She kept moving along behind Kil. A ways farther, he stopped and turned, tapped her on the shoulder, then disappeared on down the trail. Harper hunkered down among the stiff mountain scrub, getting into position. Chase squeezed her shoulder as he passed and continued down the trail.
She was already counting by the time he was out of sight. Her heart beat hard as she readied the first grenade, gripping the flash bang tightly in her hand, her palm a little sweaty. She took a deep breath. She was ready for this. She had a job to do and so did the men.
Harper kept counting, repeating a silent prayer that all of them would make it out safely.
Michael lay in the darkness, Pia cocooned spoon-fashion against him. After the commandant had left, she had succumbed to a heavy alcohol-induced sleep. It wasn’t until several hours later that she had awoken. Silently, she had left the mat, used the washbasin to cleanse herself, then pulled on her baggy fatigues instead of her yellow skirt and blouse.
It made his chest hurt to think she was hiding herself from him.
Quietly, Michael pulled on his twill pants and work shirt and walked up behind her. He hadn’t used a condom. He hadn’t had one.
He settled his hands on her shoulders, gently turned her to face him. “If...something happens because of today...you don’t have to worry. I’ll be there for you, Pia. No matter what.”
She eased away from him. “It’s all right. It wasn’t the right time of month. I should be okay.”
“We,”he corrected. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together.”
Pia made no reply.
“We just have to make it one more day,” he said. “Tomorrow night we’re leaving.”
She looked up at him, and some of the dullness faded from her eyes. She nodded. Her resiliency was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her.
The hours slowly passed. Michael had worried that Velasquez might return with some of his men, but no one had come. A tray had been brought to the tent and left for them. They shared a portion of meat and fruit, and eventually returned to the woven mat and went back to sleep.
Now, as he lay in the darkness, Pia sleeping beside him, he listened to the sounds of the camp, mostly quiet this late. For hours he had gone over the escape plan for tomorrow night during the celebration, imagined ways he could slip into the commandant’s tent, how he would find Velasquez drunk, passed out with one of his whores. Imagined stealing his knife and using it to cut his throat.
Imagined the heady feel of revenge.
He must have drifted to sleep. It took a moment for him to identify the faint noise that awoke him, someone moving around behind the tent. His instincts went on alert as a long serrated blade poked through the canvas and began to slice upward.
Rolling off the mat, he quietly hurried to the barrel, grabbed the handle of the cut-crystal water pitcher, hurried back and raised the pitcher over his head, prepared to strike whoever broke into the tent.
A soldier in full camo and tactical gear ducked through the opening, his hand shooting up to blocking the blow.
“Take it easy, Mikey,” a familiar voice said, a voice he hadn’t heard in years. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
The water pitcher trembled in his hand. “My God. Chase?”
Chase gripped his shoulder as a second soldier entered the tent through the flap in front, as tall as Chase, maybe taller. The soldier grinned, a flash of white against a black-painted face. “Good to see you, dude.”
“Brandon! Man, you have no idea.” Bran slapped him on the back and the solid contact felt amazingly good. “I can’t believe you two are here.”
Pia stirred on the mat. “What’s happening?” She jumped up and ran to Michael, who caught her against him.
“It’s okay, honey. Chase and Bran are friends. They’re going to get us out of here.”
She sagged in his arms.
“We need to move,” Chase said. “Put some shoes on and get ready to leave.”
Michael grabbed his boots and herded Pia over to hers. They hurriedly put them on, and Chase motioned them toward the opening he’d sliced in the back of the tent.
Chase held up his hand in a signal to wait. He must have been counting the whole time because he said, “One thousand two hundred ninety-nine. One thousand three hundred.” An explosion rocked the camp, and Michael’s eyes shot to Chase’s.
“Time to go,” Chase said.
Michael urged Pia forward, following Chase out through the hole in the tent, Brandon right behind them. But as they started along the trail, Michael thought of Benito Velasquez.
