Page 16 of Lethal Vengeance
“I wish we could escort them home,” Sterling murmurs by my side, his lips pressed tightly together in frustration.
“Me too,” I state softly, but we both know we’d be putting them in more danger if someone stopped us. There’s no way either of us would be able to pass as a local. At best, they might assume we were tourists—until they found our weapons.
At the next corner, the ladies turn left to cross, but I continue our current path. “One more block should put some distance between us.”
When we finally cross, we’re closer to the entrance than expected. The tunnels are dark and damp, so I pull us into a nearby alley to grab the gear we’ll need. Dropping his hand, I slide on a headband with a light embedded in it, which allows me to keep my hands free, then add my shoulder harness and a lightweight jacket. Lastly, I slip my gun from my ankle holster to my side.
Sterling slips a similar headband over his ball cap and adds a dark jacket. He bends down to clip a circular object onto the lacings of his boot. Sliding his arms through the pack, he adds his pistol to a shoulder harness, then grabs the crowbar with the extended hook on the end.
He turns to me. “Ready?”
I point to the item on his boot. “Is that a tracker?”
He nods. “I make everyone wear one when we leave our base of operations. It’s come in handy a few times.”
With a quick glance around the corner, he makes sure the path to the entrance is clear. Motioning for me to follow, he quickly strides to the center of the street and hooks the opening of the utility access hole with the crowbar. Once it’s lying quietly to the side, he motions for me to start down the shaft.
The metal bars are cold and wet, making fast movements a challenge, so I carefully step down each rung until I’m about three feet from the bottom, then hook my boots on the outside and slide the rest of the way.
“Down.”
Sterling’s boots enter first. After taking a few steps, he squeezes his broad shoulders into the hole. Once the cover is back in place, he mimics my move and slides the rest of the way.
“Hello, gorgeous. Fancy meeting you here.”
Even in this dimly lit, humid-as-hell place, his smile glows. Rolling my eyes, I yank my pack forward to grab the map I stashed in the side pocket.
He pushes his sleeve up and shines a penlight on his forearm. Bluish white lines glow in response.
“Did you use UV ink to draw a map on your arm? Such a geek,” I ask, wishing I’d thought of it.
He winks. “We head straight for about half a kilometer, then turn right. I’ll take point. Keep an eye on our rear.”
Of course, my eyes drift down when he turns.
He chuckles. “You should watch where you’re going.” Silently, he takes off, his boots barely making a sound, even in the echoing chamber of the tunnel.
Smartass.
We make good time. It takes fifty minutes to reach our chosen exit. It’s not the one closest to the annex, but this hill gives us the best overall view of the facility. Blinking against the sun’s rays, I follow him up and out of the shaft.
In an army crawl, he moves to the hill in front of us and pulls a pair of binoculars out of his pack to survey the facility. Whispered numbers fall from his lips.
My watch flashes, and I tap it. Without saying a word, I scoot back until I’m out of the facility’s sight. Standing in a semi-crouch, I quietly move through the brush, mapping the best route to the annex. Along the way, I take pictures of the good spots for cover. When I’m fifty yards from the side gate, I pause and wait.
Two minutes later, a guard hurries out the gate into a waiting jeep, and I tap my watch again when he’s in the driver’s seat. Three minutes, six seconds to get around to the gate, and another forty seconds for the guard to get to the jeep. I add a twenty-second buffer. Four minutes, six seconds. Forty seconds to reach the door of the building. Our route time is four minutes, forty-six seconds. I’ll have to ask Cruz or Raider to map our time from the door to the girls’ cells.
A twig snaps, and a hand wraps around my mouth. “Hmm, Cruz told me you were fast, but I’m still impressed. Mind sliding the tip to the right?”
Raider’s not as quiet as Cruz, but close. Still, it’s not nice to sneak up on a woman with a knife. I angle the tip in the other direction, and a sharp inhale comes from behind me.
“Your other right, mon petit oiseau,” the strained voice instructs.
The smooth words coming from his lips are a surprise. French isn’t what I expected. With a muffled chuckle, I slide the knife back into the special pocket in my pants.
He moves to my right, his icy blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You need to get back to Sterling.”
“I’ve got eleven seconds,” I say, tilting my watch face toward him. “Can you time the inside from point-of-entry and back? I’ve tracked everything else.” Without waiting for him to nod, I slide back into the brush. “Guard should be back in thirty-nine minutes.”
