I turn my face slightly away, and he takes that as an act of submission and fear but truly it’s because his breath is fetid. A meaty hand grips my T-shirt right at my chest, and I know he’s going to rip it from my body.
All of a sudden, the lights go out.
Jorge’s hand falls away, and he curses. I can’t see anything, but I can feel the men shuffling around, barking questions about what’s going on.
There are shouts down the hall, and one of the gang members takes out his phone and turns on the flashlight, illuminating the cell. He swings it toward the open cell door and leans forward to peer harder.
I hear men shouting from somewhere outside my cell. Demands to start the generator, more shouts to guard the prisoner. and to get Mejia to safety.
Inside the cell, one of the thugs questions if this could be a rival gang—the Revolucionarios—and that had not crossed my mind. I had hoped this was a CIA rescue team, but the most obvious threat would be a rival gang here to steal the weapons stashed inside.
The outer hallway is pitch-black, but I can hear booted feet running this way. I’m positive it’s the guard who’s been patrolling outside my cell since I was brought here. Through the shouts in the main warehouse and the grumbling inside my cell by the confused gang members, I think I hear a soft whiffing sound and then the distinct thud of a body hitting the ground. The guard isn’t running this way anymore.
My body goes taut with instinct, my training kicking in, preparing to engage in battle. Someone is coming who is not a friend of the guard outside my door and I’m going to assume is my friend. There are still four very dangerous men in here with me, and I suspect somebody is going to be coming through that door any second.
While the men surrounding me may be violent and willing to do whatever is asked of them, they are in no way trained to protect themselves at this moment. Not a single one of them reaches for a weapon but merely crowd closer to me. They mutter to each other in Spanish, wondering which gang is coming and whether they should throw me out as an offering. This takes no more than a few seconds to discuss, valuable time they could’ve used to pull weapons to defend themselves, but they don’t understand what I heard.
A bullet muffled by a silencer, which isn’t gang style at all.
Then it happens.
Another whiffing sound. And another. And another. And one more.
The sound of wet, tearing flesh, and then all four men fall. I expect each one has a bullet in his brain.
Unfortunately, the light in the room is extinguished when the phone flashlight clatters to the floor.
I tense slightly as I feel someone in front of me. Hands are on my wrists, and a man whispers, “Going to cut you down.”
“Is there anyone else with you?” I whisper back.
The man growls low. “Be quiet. We don’t have long before they start the generator and the lights come back on.”
I’m able to piece together a few things as my wrists are cut free and the rope is pulled away. I know that whoever is standing before me is a good guy, I assume CIA.
While he didn’t answer my question about whether he has support, I’m going to assume he does because you can’t mount a rescue operation against this many people on your own.
I also assume he’s well-equipped with night vision goggles because he’s able to see what he’s doing, whereas I can’t. The man grabs one of my hands, places it on his shoulder, and I can feel the edge of his bulletproof vest. I automatically curl my fingers into it and grip hard, knowing he’s going to lead me out of here.
CHAPTER 5
Ladd
I lead Greer from the cell, anger and adrenaline causing my blood to flow hot. In shades of muted green, my night vision goggles helped me see clearly enough that Greer was in a bad spot when I arrived. Had I been just a few minutes later…
I don’t want to think about it, and I can’t afford to think about it. I’ve got very little time to get us out of here before the power comes back. Prior to entry, I surveyed the propane generator on the north side of the building and have to assume it’s operational, as long as it’s been properly maintained.
We move quickly from the cell, and Greer is able to keep pace, even though she’s blind and trusting my lead. I know this woman, and while she’s tough as nails, I know she’s also feeling vulnerable.
Not because she’s walking through a dangerously dark field with no bulletproof vest, but because she’s wearing nothing but a T-shirt, panties, and tennis shoes, which they didn’t bother taking off her when they removed her pants. I’m guessing a knife was used.