Page 33 of Rescuing Rebel
“Expect daily updates from us.” Sam rises, his tone indicating this meeting is at its end. He extends a hand to Mr. Collins, and they shake.
“Thank you. Just—please, bring Ally back to me.”
Collins’s gratitude rings in my ears long after he’s gone. His faith in us is a humbling reminder of the importance of our job.
Mitzy’s team gets to work on the case immediately, but too many days bleed into too many nights. Three days later, I receive a call from CJ.
TWELVE
Ethan
“We havea lead on Ally Collins’s location,”CJ says.“Gather your team for a mission prep.”He never wastes time on pleasantries.
“Copy that.” I send a group page to my team and double-time it to Command. I’m the first of my team to arrive, but soon the others trickle in. Once we’re all present, Mitzy sweeps into the room in a whirlwind of energy.
Mitzy takes center stage with vibrant hair and eyes that spark with intelligence. “I traced back the security footage from the day. Not much to go on, but after looking at cellphone tracking and crowdsourcing, I matched up the phones in her vicinity before hers went dark. Ally was abducted.”
“You did what?” Sometimes, Mitzy’s mind boggles mine.
“You know?” She looks at me like I should understand. When I shake my head, she rolls her eyes. “It’s how your phone knows when the traffic is good. Those green and red traffic zones are generated by crowdsourcing of GPS information transmitted by your phones. It’s how you can see if traffic is flowing or at a standstill. How you search for restaurants near you?”
Her left brow lifts, daring me to admit I didn’t know how that worked.
When I don’t respond, she continues. “I tracked Ally’s phone, tagged all cell phones in her vicinity, and then watched for the ones that followed her phone. It was simple, actually.”
Simple? I bite my tongue, aware as the new guy, it’s best to keep my thoughts to myself.
“After that, running the vehicle’s license plates through every traffic database known to man was simple.” She beams victorious. “They’re taking her south, a snail’s pace along the backroads. It’s like they’re trying to waste time. She’s currently holed up in a rundown motel in Florida.”
Damn. I can’t help but shake my head. Her mind is on another level.
“Wheels up in twenty. We bring the girl home tonight.” CJ’s face hardens into a mask of determination, his soldier’s instincts clicking into place.
Rebel’s ghost comes to haunt me as we suit up. We’ve run several rescue missions since her rescue, but she embodies my last failure.
I need a better way to compartmentalize her betrayal.
My focus needs to be on saving lives.
This mission is about Ally. Not Rebel. It feels as if I need to say that over and over again, which is a very bad thing. It’s not good for my mind to be focused on anything other than the mission.
As the jet roars down the runway, my team makes final weapons checks—theclick-clackof ammunition feeding into chambers fills the jet with noise. There’s no laughter. No banter. Just grim faces and absolute focus.
CJ and Mitzy join us on the flight. CJ’s face is a hard mask of resolve. He’s deployed countless missions, and my respect for him is immense. His gaze meets mine, and a shared understanding passes between us.
Despite my misstep and failure with Rebel, he trusts me to lead this mission. He trusts me not to fail. That faith sharpens my resolve to prove my worth.
“Ten minutes out.” CJ’s voice cuts through the silence. He gives us a brief pep talk, and I do mean brief. “Get the girl. Take down the hostiles.”
“Understood.”
On touchdown, we pile into two SUVs, faces set, eyes hard. Weapons ready. The darkness swallows us as we move out, predators sliding through the shadows.
“Room 212 at the Sunset Motel, off Highway 54,” Mitzy provides the last piece of the puzzle, her voice crisp through our comms.
“Copy that.” As long as the girl hasn’t moved, this should be a walk in the park. I issue final orders to my team. “Hank, Walt—you take rear breach. Jeb, Blake, and Gabe—you’re with me in the front.” A chorus of affirmatives answers me, the rhythm of this deadly dance etched deep in our muscle memory.
As we roll to a silent stop, the world shrinks to the fifty-yard stretch between us and room 212. The motel light seeping through the curtains is a beacon drawing us forward. A beacon leading us to a scared, lonely girl who’s about to be freed from this horror.