He stuck the mags into the pouches of the low-profile vest he’d strapped over his black tee and slipped the handgun into the sleeve under his left arm, since he was a right-handed shooter. They had no armor, which meant they didn’t have protective ceramic plates to insert in the vests.
Crocker didn’t mind, because he wanted them to move as fast and as stealthily as possible. Each operator also wore an INVISIO M4 headset with vibration-sensing bone conduction so they could communicate with one another, and NVGs, but no helmets.
“We’re about five minutes away,” Gomez announced as he steered onto a two-lane asphalt road that took them past a movie theater playing Iron Man 3. Among the crowd gathered outside was someone dressed in an Iron Man suit, posing with his arms held triumphantly over his head.
“Fool,” Manicini grumbled.
“Lighten up,” Akil said. “He’s just having fun.”
“Maybe we should recruit him,” Suárez remarked.
“Good idea.”
“How do you want to do this?” Gomez asked Crocker as he glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t being followed.
“Get us as close as you can without being detected,” Crocker replied, screwing a six-inch suppressor into the barrel of his MP7. “You brought bolt cutters, right?”
“Two Porter thirty-six-inchers. Top of the line.”
“Good. We’ll cut through the fence along the river and enter from the back. Once we’re in, Manny, you and Akil deploy into the yard around the near side, to your left. Disable the side door, then secure the front door and front gate. Then clear through the front entrance into the bottom floor.”
“What do you mean by disable?” Mancini asked.
“Bar it, block it, deploy an M14 to melt the lock, whatever,” Crocker answered. “We need to prevent people from escaping the house.”
“Got it.”
“Call Suárez or me if you need help securing the front. And try not to shoot us, because we’ll be entering through the back portico and heading for the stairway.”
“How many enemy should we expect?” asked Akil.
“You said ten, right?” Crocker said, turning to Gomez.
“Anywhere from six to fifteen.”
Akiclass="underline" “Piece of cake.”
“We don’t want anyone escaping,” Crocker continued. “Look for the hostages and clear them out of there.”
“Two blond babes. Not a problem,” cracked Akil.
“We don’t want them getting hurt.”
Mancini: “No.”
“Suárez, once the first deck is secure, you and I are going to climb up to the balcony and attack the second. While we do that, Mancini and Akil will cover the bottom of the main stairway.”
Akiclass="underline" “Clever, boss.”
“Don’t fuck around.”
“Floor plan?” asked Mancini.
“You saw what they showed us. You want me to go over it again?”
“Not necessary.”
“What about me?” Gomez asked. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll bring the Explorer around and block the front gate. Don’t let anyone escape. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“What about creating a diversion?” Mancini asked.
“No time,” Crocker answered, glancing at his watch. “It looks like we’re going to be hitting them within five or ten minutes of the deadline, maybe less. So they’ll be on alert. Which brings me to another point: This all has to be quick and precise. As soon as we’re compromised, we’ve got to get to the hostages within thirty seconds. Otherwise, they’ll be executed.”
They had passed through the commercial part of town and were climbing through thick foliage, past homes and ranches. A half-moon shone ahead. Crocker’s heart raced like crazy. The problems with this mission were almost too numerous to consider. For one thing, they had no exit strategy, and there was no time to try to cobble one together now.
Gomez pulled to the shoulder just before the road curved right.
“This it?” Crocker asked.
“On the other end of this curve is a dirt road that runs about fifteen hundred yards to the Coatan River. I’ll let you out at the end of that. From there, you’ve got about sixty yards of brush until you reach the fence.”
“How long do you think we have until the Federales arrive?” Crocker asked.
“Good question,” Akil said from the backseat.
“Say, fifteen minutes,” Gomez answered. “Twenty at the most.”
“Maintaining the element of surprise is critical,” Crocker reminded them. “We don’t know for sure, but we expect the hostages are on the second deck.”
“Keep alert for booby traps.”
“Let’s launch this fucker.”
“This one’s for Ritchie!”
“For Ritchie. Go!”
Senator Jesse Clark sat in his Capitol Hill office, sipping from a glass of iced tea and waiting for the live stream to appear on his computer. Accompanying him were three aides, an FBI hostage crisis expert, and two deputies from the White House National Security Council.
A female aide looked at her watch and said, “Should be any minute now.”
An instant later the feed went live with the camera tightly focused on Lisa’s tense face.
“Lord have mercy,” Clark muttered.
“She looks good,” the aide whispered. “Very poised.”
“Always does.”
On the live stream, Lisa looked up, bit her top lip, and started to speak.
“My captor has asked me to record a brief statement about my experience here. He has given me no guidelines, so I’m speaking freely, choosing my own words. First, I want to say that while this ordeal has been difficult and even frightening at times, I have been treated well. I haven’t been threatened. And although I have had very little contact with my daughter, I have no reason to believe that her treatment has been any different from mine.”
As she spoke, the camera slowly pulled back, revealing the chair she was sitting in, her suit, and the black flag behind her.
“What’s that?” asked a male aide in a whisper.
“A strange variation of the Zapatista flag,” the NSC deputy answered.
“Shhh!” said Clark’s female aide.
Lisa continued: “Early in my captivity, the man who had been holding us explained his reasons for kidnapping us, which have to do with what he believes is a pattern of prejudice and unfair treatment of Mexicans by the United States government that he says continues today in the war against drugs. I admit that my understanding of the situation is limited. After I’m released, I plan to dedicate myself to the study of Mexican-U.S. relations and to righting any injustices perpetrated by the United States. Finally, I love my family and my country, and I’m proud to be part of both of them. God bless us all.”
Lisa managed to hold her composure until the last four words, when her voice cracked and her lips started to tremble.
Suddenly, the screen turned black.
“What dignity,” one of Clark’s Senate aides said. “I think she did an amazing job.”
“I agree,” opined the FBI hostage expert.
“Remarkable.”
The six people in the room turned to Clark, who had a stunned, pained look on his face. It was as though seeing his wife and hearing the anguish in her voice had made the crisis more personal and immediate than it ever had been before.
“She said ‘after I’m released,’” the senator announced as he wiped a tear from his eye. “You hear that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“‘After I’m released,’” he repeated. “Does that mean she knows something we don’t?”
“Knows what?” asked the FBI expert.
“Knows that he’s letting her free.”
“Unclear, Senator,” the FBI officer answered. “She’s probably unaware of the deadline and her kidnapper’s demands. That’s usually the way these situations work. As a kidnapper, you don’t tell the hostages anything they don’t need to know.”