“Atlantic moves as primary assault,” he repeated. “Pacific’s split between our outer ring and keeping this camp locked down. We are not leaving these people undefended.”
Falcon’s eyes were hard. “Rules of engagement?”
“Quiet as possible,” Picasso replied. “Suppressors where you can run them, controlled shots only. No wild fire near the kids. If we lose surprise, we fight our way out, not through.”
Reef shifted his weight, jaw working. “Chief… if they split the hostages? Move them to different sites?”
Picasso held his gaze. “Then we get who we can and take every scrap of intel back to base and regroup. But we start here.”
He didn’t add what was pounding in his chest:And we get her.
Wolf closed the sat case with a decisive snap. “You heard him,” he said to both teams. “Gear up. Five minutes to roll.”
Chairs scraped, boots pounded out of the tent, the low murmur exploding into focused motion. Weapons checks, mag slaps, radios crackling to life. In the corner, Mozart and Dude were already pulling up camp schematics and comms nets, slotting themselves into the role of shield and relay.
Picasso lingered over the map for half a heartbeat longer, eyes fixed on the tiny red dot marking their first target and the ring of routes tightening around it.
Hold on, Firecracker.
Then he turned and strode after his men into the dark.
NINETEEN
GABRIELLA
The van’s engine stuttered and fell silent with a sudden, jarring stop. Gabriella’s body jolted, thrown against the cold, ridged metal floor. Outside, the clatter of boots on cracked pavement grew louder, rough footsteps scuffing impatiently, carrying the sharp scrape of metal keys and the muted slam of heavy doors yanked open.
A sudden rush of night air swept inside, cold and damp, filled with an overwhelming tangle of scents: acrid gasoline mingling with sour sweat, the musty rot of damp alley trash, and beneath it all, the sharp sting of cheap tobacco smoke. The air was thick, choking, saturated with the heavy musk of unwashed bodies and stale fear.
Rough, grimy hands grabbed the children, hauling them out one by one. Gabriella’s wrists burned where plastic zip ties bit sharply, twisting her arms behind her back as she stumbled onto the harsh concrete. The chill bit through her thin clothes, gnawing at bruised, raw skin.
The four small figures stood close together just ahead of her. The oldest, a thin boy of about seven, kept a protective arm around three girls between four and six. Their faces wereghostly in the dim light, streaked with dirt, eyes wide and uncomprehending.
Gabriella’s tape-muffled breath caught as the men barked orders in sharp, broken English mixed with rapid-fire Spanish. “No move. No scream. Understand?” one growled. The children flinched but said nothing. Their voices were swallowed by the harsh barrier of language. They spoke no English; their Spanish was raw and fractured by fear, exhaustion, and grief.
Gabriella’s mind raced, aching to comfort them in the only language they knew. But her own Spanish was limited to broken phrases; here, language was a wall as cold and unyielding as the alley’s concrete.
The men shoved them through a fractured doorway, its hinges splintered and hanging loose, and dragged the small group into the hollowed-out shell of an earthquake-ravaged building. Inside, dust hung thick in the stale air, mingling with the sharp scent of cracked concrete and shattered wood. The distant hum of the city seemed muffled here, swallowed by silence.
They were shoved into a small, bare room that was dark and claustrophobic. The walls bore deep cracks, bits of plaster crumbled to the floor. A small, battered battery-powered lantern sat on the floor, its weak, flickering light casting long shadows across the scattered debris covering the cracked cement floor. The faint buzzing of its failing batteries was the only sound besides the children's soft breaths.
The men yanked the tape from Gabriella’s mouth and hastily cut the plastic ties binding her wrists and ankles. Her fingers trembled, numb and aching. Around her, the children trembled from the cold, the fear, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
A grimy metal bucket sat in a corner, stained and reeking faintly of urine, a cruel reminder of captivity. No one spoke. Thefaint drip of water somewhere beyond filtered weakly through the silence.
The men muttered among themselves in clipped Spanish and broken English, their rough commands thick with threat and distrust. “Stay… you stay here,” one barked, loud and final.
Gabriella’s eyes widened as she took in the small, bare room. The oppressive darkness and the stale, fetid air hit her all at once. Her stomach churned at the sight of the grimy bucket, the cracked walls, and the lingering smell of human waste and decay. She swallowed hard, fighting back the rising panic threatening to overwhelm her.
Glancing down at the children, she saw their wide eyes tracking every movement, uncomprehending of the men’s words but starkly aware of the harsh reality surrounding them.
She forced the cold lump in her throat down. Slowly and carefully, she gathered the children close, drawing them near despite the lingering smell of dust and rot.
They were locked away in the silence of ruins, their breaths labored and heavy, but for the first time since the van, their hands and feet were free. Still, she held them tightly, her heart pounding beneath the terrible weight of what was to come and the fragile hope she clung to: someone was looking for them.
The cracked door groaned under the brutal weight of its barricade: rough-hewn planks nailed crookedly into the splintered frame, reinforced by jagged blocks of concrete and twisted rebar haphazardly wedged into the crumbling doorway. The clatter of tools faded into silence, swallowed by the earthquake-ravaged building’s hollow emptiness. Their heavy footsteps receded into the night, leaving silence behind as the men settled nearby, their snores muffled in the distance.
Darkness settled over the small room like a suffocating blanket. No windows pierced the cracked concrete walls; no lightseeped in beyond the weak glow of the lantern. The stale air hung heavy with dust and uncertainty.
