Page 157 of The Wrong Husband
The tears threaten again. I swallow them back. I am not going to cry. I’m going to be strong. For him.
A portable generator thrums outside. A ventilation unit spins in the corner, its blades fighting a losing battle against the heat trapped inside—air saturated with sweat, dust, and unspoken pressure.
Against one wall stands a reinforced table, cluttered with encrypted satellite phones, laptops displaying real-time data streams, and stacks of mission briefs annotated in grease penciland digital overlays alike. Fiber-optic cables snake across the surface, connecting field routers to portable comms relays, their indicator lights blinking in silent conversation.
The wall above the table features a row of mounted monitors flickering with satellite feeds, heat-mapped terrain, drone footage, and a live comms dashboard. Each screen pulses with data: timestamps, coordinates, flagged activity in red.
One shows a looping aerial scan of what I now know is the rebel corridor leading to the highway, which is the only route between the rebel camp and this one.
Another tracks NGO supply trucks in real time. On a third, there is live action unfolding. It’s grainy, but I can make out an SUV. It’s battered and has seen better days. There’s a gun fitted to the top of the roof. A fist closes around my heart at that. I try to push the significance of what that gun means from my mind. He’s going to be safe. He is.
The SUV crawls up the highway in the direction of our camp.Hurry up,I silently urge it along. It comes to a stop. The camera on the drone pulls back to show another SUV. This one carries the colors of Save the Kids. It drives up slowly and comes to a halt, perhaps, half a mile away from the rebels’ vehicles.
"Tango-1. Visual on target. Holding position." A voice I recognize as Brody’s comes over the comms console.
For a few seconds…minutes…nothing happens. Time stretches.
"What are they doing?" I whisper.
"Assessing the situation," James answers.
More minutes pass. My heartbeat kicks up. Sweat pools under my arms. I have my fingers clasped together so tightly, my hands feel numb.
Then, just when I think I’m going to scream from the tension, one of the doors of the rebel’s SUV opens. A man steps out. He has on a desert scarf and wears a flowing shirt and loose pants,the kind of clothes favored by the rebels. But the shape of his shoulders, the way he walks… "Connor," I exclaim.
"Do you see him? Is that Connor?" James asks impatiently.
"It’s Connor. Can’t you see?" I snap.
"They just want Brody to confirm." James wraps his arm about my shoulder, but I’m so full of tension, I can’t bear for anyone else to touch me right now. Unless it’s Connor.Connor!I shake off James’ hand.
I grab the back of the chair on which the operator who’s managing the drone sits. "Can you zoom in?" I swallow. "Please."
"Do it," James orders.
He maneuvers a joystick. The camera on screen swoops in closer. There’s no mistaking my husband’s beloved features.
My knees threaten to collapse. This time, when James grabs my shoulder, I let him support me.
"What the fuck?" There’s a surprised comment from the communications channel.
"What is it. What do you see?" James asks impatiently.
"One of the rebel’s standing up through the roof hatch. He’s reaching for the gun. Fuck—" His voice cuts off.
On screen, the hospital’s SUV drives forward, then picks up speed. Connor must realize something is wrong, for he begins to run to meet it. That’s when the gun behind him explodes. At the same time, men hang out from the Save the Kids SUV and return fire. I don’t take my eyes off Connor.
"Run. Connor. Run."
I’m not aware I’m yelling until I hear my own voice. He’s almost at the SUV, which comes to a stop. Arms reach for him. He raises his hand, then stumbles.
54
Connor
Despite the weakness of my body, my training kicks in.
The rebels’ harsh treatment dulled my senses but didn’t completely cut me off from myself. My mind zeroes in on the target, the way it has a million times before.
