“Fifteen months. The Taliban tortured Dax and me for fifteen months. Ripper, the only other member of our Special Forces team to survive, went missing before I broke out, and we only found out back in June that he’d been held for six fucking years by an asshole who tried to erase everything about him. Broke him in more ways than I thought a man could break. When we found him, he was down at the bottom of a goddamned well. And he’d been there for days. Trevor helped us rescue him. So when I tell you that I willdiebefore I leave another man behind, know that I am fucking serious. We are notleaving Venezuela without him and every single person in this room. But we also can’t go in there without a plan, and my tactical specialist is somewhere in the middle of the Everglades, unreachable. So we’re going to set up comms and connect with Dax, Ford, Wren, and whomever else we need to get this shit done, and all of you are going to followmyorders here.”
He scans the room, making eye contact with each person in turn. “Anyone have a problem with that?”
One by one, we all shake our heads.
“Good. Now let’s get to work.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dani
Four separate laptopsare spread out on a coffee table, and I’m pretty sure my mom’s knitting projects had fewer strands to them. Austin’s been on the phone for over an hour trying to track down sources who might know the layout of The Crypt’s underground floors.
I can’t do more than pace and force down the terrible MRE Ryker handed me a few minutes ago. It’s supposed to be beef stew, but I’m pretty sure those chunks of “meat” are made of leather and the carrots? They’re so orange, they have to be radioactive.
“Dani?” Ryker angles his head towards the bank of computers. “Need you over here.”
The man doesn’t use a single extra word if he doesn’t have to, and a part of me wants to snipe at him for it. But if he can get Trevor out of The Crypt, he can communicate in hand gestures and charades for the rest of this trip and I won’t give a shit.
Dax’s face takes up one half of the screen and on the other, a petite redhead who looks vaguely familiar flashes a smile as I sit down. “Hi. I’m Wren.” She turns her computer slightly to reveal another woman with black hair and features a lot like mine. “This is Cam.”
“Dani.” I glance over at Ryker, and the look in his eyes as Wren’s face fills the screen again…it’s like he’s a different person.
“My…my wife,” he says, and his lips twitch like he wants to smile.
“Oh! From the picture.”
“What?” Ryker asks.
“Trevor has a picture on his dresser from the wedding. All of you. Cam’s married to…West?”
“Yep,” Cam says from off screen. “We’re your tech support.”
Dax snorts. “They’re a hell of a lot more than that.”
Wren’s smile fades, and she’s suddenly all business. “Dani, I need your full name, date of birth, and social security number. I could find it, but it’d take me time we don’t have.”
“Why?” Quickly shaking my head, I continue, “Never mind. I don’t care why. You want to steal my identity when this is all over with, go ahead. As long as Trevor’s safe.” I rattle the information off and Wren’s fingers make dull clicking noises over the connection as she takes it all down.
“Short answer?” she says. “We need to fake travel records for you. There are only a couple of countries left in this world that don’t computerize customs records, and if General Ochoa figures out you flew down on a private plane, he’ll probably assume you have help with you. I need your brother’s info too.”
“I didn’t come through customs,” Austin says. “Why do you—?”
“To make sure you’re easily traceable somewhere else. I’m putting you on a commercial flight to New Zealand that leaves Ankara in three hours.”
“You can…do that?” I ask. Dax was right. She’s a hell of a lot more than tech support. She’s amazing.
“She can do just about anything,” Ryker says with obvious pride in his voice. “You put her and Cam together, and they’re fucking unstoppable.”
“Can it, soldier. You’re going to embarrass me,” Wren says, and the video’s so clear, I can see her cheeks flush almost the same shade as her hair.
After she has Austin’s information, she returns her focus to Ryker. “Ready for the GPS readings.”
The giant next to me picks up a handheld scanner. “Where’d they put it? The chip.”
“Um, right ass cheek.” I don’t hesitate to twist in my chair, but Ryker stops me when my hand goes to the waistband of my pants.
“Not necessary. This’ll read through fabric.”
