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“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask him. “I cannot guarantee you will be safe from Raptor’s Gift.”
His certainty is strong enough to buoy my own courage. He is brave for his mate’s sake. He will not rest until she is free from Raptor’s manipulation. I can relate.
“Godspeed, my friend.”
He spreads his wings and scoops air as he lifts off into the night. I do not know if I will ever see him again. I wish him all the best.
Thank you for everything,I send out to him.
He sends only gratitude back. And then his focus shifts to his own task, and the thread of our connection snaps. I hope he will reach out if he needs help. But more than that, I hope he will not need help.
I give two sharp slaps to the side of the truck, and it departs. Scrap and I are left in the darkness two blocks from St. Patrick’s, where Raptor’s security crew has their headquarters. It is our job to infiltrate the enemy’s security team, disable their video and comm systems and search for intel on Jud’s whereabouts.
Scrap and I jog along the side of a neighboring building, keeping low and quiet.
Scrap says into his comm, “Team alpha-two to chopper, what’s the skinny on St. Patrick’s? How many we talking?”
“Hang on, alpha-two. We’re swinging around.” X-Ray’s response in my earpiece is immediate. Thanks to his Gift, he is our eye in the sky. He can tell where all the people are, even from a few thousand feet in the air. Above us, the muted thumping of the stealth chopper sounds like bed sheets being whipped out before hanging on the line. “Okay, alpha-two. We’ve got movement at the church. It looks like they know something’s up. There are three targets converging at the east end of the sanctuary and two exiting onto Camp Street. Underground, you’ve got three stationary targets. Eyes out. Be careful.”
“Roger that,” Scrap says in his comm. To me, he says, “Three underground. Those are probably prisoners.” We exchange a meaningful look. Jud could be one of them. “Let’s move.”
Scrap takes the lead as we make our way to Camp Street. As soon as we have the church in sight, I spot the two guards. They are scanning the road, but they are not smart. The church is lit up, and the road is dark. They are blinding themselves.
“I’ve got the one on the left,” I say, and I crouch to aim my rifle.
Scrap crouches at my side. “On my count,” he says. “Three, two, one.”
We fire simultaneously, and the two guards go down. Then we’re running full tilt toward the front door of Raptor’s security headquarters.
“Not too bright,” I say, breathing heavy.
“If they’re all security geniuses, like these two,” Scrap says, “this’ll be a piece of cake.”
The main entrance to the church is up a half-dozen steps and set into an arched alcove. The ten-foot-high, solid-oak double doors would pose quite the challenge to intruders…if they were actually locked.
“Stupid fucks,” Scrap says, squeezing the latch and pulling open the door a crack.
We stand to either side of the opening, waiting for fire. When none comes, I risk a peek. No one is in the lobby area. I motion Scrap to follow me inside.
Echoes of opulence remain in the large room that would have once greeted parishioners. A chandelier of bronze hangs crooked and covered in cobwebs. Broken stained glass windows are plastered over with cardboard, and no one has bothered to sweep up after those priceless works of art were vandalized. Glass is everywhere. Walls with historic paneling are besmirched with graffiti. Tiles in the floor are chipped and peeling up at the corners.
“What a dump,” Scrap whispers.
“Ja.”These men take no pride in their surroundings.
We tiptoe toward the double doors to the sanctuary. A three-legged stool, like I sit on to milk the cows back home, is the only thing keeping the right-hand door open. It’s wedged in place to keep the door cracked about a foot. Through the opening, I can see a soaring ceiling and rows upon rows of bench seats. Near the front, where the pulpit would be, are the three men X-Ray spotted from the chopper.
“They are gathered by a big bay of monitors,” I whisper to Scrap. “Their guns are on the table.” I step back so he can see.
“Sitting, fucking ducks,” he says. With a glance my way, he says, “You ready?”
I lift my rifle into ready position and nod.
Scrap takes aim through the opening and fires two rounds before I hear anyone inside the sanctuary try to fight back. It is an easy thing to take cover behind the doors and fire at the men who are too slow and clumsy to retrieve their weapons, and soon, all three lay motionless before those computers.
“I’ll disable their systems,” Scrap says.
“Yes. I will explore the catacombs. Call me if you need backup.”
