ChapterEleven
Something was very, very off about this training. The disabled SUV was too random and not at all in keeping with the parameters of the mission, and the gunshot that had echoed through the woods had been a discordant note in an explosive- and bullet-free exercise.
Plus, Chris was certain there were more tangos in the woods than there should be. The forest was fricking full of people. They’d been told to expect a few guards patrolling the lodge, but that was all. Their objective was to breach the lodge and rescue the hostage. Intel had said there were only four men in the forest.
Sure, they might give them bad intel on purpose—that had happened on a mission more than once, including the last one he’d been on with Rivera—but this didn’t feel like Rivera’s touch. Nothing that was happening here even remotely resembled the last op he’d been on with Rivera, making him certain this wasn’t a therapeutic mind fuck from his former team member.
He couldn’t help but wonder who the hostage was supposed to be.
These thoughts swirled through his mind as he followed the tracks of a tango through the miserable cold, dark rain. At least the trail was easy to follow. These guys didn’t care about covering tracks or snapping branches. Whoever Rivera had lined up to play the role of baddies was making it easy.
Either they were SEALs who were pretending to be less trained, or they were Army.
He smiled grimly at his mental joke. He’d have to rib one of his Ranger buddies with that one next time they went out for beers.
He paused and studied the ground where a bunch of leaves were smashed and branches broken.
“Shit,” Phelps said, obviously noting the same thing.
“A fight,” Chris said softly, thankful for the cover of the rain.
“One of our guys tangled here? With who? One of the trainers?”
That didn’t make sense either. They were working in four-man Fire Teams. This looked like a two-man fight and not a group brawl.
His night vision goggles allowed him to follow a short trail of smashed leaves and gouged moss to where a swath of flattened branches suggested one of the combatants had slid downhill.
And there was the proof, in the middle of cleared ground, in glowing shades of green.
“Is that…a dummy?” Huang whispered in disbelief.
Chris had wanted to think the same thing, because the truth was too horrible to fathom.
This was an exercise. Fake. Training. Not real.
And yet, just a few feet away was a very real dead body with a snapped neck.
The Baldwin cabin was a treasure trove of camping supplies. Not for backpacking—the tents were bigger and heavier, and the sleeping bags were base-camp style and not compact mummy bags—but Xavier wasn’t about to complain about the bulky items and extra weight. They would need a good shelter when they rested come daylight.
He wished they could pitch the tent now. Audrey was exhausted. Soaking wet. At the end of the trek to get to the Baldwins’, she’d been shivering with every step she took, teeth chattering and all.
But they couldn’t stop now. Jeb’s cabin wasn’t far, and it might have answers.
So they’d gather supplies here, then continue on to Jeb’s, which was the last one before the road dead-ended at the CCC shelter and campground.
At least here, in the Baldwin cabin, Audrey was no longer shivering. First thing they’d done was doff her rain gear and wrap her in a wool blanket that had been draped over the back of a sofa.
Once she was no longer shivering, they’d returned to the utility room at the back of the attached garage and raided it for gear: a green two-person half-dome tent, two all-season sleeping bags, two inflatable sleeping pads, a large-frame backpack for Xavier and another one for Audrey that she could clip her day pack to. They had a Sierra stove, fire bricks, and a small pot for boiling water. Now they just needed food.
Xavier led her into the kitchen, where they started with the pantry. They hit the jackpot when he found a stash of packaged Styrofoam noodle cups and mashed potato packets that only required hot water. He grabbed cans of tuna and chicken and threw those in his borrowed frame pack.
“Jeb was right about this being a vacation rental,” Audrey said.
“Yeah, the notes everywhere give it away.” There were little cards next to light switches and instruction sheets for how to use the compost bin and where to place the trash at the end of the stay.
“That and the locked closets and cabinets.” She pointed to the lock on the cupboard above the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s the liquor cabinet. It probably also holds the good knives and Le Creuset.”
“Think there’s anything we can use in there?” he asked.