Marta’s pulse quickened. “What kind of trouble?”
“Four armed men in black tactical gear are checking each vehicle as it passes through the border checkpoint.” Crusher unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Make that six,” Raul said. “There are two more ahead of the four on my side.” He glanced in the side mirrors. “I can’t turn around. Too many cars lined up behind us.”
They were trapped. Marta’s gut clenched as she glanced through the rear window of the van, her breath coming fast and ragged.
Crusher turned to Raul. “Any combat experience?”
Raul nodded. “Ten years with Dirección Nacional de Fuerzas Especiales.”
“The units that specialize in high-risk urban operations and counterterrorism?” Crusher asked with a cocked brow.
Again, Raul nodded. “We trained with US Special Forces.” He tipped his head toward the men in black. Two of us. Six of them.”
“It’s possible,” Crusher said.
Marta didn’t like the way they were talking. “What’s possible?”
Raul turned in his seat toward Marta. “We need you to drive.”
Marta looked from Raul to Crusher. “They’re looking for me. If I drive, they’ll find me.”
“That’s the point. They’re looking for you, not us.” Crusher said. “Just keep the windows rolled up, the doors locked and act like you don’t understand a word they’re saying.”
Raul shifted into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. He rose from his seat and passed through to the back of the van.
Crusher nodded from Marta to the driver’s seat. “You’ll need to get up here before they see us moving around.”
Marta stepped between the seats and slid behind the steering wheel, her heart racing. She studied the controls, resting her hand on the shift, her foot on the brake.
Crusher leaned across, lifted Marta’s chin and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You’ll be okay.”
“Wait,” she said, panic rising. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going out the back.” Then he followed Raul to the back of the van. They opened the rear door and stepped out onto the pavement, quietly closing the door behind them.
Marta glanced in the side mirrors, but she couldn’t see either one of them.
Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t hear herself think.
When she looked ahead, the vehicles in front of her had moved forward a few car lengths. Three cars had made it through the checkpoint. The six men in black were working on the two vehicles in front of her.
Two of the six men rounded to the back of the sedan in front of Marta. The trunk popped open. The men looked inside, shoved a few pieces of luggage around and closed the trunk. Then they turned toward Marta as the sedan eased forward. The other armed men walked alongside the sedan while speaking to the driver and peering inside.
Her heart lodged in her throat, Marta eased forward, glad she’d worn the hat. They might recognize her immediately, giving Crusher and Raul time for whatever plan they were about to enact.
The men in black carried rifles. Some of them had slung them over their shoulders. Two stood back from the others, their weapons held in their hands, ready, but focused on the men and vehicles ahead of Marta’s.
Please don’t shoot, Marta murmured beneath her breath.
One man walked up to her side and said something in Spanish, motioning for her to lower her window. The other man walked along the passenger side and peered into the van.
Marta kept moving slowly forward.
“Alto!” the man beside her demanded.
Marta shook her head and said. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.”
