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“Hold!” I yell.
I hunker down and they do the same, all three of us looking back up the empty trail.
Waiting.
Waiting.
The seconds whizzing by.
Jordan leans into me. “Amy! They’re not coming.”
I check my watch.
It’s 9:03.
I yell back, “We wait!”
Santiago swears, but he and Jordan stick with me. Dust is starting to kick up, biting our eyes. I blink hard and look up at the trailhead.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I whisper, knowing the odds of their showing up are near zero. But you have to believe sometimes. Believe they can make it. Believe in miracles.
Santiago tugs at my shoulder, points to his watch.
It’s 9:05.
“We stay!” I yell back.
Santiago looks at Jordan, Jordan looks to him, and the two of them then look at the chopper, ready to scoop us up and take us out to a Navy vessel in this part of the Mediterranean, on a routine training mission.
Routine.
That’s how the deaths of Jeremy and Oliver are going to be reported, if they get killed outright, without the horror of captivity and torture:Died while on a routine training mission.
And me?
Lost half my crew in a foul-up.
Almost as one, Jordan and Santiago scream my name, and I look at my watch.
9:06.
The nice crew over there from the Night Stalkers has given us an extra sixty seconds, and maybe I’ll live long enough to thank them. But then the helicopter lifts straight up, its landing struts retreating into its belly.
The chopper rises up out of the wadi, soars over a rugged set of rocks, and then it—
Disappears.
Just like that.
Now even its engine sound has gone away.
All I can hear is the heavy breathing of my crew, Jordan Langlois and Santiago Sanchez, who stare at me with murder in their eyes.
I stand up from my crouching position.
“Saddle up, fellas,” I say. “We’re going back to get our guys.”
CHAPTER 4
