been modified to make a quiet descent. The crewman tossed the rope out of the open door. Gray went down the line first. After counting to three, Mason followed. The closer they went out the door, the faster they all made it to the ground. Grabbing the rope between his gloved hands and boots, he rode it down like a firehouse pole, the soles of his feet inches above Gray’s head. The only thing standing between him and a brutal ground landing was his ability to hang on.
The next three men would be right behind them, moving equally fast because they’d be vulnerable to small-arms fire and Santiago’s security while they were on the rope. The rope spun through his gloved hands as the chopper moved slowly forward, dragging the rope. Gray dropped away. Mason counted to two and then let go. The impact vibrated through his body, but he was already weapons up. Ten seconds later, drop complete, the entire team advanced toward the mansion. The house was still quiet. The second squad fanned out to cover the exit points with a 360-degree security perimeter. If Santiago tried to make a run for it, they’d hit him hard.
Levi dropped away to play with his gadgets. He’d rig the garage to blow, the explosion providing a useful decoy. And fun. Blowing stuff up was always satisfying, and Santiago hadn’t earned the toys he had parked inside the garage.
Levi popped out of the shadows, moving lighter. “Five minutes to boom time.”
“Move in,” Gray ordered. “Let’s go find our boy.”
Breaching the compound was the work of seconds. The front door wasn’t locked—stupid bastard—and there were plenty of first-floor windows. The two bodyguards by the front door went down almost silently, clearly not expecting company. Muzzle up, Mason stepped inside behind Gray, sweeping the area with the barrel of his M4.
The plan called for them to sweep the house room by room and secure it. With the first two guards down, the entry was clear. Diego and Santiago lived like kings. Marble tiles lined the palatial entryway beneath a crystal chandelier like one he’d seen in the Liberace Museum in Vegas. He’d bought his mom a little version to hang over her dining room table. She’d have liked this one.
Gray motioned and they took the stairs. Gunfire erupted right as the garage went, the shock wave rocking the larger building. The chandelier bit the ground in an explosion of crystals. Good thing they hadn’t been standing there. Mason made a mental note to earthquake-proof his mom’s piece. Gray signaled for Levi and Mason to cover the left, and he and Sam moved toward the bedroom on the right.
According to the building plans, the bedrooms were located on the second level. Better yet, the first door they busted open turned out to be the mother lode. Not only was the room full, but the lights were on as the occupants reacted to the sound of gunfire and the explosions.
And...damn it. “We’ve got nonthreats,” he said in low tones into his mouthpiece. Muzzle up, he stepped inside and surveyed. Two women and four—no, five—kids. He’d almost missed the little girl hiding under the table. The minute he and Levi came in, the kids started crying and one of the females came out swinging. Maybe she thought they’d go for the kids, but that was a line he’d never crossed and never would. Mason subdued her, pinning her arms behind her and whipping out his zip ties. “Cálmate,” he growled against her ear. “No quiero hacerte daño.”
Or maybe she was a decoy, because Santiago sprinted away toward a door on the far side of the room. Shit. Nice for Santiago that he inspired such loyalty, but a pain in the ass for Mason.
“We’ve got eyes on Santiago,” he barked. “Get in here double-time.”
“I’ve got him,” Levi growled, already moving. “Show me your hands. Arrondilese y ponga sus manos en la cabeza.”
Levi’s move left Mason with seven noncombatants. Go him. Levi got to have all the fun. He kept his eyes on their hands. A five-year-old boy usually wasn’t a threat, but the best way to stay alive was to assume everything would go wrong. Maybe Santiago left firearms lying around. Maybe he’d taught Santiago Junior to shoot. Mason had also been fired on before by women—and by men dressed as women. So there was no way to know for sure who was friendly and who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.