We nodded in unison, processing Claire’s descriptions and the urgency of the situation.
“Have they given a time frame for the ransom?” Nevada asked.
Claire moved around the table and finally took a seat. With her elbows propped against the polished wood, she looked us each in the eye.
“They’ve given twelve-hour increments for each hostage execution. The announcement was made two hours ago.”
“Fuck,” Lexa hissed, fingering her lower lip. “So, we’re really running against the clock with this one.”
“And we’re not gonna make it before the first deadline,” I added.
The time frame was beyond our control but knowing that—if the guerrilla group’s demands were serious—a hostage would lose their life before we even reached the location had my leg bouncing in agitation.
“And that’s why wheels up is A.S.A.P. Make your way to the airfield, study the file during the flight, and make your plan. Memorize it, then get in there and get shit done. Tiffany has pulled together as much intelligence over the last hour as she could and will provide updates should there be any between now and the moment you’re dropped. Zeke and Shaun have been instructed to wait offshore and swoop in for a quick evac.”
I rose along with Lexa, Mac, and Nevada with the files tight in our hands. We had enough time to shower, kit up, grab vests and weapons from the armory, plus communication equipment from the ops basement, before piling into Nevada’s pickup and heading to the airfield.
~*~
The mammoth King Stallion helicopter was ready and waiting when Nevada drove across the tarmac and cruised to a stop next to it. Its rear ramp sat open and resting on the ground, and a large crate was already strapped into the cargo bay for our gear. On the opposite side of the helo, a large open area remained vacant, ready for casualty stretchers if any of the hostages needed medical attention after the extraction.
Zeke emerged from the cargo bay as we climbed out of the pickup. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, Zeke,” we sang back in unison.
His face split into a wide grin. “Ah, music to my ears.”
I laughed while setting my rifle box to the side. Zeke had made the mistake of saying “Good morning, Angels” one time, and ever since then, our reply had always mimickedCharlie’s Angels.
In contrast, Shaun swaggered into view from around the rear of the helo with a stupid-ass grin on his face and his arms thrown wide. “Mornin’ ladies!”
He received a series of smirks that ended with side-eye glances between me and him.
“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed. “Where the fuck is my cool greeting?”
“Probably in Hallie’s pants,” Mac muttered under her breath but loud enough for me to hear.
“Not anymore, it ain’t,” I snickered in a hushed tone.
We cracked up at the private joke, and when I turned with more gear in my arms, I halted mid-step from Shaun’s narrow-eyed glare.
Shaking it off, I stowed the load in the storage crate, then prowled in Shaun’s direction. All but coming nose-to-nose with him, I took a huge breath and yelled at the top of my lungs, “Good moooorrrrraaaaannnnng, Shawwwwwwn”
He reared back with his eyes flaring comically wide. “Jesus Christ. That woke me up. But why does Zeke getCharlie’s Angelsand I getGood Morning, Vietnam?”
I laughed and thumbed at Zeke, who stood nearby laughing his ass off. “Because you asked for a cool fucking greeting and it can’t be the same as his.”
A loud snort came from behind my back. “Shouldn’t it be Good Morning, Italy?” Mac deadpanned.
The feigned outrage left Shaun’s expression and gave way to his wide grin, complete with hearty laughter. “She’s got you there, Hells.”
I raised a hand in each direction and simultaneously flipped them off while rounding the pickup again. “Shouldn’t it be ‘get the fucking chopper loaded already’?”
Despite being dampened, joviality continued to crackle through the underlying seriousness of our situation as we finished transferring the gear into the helo.
Once loaded, Shaun and Zeke conducted the final pre-flight checks, while Lexa, Nevada, Mac, and I got settled in the iron belly of the King Stallion, sitting on the pull-down seats with a foldaway table between us.
While Mac flicked her folding knife in and out, we collectively poured over the scant information and devised a plan that we would initiate the moment wheels hit the ground in Chiapas, Mexico.