Page 9 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Ethan steps forward. “Our team?—”
“Is missing five civilians and one essential operative under our direct protection,” Forest finishes, steel in every syllable. “I’m well aware, Ethan. This is now a Category 1 recovery operation.”
Category 1. No restrictions. No rules of engagement.
Forest’s eyes lock with each of us in turn. “Whatever you need. Whoever you need.” His gaze settles on Hank. “You have full operational autonomy. Find them.”
“And Malfor?” I ask.
Forest’s expression doesn’t change. “Bring me his head or don’t come back.”
He doesn’t wait for acknowledgment. None needed.
“Mitzy’s running traces now,” Forest continues. “CJ and Sam are activating international assets. We’re calling in every marker ever owed.”
I’m barely listening, my mind already calculating. Sixty-eight minutes, forty seconds. Every second burns, acid eating through my control.
Flight trajectories over open water. Vessel interception points. Drone battery life versus payload weight. The weather conditions over the Pacific tonight. I map it all, trying to predict where they’d take six heavily guarded women.
Where they’d take Ally.
My chest constricts thinking about her—unconscious, at Harrison’s mercy. The specialized injection. Malfor’s particular interest is in her brain and her research. The fact that he’s tried to capture her twice before.
And succeeded, this time.
I catch my reflection in a broken mirror—I barely recognize the face staring back. Eyes like blown glass. Jaw rigid. Something feral is lurking beneath the surface.
I know this feeling. I’ve used it before.
The rage builds, familiar and dangerous. A tightly controlled explosion is waiting for detonation. The kind that, properly channeled, lets me do the unthinkable. The kind that lets me move mountains or tear men apart with my bare hands.
The kind that lets me hunt the most dangerous men alive through the darkest corners of the earth.
The kind that will bring Ally back to us.
Hank catches my eye across the room, and the same savage calculation is reflected there. His fury runs cold where mine burns hot, but the destination is identical.
We’re going to kill Malfor.
THREE
In Transit
ALLY
I’m awake,but I don’t open my eyes.
Not yet.
Years of my father’s security training kicks in—assess before revealing consciousness. Gather intel. Create advantage.
That and the experience of two prior kidnappings. They always say the third one’s the charm. Whoever “they” are, they can eat shit. I can’t believe this is happening again.
Fortunately, I’ve developed a few skills after kidnappings one and two.
The chemical burn of the gas lingers in my lungs, each breath scraping raw tissue. My mouth tastes like pennies and ash. Sedative aftereffects drag at my limbs, but my mind is clearing, cataloging sensations.
The floor vibrates beneath my cheek, rhythmic and mechanical. It’s an engine—an aircraft, not a vehicle—the hum is too consistent, and the air pressure is subtly wrong. My wrists burn where zip ties cut into skin, already swollen and angry. Someone bound my ankles too.
