He loved that, despite the constant pressure, she could pluck him from his angst.
“Whoa, check this out.” She spun her laptop toward him, rewound the footage and hit play. “Time stamp says eleven-fifty at night.”
A man wearing a custodial uniform stopped his cart in front of the FBI restroom. He keyed his way inside, stayed there forseveral seconds, then exited. He looked up and down the deserted hallway, pulled something from one of the lower containers on the pushcart, then ducked back into the bathroom.
She stopped the video, zoomed in, but Greystone couldn’t ID what the man had removed from his cart.
“That’s not paper towels or toilet paper,” she said.
After several minutes, the man in the video exited, then continued down the hallway, until he vanished from the frame.
Caroline pulled up the photos of the mug shots, then toggled back and forth. “I think it’s him.” She pointed to one of the men. “He changed up his looks. I’d walk right by him.”
He’d shaved his facial hair, wore glasses. Either he’d grown his hair longer and lightened it or he was wearing a wig.
“They’re not playin’ around,” Greystone bit out.
He couldn’t miss the fire in her eyes. “Neither are we.”
Without another word, she left, shutting the door behind her.
Greystone was alone with his thoughts and with his demons. At the moment, they were one in the same… and he welcomed the mayhem. Feeling settled and overly confident was the last thing he needed. They needed this win and they needed it bad.
At twenty-one hundred, Greystone left the exec conference room, his laptop tucked under his arm. En route to the large conference room, he grabbed several waters. Once he rounded the corner, voices spilled into the hallway and the pit in his stomach grew.
His team needed to know that tonight could go well or it could be a trap, set by Muhammad Haqazzii, a mastermind of destruction and murder. Killing a highly-skilled BLACK OPS team would be a great victory for the international terror cell.
Greystone would fight to his death, and he would stop abullet with his body if that meant one of his teammates could live.
He entered the conference room, set down the chilled waters, and plugged in his laptop. Once the picture was projected on the opposite wall, he eyed the group of fifteen, which included Dakota, Sin, Hawk, Addison, Prescott, Slash, Rebel, Teddy, and Caroline. The ALPHA Ops he’d first met by video chat were Stryker, Emerson, Cooper, Danielle, and Jericho.
As he eased down, he asked, “How’s everyone doin’?” After a chorus of responses, he continued. “Let’s start with mission agenda.” He tapped his laptop and the details shone on the back wall.
“For the next ninety, we’ll be reviewing the mission, the goals, the potential challenges. Everyone’s been paired, we got one trio. Spouses are teamed. If that’s a no-go, speak up.” He paused, but the group remained silent. “We’re hitting building three where Caroline saw the leader, Muhammad Haqazzii, and one of his soldiers enter and exit. She’s confident they’ve taken over that building.”
“And if they’re spread out over the three?” Sin asked.
“Caroline’s thorough. I trust her completely.” Greystone shifted toward her. “Austin, why don’t you address Sin?”
“All three buildings are occupied,” she began, “but I’ve only identified terrorists in building number three. If we raid the other two buildings—where no one matches the descriptions of the men we’re after—we could kill innocent people, we could trigger a media frenzy, and we open ourselves up to being shot by a homeowner. I’m also aware that we could be walking into a trap, so I’m more concerned with containing the mayhem than adding to it.”
“Well said,” Slash said.
“I’m good,” Sin said. “Thanks, Caroline.”
Greystone acknowledged her with a nod. “Once wecomplete the raid, we secure the prisoners in the vans. We’ve ID’d fourteen confirmed terrorists, but there could be more.”
“So, we could be walking into a situation with dozens of ‘em,” Jericho said.
“Yeah, but doubtful based on intel,” Greystone said.
He addressed everyone’s concerns, but he had no guarantees. He acknowledged they were going in blind, not knowing if they’d be walking into rooms filled with explosives set to blow when they opened the doors or a group of terrorists waiting to ambush them.
“Time’s running out,” he said. “We’re an action group, not a watch-and-wait team. We bring ‘em in alive, if possible, and we confiscate any laptops and phones we find.”
At twenty-three thirty, Greystone said, “Hawk, kill the cameras at Riverdale.”
Hawk got busy on his laptop. “Done.” He slid his computer to Teddy who confirmed that Hawk had deactivated the security cameras in the complex.
