Page 63 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“I’ll warn everybody that we’re stopping,” Peter said.

Stokes nodded again and Peter ducked back into the pitch-black interior of the rear of the truck.

“Listen up,” Peter said loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’ll be parking in a minute in an empty garage. We’re only a block or so from our entry point. There’s a lot of traffic, so keep low and move cautiously.”

“What’s the terrain like?” one of the SEALs asked.

“We’re very close to the embassy. There are a lot of larger buildings, a couple mosques, some old government offices. The area was deserted when we came through last night. We shouldn’t have to worry about running into any non-coms. The tunnel entrance is hidden in an old stone garden shed. Lots of vegetation around.”

The truck slowed down to a crawl and stopped. Peter could hear the doors open and close. The flaps holding the back of the canvas down opened at the back of the truck and Stokes’s voice, pitched quietly, ordered everyone out.

Squeaker jumped down first; the rest waited until Georgia walked to the edge. Peter wrapped his arms around her upper waist, her breasts pressed into his arm, and lowered her to the ground. Her hand grabbed his with a tight grip.

Within seconds, everyone was poised to dash across the street. They waited while a tank and an accompanying truck passed. Then, the silent Squeaker, with Stokes right behind, went running across the road. Peter and Georgia, with the rest of the SEAL team ranged behind, hurried to join them.

Stokes gestured for Peter to take point.

He led them through the garden, stopping often to ensure no alarm was raised. Even moving cautiously, they made it to the stone shed in a few minutes.

Peter turned the light standard on the outside of the structure to open the door and they all slipped inside.

Complete darkness descended as Peter closed the tunnel door, the clicking of the latch as it fell into place clearly audible. A single flashlight flicked on and, as if mentally linked, the SEALs and Peter hunkered down in a ragged circle.

Georgia found herself a part of the huddle and had a strange urge to offer her opinion on all the possible plays their team could make in this make or break game.

“Distance between here and the embassy?” Stokes asked Peter.

“About five hundred yards. Most of the tunnel is in good shape, but there are a few sections where debris is a factor. There’s also a long section where outside sound is audible. Georgia and I clearly overheard a conversation between two of the terrorists from inside the embassy. It sounded like they were in the next room.”

Stoke nodded. “Ok, so we’re running on silent. Hand signals only.” He looked at Georgia. “When we get to the embassy, I want you to stay in the tunnel, ma’am, understood?”

“Yes.” Georgia had no trouble agreeing to that command.

Wait, thetunnel? Darkness, the sides closing in. She swallowed hard. Maybe she could wait in the wine cellar?

Stokes reached into one pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it to reveal a blueprint of the embassy.

“Where’s the bomb?” he asked Peter.

Peter looked at the floor plan for a moment then pointed at an interior space not far from the basement staircase. “There. It was right in the middle of the floor in a wooden crate covered by some cloth.”

“Ma’am.” Stokes turned to Georgia. “Have there been any recent renovations?”

Georgia took the large sheet of paper from him and laid it on the floor in front of her. Stokes shone the flashlight directly on it.

“The wall between these two rooms was removed.” She outlined the change. “And over here, this door was closed off. Nothing else.”

“Ok. Good.” Stokes pulled a pencil out from a pocket and drew on the floor plans, updating them. He glanced at Georgia then nodded at Peter. “Welis. I want you to stay with Miss Masters.”

“I want a weapon.”

“You’ll get one.” Stokes grinned. “You’re our ace in the hole.”

Peter’s smile was feral. “Sounds familiar.”

Georgia stared at them and wondered how many times they’d done this kind of stuff. She shook her head. No, on second thought, she didn’t want to know.

Stokes folded up his blueprint and slid it back into his pocket. Then he dug out a handgun from his pack and passed it to Peter, butt first. “Give us ninety minutes to get the hostages back to you.”

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