“Roger that, TOC.” He was adding to the list of stuff he owed Rock and Grif by the minute.
The radio connection went static and buzzy for a moment before clearing. “Your tango’s huts are up ahead. There are four of them, rough-built and spaced just wide enough to make a coordinated entry a bitch.”
He felt a hell of a lot better now that they had eyes on their location, feeding them intel. Even if it was from a hell of a lot of miles away and over satellite feed.
I’ll take it.
“Move forward with caution, Seahorse One.”
How the fuck else does he think we are going to move forward?
“Roger that, TOC.” He motioned to the guys, and they moved out once again, this time fanning out carefully to surround the location that pinged on their wrist computers.
Within ten minutes, they could smell the smoke, and within fifteen, they were parting branches to peer into the clearing.
Thank fuck it’s not a compound, like when we came for Gael.
Smoke curled faintly from the largest hut, and its thatched roof sagged as if no one could be bothered to fix it. There was no fence or gate. The jungle had been cleared in a rough circle, and a muddy path went straight through the middle. Rowan lifted his weapon and scanned through the scope. Two men near the cookfire, their rifles lying carelessly on the ground some distance from them.
They aren’t paying attention.
He kept scanning with the scope and paused briefly on where a third man was pissing off the side of a half-collapsed platform. He marked his position with a tap on his wrist computer and moved on searching for what, or rather who, he’d come for.
Enya.
Where is she?
His stomach roiled at the possibility they were too late. He dialed the volume on his comms down to the minimum. “TOC, Seahorse One.”
“Go ahead, One.”
“Talk to me, TOC,” he whispered, “Tell me you see our hostage.”
“Negative, sir.”
FUCK!
“How about a possible location they could be holding her?”
“That’s another negative, sir.”
That was the last thing he wanted to hear. He much preferred jobs that came with building blueprints and security rosters. Did he engage with these people? If he did and these weren’t the ones who had her, how fast would the jungle drums let others know they were searching for her? On one hand, these people weren’t a jungle tribe just minding their own business. The weapons reassured him of that. On the other hand, his own moral code refused to allow him to attack these men without reason.
They are part of the cartel that fucked up Gael.
That’s reason enough.
Rowan cut off that thought before he allowed the desire for revenge to overpower his honor. He clicked on comms and whispered an order. “Seahorse, find me confirmation that she’s here or at least was here.” A series of clicks in response told him his men would do as he asked.
As he waited for his men to report back, he heavily judged the lack of order he witnessed in the tangos. But he figured it would work to their advantage if Enya Moore were here.
Please be here.
He didn’t want to have to start their hunt from scratch again. The longer she was missing, the less chance they had of recovering her alive.
Gael ghosted up beside him. “We’ve got at least seven, but there might be more inside some of the huts.”
“Any sign of her?”
