“Southwest, clear.”
Each of the teams reported in from their vantage points, while I waited, holding my breath. The sound came through the speakers. On the panels we could see their locations with red lights overlaid by a map of the docks.
“Are we a go?” Lance asked beneath his breath.
I shook my head. “Not yet. The teams in the water need to report in, and then he goes in.”
He was Special Agent Hennessey, the leader of this operation. He’d be leading in the first strike as well, the most dangerous position. Fuck. He’d barely been recognizable on the way over, decked out in his black cargo pants and T-shirt, his shoulder and ankle holsters, his earpiece in and rifle loaded. A bulky bulletproof vest and body armor. With his visor flipped down, he was simply another agent, another man on the ground. A pawn.
If he were hurt tonight, I would blame myself. Even though I likely couldn’t protect him, even though the people with him were better trained in combat, stronger fighters, I felt a connection with him. It was damned inconvenient.
“In place,” came Hennessey’s low assurance over the radio. Without identification, I recognized his voice. We all did.
“Comm here,” I said into the mic. “We’re all set.”
Hennessey’s reply came quickly. “Go.”
There was a shuffle, and then the comm line dropped. I stared at the blinking equipment, tasting bile in my throat. Just like that, they were walking into a minefield. Radio silence until they were already in and had secured the location. Seconds ticked by. It felt like forever. My muscles were tensed, as if I were in combat, sitting still. My only consolation was the tripwire didn’t sound, so they must have cut through the alarm as planned.
A drop of sweat worked its way down the center of my back, a combination of stress and the oppressive atmosphere inside the van. Lance was breathing shallowly, his eyes alert. The comm specialist was busy fiddling with dials I couldn’t decipher. The seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness. Five minutes, then six. Life or death in each second.
I’d never really understood when people talked about the condition of human frailty. As if life were spun like glass, but I knew that wasn’t right. I knew how much a person could withstand. People had always terrified me, with their ability to hurt other people, with their propensity for not giving a shit. But now I understood how fragile a body was, when I loved the heart beating inside it. The bulletproof vest was little armor against a maniac, one who had no compunction about killing a law enforcement officer.
“Clear.”
At that one word, I breathed a deep lungful of humid air. Clear. He was safe. Jesus. Relief flooded my veins, making me lightheaded. Or maybe that was the unfortunate conditions. Either way, I had to close my eyes before speaking again.
Are you okay? I wanted to ask. “Sitrep?” I asked instead. Situation report. Keep it professional. At least, while there were twenty other agents on the line.
“About fifteen suspects. Heavily armed. We got here in time.”
He meant they’d caught them before the deal went through. Carlos’s men in custody, the drugs seized. It was a win. A major win, even if Carlos wasn’t among the men there.
“Carlos?” I asked.
“Not sure. We’ll have to interview them when we book them.”
“Understood. I’ll contact base.” I was under strict orders to report back to Brody. Then again, I’d proven I wasn’t always keen on following orders to the letter. In this case, it seemed fair enough.
“Wait,” Hennessey said.
There were low voices over the mic, too soft to make out. It sounded like he was talking to someone else. I paused, waiting. Then a shout came, as if from someplace away from him. Another shout.
Something was wrong.
“Hennessey,” I said, too softly for him to hear me, afraid I’d distract him at some crucial moment.
A loud sound crashed through the speakers just before everything went dark.
“Ian!”
Too late. He was gone. The whole system had gone quiet. The comm guy practically shit his pants, cycling through the frequencies, trying to pick it back up. Lance was muttering fuck fuck fuck under his breath. I was completely still, processing. Whatever had happened over there, it was bad. Really bad. My imagination filled in the radio silence, envisioning Carlos lined up against the wall with other rough criminals. He would have realized he was caught, that even if he played dumb, we’d be able to figure out his true identity. Cornered, he’d done the only thing he knew how to do—he’d fought his way out. And Hennessey had been talking to me. He’d been distracted.