A hallway. Doors on both sides. The first one opens and a woman peers out. Dark hair. Maybe thirty. Eyes huge with terror.
"It's okay," I say in English, then try the Russian phrases I picked up during crisis negotiation training. "We're here to get you out. Where are the others?"
She points down the hall with a shaking hand.
The last door is locked from the outside. A heavy padlock. Rhys shoots it off. The lock shatters. I pull the door open.
Seven women crowd in a room meant for maybe four. They're wearing thin clothes despite the cold. Some have bruises. All have the hollow eyes of people who've been broken down systematically over time.
"Law enforcement," I say again, keeping my voice steady and controlled despite the chaos still raging outside. "We're here to rescue you. We're going to get you out of here but I need you to do exactly what I say."
Most stare at me in blank incomprehension. Different languages. Different countries. Brought here through different routes but all ending in the same hell.
I try the limited Russian I know. A few Ukrainian phrases. Even some basic Polish from training scenarios. Finally one woman, older than the others, steps forward.
"You are police?" she asks in heavily accented English. "I speak English. I can translate for others."
"Yes. We're getting you out. But we need to move fast. Tell them to follow me. Stay together."
She nods. Speaks rapidly in Russian. The women start to move, clustering together. Scared but willing to follow.
Gunfire erupts outside. Close. Too close.
"Rhys?" I call into my radio.
"Guard from the main building. He's barricaded in the hallway. I can't get a clean shot without exposing myself."
"Hold position. I'm bringing the captives out the back."
I turn to the women. "Follow me. Stay low. Stay quiet. Do exactly what I do."
The translator repeats it in Russian and what sounds like Ukrainian. The women nod.
I lead them back down the hallway. Away from the gunfire. Toward the rear exit Zeke marked on the map. Behind me the translator speaks in rapid, hushed Russian, keeping the others moving.
The back door is unlocked. I ease it open. Check the approach. Clear.
"Moving captives to extraction point," I report.
"Copy," Nate responds. "I'm moving to intercept. Thirty seconds."
We're ten yards from the building when the guard appears. The one Rhys couldn't shoot. He comes around the corner and sees us. His eyes go wide. Then calculating.
He grabs the nearest woman. The translator who helped me. Yanks her in front of him as a shield. Presses a pistol to her head.
"Stop!" he shouts in English. "Stop or I kill her!"
The women freeze. The translator's eyes meet mine. Terror and resignation in equal measure. She's seen this before. She knows how this ends.
But I haven't spent two years running from who I am, haven't spent the last twelve hours falling for a man who believes in justice, and haven't come all this way to let one scared guard destroy everything.
I lower my rifle slowly. Raise my hands. Keep my voice level and calm. This is what I trained for. What I'm good at.
"Nobody needs to die," I say. "You can walk away from this. But only if you let her go."
"No! You leave or she dies!"
"Look around," I say gently. "Your friends are down. The camp is secure. There's nowhere to go. But if you let her go right now, you live. You get a lawyer. You get a trial. You don't get a bullet."
