Page 60 of Danger Close
At the console, Bateman and Dev fell into step like they’d never stopped.Words barely needed.A shared glance.A tap on a map.Finishing each other’s sentences like field surgeons assembling a battle plan.
“Ridge perimeter’s tight—”
“—but they’ll circle wide for exfil if they’re smart.”
“Snipers?”
“Glenn and Maddox.High ground.”
“Extraction?”
“Fast and loud.”
The screen flickered back to life.
Kai.
Hair messier, expression grim.“Got him.”
Everyone turned.
“The bastards who took Ricky are holed up in a farmhouse fifteen clicks south of your location,” Kai said.“About thirty men.Ex-military, cartel bleed-over.This isn’t just a kidnapping.This is their new command post.”
He uploaded a topographical map with heat sigs and tactical overlays.“They’ve set up a perimeter, two fallback zones, internal radio frequency and encrypted sat feed.This is organized.And dirty.”
“Who’s running point?”Bateman asked.
“Name’s Vuko Kallashi.Albanian national.High on every agency’s shit list, but too smart to get pinned.Until now.”
Blake’s voice came over comms.“Kids are safe.I’ve got Finn helping me guard the panic room.They know Ricky saved them.They’re scared, but stable.”
Maddox stepped up, eyes on the map.“Glenn and I will take high ground—sniper and spotter.Clear the perimeter, take eyes out.”
Dev looked at Bateman.“My team will take the low road.Split force, meet in the middle.”
Bateman nodded.“Ezra, you’re with me.We go in hard.”
Ezra didn’t speak.He just grabbed his gear.
The room was heavy with silent vows, locked gazes, and weapons ready to kill.
Kai’s voice came through one last time, quiet and dead serious.“Bring him home.”
Dev looked around the room, then cracked a grin.
“Sniper Team Bravo and the goddamn Pathfinders,” he said.“They don’t stand a fucking chance.”
****
Pain was a constantnow.
Ricky’s world narrowed to the throb in his shoulder, the sticky warmth of blood seeping through his shirt, the ache in his ribs every time he tried to breathe.His arms were bound behind him—plastic ties cinched tight enough to cut circulation—and the concussion he knew he had made everything blurry and images swim before him.He was slumped against a wooden post in what smelled like a livestock shed.Dust.Rot.Blood.
His own.
He blinked slowly, head lolling to the side.One eye was already swollen shut.His lip was split.Someone had taken pleasure in working him over.They hadn’t asked questions.This wasn’t about intel.
It was punishment.
