Page 72 of Coincidentally Kismet

“It’s go time. Rally at strip seven. You have one hour.”

The line cuts off before I can ask any questions. Not that I would; I know better than to question the commander.

Jumping out of bed, I dial Smith while turning on the shower. I don’t have a ton of time, but it could be weeks before I get another shower and waking up under the cold spray now is paramount.

“Hey, man. Why are you waking me up?” Smith answers, his voice gruff and groggy after a night out.

“Rally at strip seven, one hour. See you there,” I say matter-of-factly and hang up.

There’s no need to stay on the line. He has to call Butler, and we all have to move quickly. We’ve never had to report this fast, and I hope like hell all of our phone chain practices will pay off.

Jumping in the shower, I perform the quickest wash and rinse of my life. I dry off, dress, and grab my bag, never glancing at the clock, just moving. I’m ready for this. I’ve practiced, prepared everything, and can easily make it in time.

Shit! Cam. She’s at work. I’ll never make it to say goodbye in person, but I have to tell her. I can’t leave without telling her she’s my life, my everything. Grabbing my stuff, I circle back to my room and snag my phone before heading to tell Amy.

Amy is half asleep, but she wakes up enough to wish me well, tell me she loves me, demand I come home in one piece, and ask to sleep in my bed while I’m gone. God, this girl! I give her a squeeze and kiss her forehead, promising everything she asked.

Sprinting to my Jeep, I sling my bag in the backseat and rev her up. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, my thumb is hovering over Cam’s number when the phone starts blaring the commander’s ringtone again.

“Yes, sir?”

“Davenport. We have a problem. Ruiz isn’t answering. The rest of the team is on their way. I need you to go get his ass and get him here. Now.”

Son of a bitch! Where could Ruiz be? He was at the party last night. He didn’t seem drunk, and he barely played any pong. Hitting send on his number, it rings once and goes to voicemail.

That asshole better be dying because he’s going to get us all in trouble. Now is not the time to be missing. Throwing it in gear, I speed off to his apartment calling his phone on an endless loop.

8:46 AM SATURDAY

It only takes banging on the door four times and kicking it twice for Ruiz to groggily answer. He cracks the door slightly, which I take to my advantage by throwing it open the rest of the way.

“Whoa, dude, where’s the fire?” He acts surprised to see me busting up in his apartment with no warning.

“We gotta go. Rally is in thirty, you dickwad. Way to answer your phone,” I huff at him.

“My phone never rang. I swear it. Oh shit—” I hear a woman call out from his bedroom to ask what’s going on. He looks like he might throw up.

“Seriously, dude?”

He sprints away from me and into the bedroom to tell Miss One Night Stand that it’s time to go. There’s some arguing about silencing his phone and then an icy breeze as she pushes past me, half-dressed and running out the door.

I shake my head. I am going to give him so much shit for this.

“We gotta burn tracks, bro,” I yell when he returns, dressed and ready to go.

9:06 AM SATURDAY

Somehow, we made it with ten minutes to spare. I haven’t had time to call Cam, and I’m praying she answers because they will take my phone soon.

We jump out of the Jeep, make sure the top is secured, and head toward the small briefing area to dump our bags and check in for equipment. A team of three airmen are standing behind a rickety table, ready to hand off equipment, give us our weapons, and pass out sleeping pills.

Based on the plane idling on the runway, it looks like we’re going grunt style, in the cargo hull on top of aid packages. No first-class tickets available where we’re headed.

“Sit down, we’re going to do this quick and dirty,” shouts Sergeant Montgomery.

As we sit, I glance at my watch. I’m running out of time. My phone will get stored until we get back, meaning they are going to take it any minute now. Montgomery is briefing the mission. We’re going into a heavily occupied, terrorist-run area to set up initial communications for a special operations Army unit. The plan is to fly into a base nearby and then travel via underground allied networks to our destination. If executed precisely, the mission should be completed in three weeks’ time.

I’ve been through this before. Three weeks means more like six, if we’re lucky. Could be worse, but traveling underground means we are depending on civilians to sneak us in. Shit could get hairy quickly.

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