Slate tilts his head and studies my face. “Wulf? You got your head on straight?”
Picturing a circuit breaker, like the ones they use in old Frankenstein movies, I shut my emotions off. “Affirmative.”
Having passed muster, the taciturn leader turns to Trever. “Report.”
My normally unflappable analyst jumps at the man’s bark and projects his screen onto the wall. “Our satellite lost their jet over the Atlantic. The pilot probably turned off their tracking systems. However, radar will pick them up before they land.”
“Couldn’t they change path midair?” This new intel makes it fucking hard not to lose my shit.
“Good point.” While Slate triangulates with one of his employees in New York City, the rest of us open our backpacks, itemize our supplies, and discuss possible scenarios.
Finally, we narrow Ledbetter’s destination down to three possibilities. While we plan, a disturbing thought crosses my mind. What if Ledbetter’s interest goes further than we surmised? What if he wants her in his bed? Dammit. Is this a risk Guinevere did not foresee? Perhaps she did, but didn’t want me to know.
An hour later, Trever flashes a map of Latvia, Lithuania, and Belarus onto the back wall. He directs our attention by wiggling a red laser dot. “Our target is most likely here, here, or here.”
“Fuck, why can’t we narrow it down to one? Show us the residences.”There must be some way of knowing. Everyone leaves breadcrumbs.
The giant Australian stretches his legs in front of him and frowns. “Well, these two have research labs.”
The images of two unassuming cement block buildings pop up, and I sense Ledbetter wouldn’t take her to either one. They’re not nearly flashy enough.
“What about the third?” While I hold my breath, all eyes lift to a blurry overhead satellite view.
Trever shakes his head. “It’s a private residence near Masty. There doesn’t appear to be a clear shot of it.”
“Try another satellite.” Suds leans in, speaking up for the first time.
While the rest of us watch, my guy types at light speed, then frowns. “It’s more secure than a drug lord’s mistress’ pussy.”
The retort causes Wheels to share a secret look at the other SEALS. If I had to guess, the three are looking forward to this mission.
As the three former frogmen nod, a sense of certainty hits me. “That’s the place. There has to be some historical WWII photographs, and I’m betting this dwelling has a hidden airfield.”
In my mind, I call out to my wife and pray she can hear me.Baby, hang in there. We’re coming.
The landing gear locks, the jet lowers, and my ears pop. On any other occasion, I would consider the lush green forests quaint and picturesque. Six kilometers to the north, skyscrapers and red tile rooftops coexist. The city of Vilnius boasts medieval charm as well as a modern vibe.
We declare ourselves tourists to the customs agents. No one detains us, so I’m guessing someone higher up the chain paved our way.
Outside the town-hall-like terminal building, a jeans-clad, bearded local greets us and leads us to his van. After we all pile into his clown car, Slate talks to our driver in Russian. Mine’s a little rusty, but I get the gist. He says the area we must cross is well-guarded and surrounded by high fences.
My heart sinks. How the fuck are we ever going to free my wife from Belarus?
Before long, we arrive at a medieval inn and meet Dominykas. After Slate vouches for him, he turns to our team. “Has any of you ever heard of the Suwalki Gap?”
After we all shake our heads no, the stranger takes up the conversation, albeit in broken English. “Ees sixty-five kilometers. Rail line links Russia to Belarus. Much trouble. Polish-Lithuanian border.”
His chest puffs out, and he beats it with his fist. “Most dangerous underpass on earth, I take you. After, you go. No more me. Understand?”
Nodding, we grab our packs and march out the door in single file. I follow Rhonda, Lucky, Suds, and Wheels. Trever, Hands, Slate, Hunter, and Ink trail behind. When we come to open fields, we run. Mostly, we stay hidden under the lush ceiling created by maple trees.
At one point, I pause for a drink and ask our guide, “Why build a tunnel in one of the most highly guarded areas in the world?”
He laughs and slaps me on the back. “Because, my friend, no one expects it. Rulers cut off the border to spite their nose, da?”
I raise my brows, unsure of what he’s trying to say.
Seeing my confusion, he counts on his fingers. “Eggs, nails, bread, sausage, beer. Everything too expensive. So we barter, we trade. Both sides happy, even soldiers.”
