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“Something feels off,” John’s voice crackled over the radio. “This isn’t what it seems.”
“I second that,” I added.
“Eyes on alert, boys. Gut is everything.” Cole didn’t dismiss our feelings, and I was glad because something wasn’t right at all.
The guys started to clear the aisle while the hair on my neck prickled incessantly. There was more to the situation.
Mike tapped his foot and held up a hand that he found something. He used the tip of his shoe to push back an old rug to expose a raised ridge. Slowly, we joined him, and we saw part of a trap door. With a thorough check, Keith and I silently counted to three and lifted the counter over to expose the rest of the door. Mark bent down and inspected the perimeter while I signaled to Cole that I wanted to step back to check something. The milk cartons had caught my attention. He nodded.
What am I not seeing?
Careful not to disturb anything, I nudged a box of the milk with the tip of my rifle and noticed it easily rocked backward before it sat back in place. It was empty. Odd. I did it to the others, and they were full. My eyes went back to the empty milk carton, and I focused on the faded expiration date, three years old.
Then I saw it, a wire, running from behind the eggs into the wall. It was out of place and looked all too familiar to me. Quickly, I pulled out a sensor that I was given by a commander years ago. It allowed me to follow the wire through rock or, in this case, plaster. It had a screen that gave me a readout of explosive materials, wire types, and other details…My boots scuffed as I made quick work around the room. The three red lights that had saved my life countless times before blinked brightly at me.
Shit.
I looked over at John, who had just slid his micro camera underneath the hatch.
“It looks empty—”
“Stop!” I commanded, and the entire team came to a standstill. “Black.” I directed all my attention to John. “Don’t move your hand. Look over Lopez’s left shoulder. Do you see the cracked tile in the corner there?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a wire coming out of the wall headed in your direction.”
“Shit, I see it.” He stayed perfectly still as I came over, scanning the floor as I went.
“The entire door is rigged with C-4.” I showed Cole the readout. “It looks to me,” I knelt on the floor and scanned the perimeter of the door, “yeah,” I said more to myself, “this entire thing is rigged. We’re standing on a makeshift bomb.” I moved carefully next to John and bent to peer under the crack in the trap door. The camera was just about to trip the wire. I looked around and spotted Mark’s pink gum in his pocket. He’d been popping gum in his mouth earlier. “Lopez, can I have a piece of your gum?”
“Yeah.” He carefully unwrapped it and handed it to me. I put it in my mouth and chewed the nasty goo. Once it was sticky, I looked at Cole.
“We’ll lose the camera.” I eyed him.
He nodded. “Do what you need to.”
“Okay, Black. Steady, my friend. If that camera even so much as wiggles forward or backward a hair, you might get a lot more than a close shave. I need to stabilize it right where it is.”
“Copy that.” He held totally still while I secured the bubblegum around the neck of the camera, so it was plastered to the trap door. I bent down and blew on the gum, hardening it before I trusted John to let go.
“Give it a sec,” I cautioned. “The Taliban would run wire all over the place and sit and wait for us to trip it.” I decided to share where my head was. “After three months over there, we got sensitized to it. It’s almost like I can feel it.” I blew again. “Black, remove your hand very slowly.” John released each finger and carefully let go of the wire that held the tiny camera. “The sugar in the gum crystalizes around the wire, holds it in place better than tape or putty.”
“I think Frank needs to double check his informant is working for the right team,” Mike grunted with a relieved sigh. “That was too close for comfort.”
“Yeah, I rather like my face attached to my body.” John chuckled, more out of relief.
“Good catch, Beckett.” Keith looked at Cole, and he nodded.
“They’re not here.” Cole pulled out his satellite phone. “We’re leaving.”
Cole made a call, then we slipped back into the night and raced back the way we’d come. Just as we were getting close to the only open area, we heard tires squeal and a few men shouting, so we slowed our pace and glued ourselves to the wall of the alley.
Cole, who was in the front, signaled there was a truck full of Cartel ahead. Mark groaned and dropped his head.
“They know we’re here,” he whispered over the radio. “Withdraw. Use alternate route.”
“Roger that.” Mark struggled to turn in the narrow space with all his gear on. He waved us to follow. Plan B was the longer way back to the chopper. Just like before, we heard tires come to a stop up ahead, and we froze. They had scouts giving our location.
