Standing in front of him, arms crossed over her chest in a stance that was both defensive and vulnerable, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t. Please, Gabe. Stay here and let your team handle it.”
He couldn’t. Why didn’t she get that? He wasn’t one of those commanders that sat safely behind the battle line while ordering his men to charge into the fray. Injured or not, if they had to put their lives on the line for the mission, he’d be right there with them, fighting shoulder to shoulder.
Not that he expected that kind of opposition today. If all went well, his team should be in and out with Bryson before anyone was the wiser. If all went well, the entire op should last no more than ten quiet minutes.
If all went well.
That thing called Murphy’s Law might try to turn it into a clusterfuck, but they were prepared for that, too.
Audrey stared at him, waiting for an answer, and he just shook his head.
“I’m sorry.” Feeling like an utter coward, he edged around her and out the door. “I…gotta go. I’ll call you when we have Bryson.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Dawn broke over Bogotá with no fanfare whatsoever. Low-hanging clouds kept the streets dark longer than normal—a few measly streetlamps tried and failed to beat back the oppressive grayness, their yellow glow dampened by the light morning fog, making for excellent cover. Gabe couldn’t have asked for a better morning, though he could do without the persistent, drizzling rain that froze him to the bone.
Then again, maybe that icy cold was from the conversation—argument—whatever he’d had—with Audrey in the hospital.
No, he couldn’t think about that. He had to stay one hundred percent focused on the here and now. Block out the pain in his heart, the pain in his side, the throbbing in his foot. Focus on the bite of cold, thin mountain air filling his lungs; the manicured lawn cushioning his body as he crawled toward the house; the earthy scents of mud and wet grass stodgy in his nose; the rifle’s familiar feel in his hands; the easy rhythm of his heart in the muffled silence of the morning.
Easy, at least, until he heard the trilling whistle of a birdcall and his heart kicked up. Harvard, acting as lookout, had found a hide in a tree in the side yard that provided a perfect eagle-eye view of both the front and the back of the house. The call signaled trouble.
Gabe looked toward Quinn and Jesse, lying belly to the ground at his right, Jesse’s medical bag a dark lump between them.
They waited.
Harvard gave another call. Three short trills.
Someone was coming. Or, more to the point, three someones. Then five more whistles from Harvard indicated five more approaching. Eight total, which tipped the scales a little too much for Gabe’s liking. Ten baddies including Rorro and Jacinto to his six undertrained men.
Shit.
He gave his own call, a sign that the men should hold their positions, Marcus in the woods bordering the south side of the property, Jean-Luc on the north side near Harvard, and Ian in the southwest corner.
Quinn scooted across the foot of grass that separated them and put his lips close to Gabe’s ear. “What are you thinking?”
Gabe shook his head. “Don’t like these odds.”
“You wouldn’t think twice if these guys were SEALs.”
“Yeah, but they’re not.” And, God, how he wished they were. “We’re moving to plan bravo.”
Plan B was a blitz attack, using the element of surprise to their advantage. Overwhelm the tangos, distract them by making them think more soldiers waited in the woods than there were, and slip Bryson out from under their noses while they panicked. It involved more inherent risk, which was why it was their backup plan. But with the arrival of the new tangos, Gabe calculated it had a better chance at succeeding than their original stealthy plan to slip in and out unnoticed while Jacinto and Rorro slept.
Quinn’s lips thinned. He glanced over at Jesse, who gave a grim nod, then met Gabe’s stare again. “We can still—”
“Negative. Too risky.” Especially for Quinn and Jesse, and they both knew it. Even though he wasn’t going to let it happen, it did him proud that they were willing to stick to the original plan and take that risk. He patted Quinn on the shoulder to get his attention, then reached for his weapon. “Go in hot on my signal.”
“Hooyah,” Quinn said.
…
Gabe moved fast, staying low as he flanked the north side of the house and made a beeline for his linguist’s position. Jean-Luc, laying in a stand of bushes, raised an eyebrow in question when Gabe settled in next to him, but didn’t say a word, which was probably a first for the man.