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“Thank heaven, Grace. I thought for sure you were dead.” His Irish accent had never sounded stronger.
Grace hugged him back, her own fear subsiding. But every fiber of her being was calling for Mateo. “The airport is gone, I’m pretty sure. The men who set the blasts ran right past me.”
“Rebel forces. They’re keeping Maduro from landing more troops to the south and surrounding them. This way, they can press north without worry.”
The war did not concern her. “I need to see Mateo.”
“Of course.” Peter released her. “It’s a miracle that you’re here.”
The rest of his message was implied but went unspoken: It would take another miracle for her to get Mateo out of the country.
* * *
Amos, distracted by thoughts of Grace, lent only half an ear to Lieutenant Carrigan’s intel report as they waited for the transport helo that would deliver the five-man squad to the aircraft carrier positioned in the Gulf of Mexico. In the darkened briefing room with stadium seating, Amos’s small squad all sat in the first row as Carrigan projected a map of northern Venezuela from the room’s computer onto the overhead.
“…Rebels are pressing forward, headed straight north up Highway 2, toward the capital.” He traced the highway using his laser pointer. “So far, they’ve destroyed two military bases, as well as an airport to the south,” the laser pointer circled Puerto Ayacucho, “in order to prevent the National Army from positioning behind them—”
Puerto Ayacucho. Amos came sharply to the present. He sat up straighter. “Sir, did you just say Puerto Ayacucho’s airport was destroyed?”
“I…think that’s the one.” He consulted a paper in his hand. “Yes. It was destroyed last night.”
A ringing filled Amos’s ears. How was Grace supposed to fly out of Ayacucho with the airport destroyed? He forced himself to attend Jake’s next words.
“In exchange for some firepower, the rebels have advised us of their next targets: The Caracas Maiquetía Airport and this weapons depot.” Jake focused the red dot of his laser pointer at the infamous warehouse where the XO, Jonah Mills, had been taken captive a few years earlier.
“As we are well aware,” Jake continued, “this warehouse stores shipments from Yemen and Iran and God knows who else. Finding out who supports Maduro and what, exactly, they have shipped to him was Zorra’s job. She’s been working as a bookkeeper there for the past eighteen months.”
Jake clicked a key on his laptop and projected an image of Zorra, a dark-haired beauty, clearly of Venezuelan descent, not a day over thirty.
Amos glanced toward Jake’s tense expression. Given the hunger in his eyes, Jake and Zorra were already acquainted.
“Communication with Zorra ends in twenty-four hours, when she goes on ice, burying all comms and anything that could tie her with the Agency. After that, we can still monitor her location via the GPS in her watch. Her escape-and-evasion plan has been prearranged, and that’s where we come in.”
Jake clicked the back key and pointed the laser at the coast close to the warehouse. “On Monday morning, at zero-one-hundred hours, she’s supposed to meet us here, at this cove.”
The CIA-SEAL directed a stern look at the four men paying attention to him—Amos, Ben, Theo, and Bambino.
“I don’t need to tell you guys that a military supply depot is a busy place when there’s a war going on. We don’t want to be seen. At the same time, if Zorra doesn’t show up at the rendezvous, we need to go in and recover her. She’s a high value target. So, keep sharp and be ready for anything. Grab your packs and let’s roll.”
Amos rose on leaden feet. If only Grace were in the northern part of Venezuela. Then they could extract her and Mateo simultaneously as they grabbed Zorra. He examined the thought more closely while shouldering his pack and snatching up his weapon.
He was still examining options as he followed his fellow SEALs out of the building and into a sultry, blustery dawn. The helo was a dark silhouette against the silvery sky. Its chopping rotors brought back an image of Grace sitting on the Chinook’s grooved floor, begging for him to go back and get Mateo.
If only he had listened to her then, he wouldn’t be in this predicament now. Honestly, how could he be furious with her when his decision to leave the boy was the very reason she’d gone back, straight into a warzone?
He had to convince Lieutenant Carrigan that Zorra wasn’t the only American they could save.
* * *
Grace awoke to a small hand stroking her face. She cracked her eyes, expecting to see Simon; instead, Mateo gazed down at her in wonder, his black hair varnished by the sunlight framing the closed shutters. She had tried to awaken him upon her arrival the night before, but he’d been sleeping too soundly. Now she witnessed his wonder at finding her in the bed next to his cot. At her smile, his deep-set eyes filled with tears, and his face crumpled.
“Don’t cry,mijo.”My son. Pulling him into her arms, she rocked him. “I’m back for you now. That’s all that matters.” As she savored the familiar feel of his body pressed to hers, memories of Amos and Simon filled her thoughts as if they, too, were part of this reunion. She set Mateo away from her to gauge his state of mind.
He looked exactly as he had when she’d left him, although his hair now hung over his eyes. She brushed it aside, then showed him her balled-up hand. “Remember the game we played? Rock, paper, scissors?” She spread two fingers to represent scissors, and he tapped them with his closed fist. “Yes, rock beats scissors, you remembered.” Pleased, she stroked the side of his face. “I love you so much.Te amo mucho.”
He hugged her of his own volition, as sweetly affectionate as Simon was. She wished he could articulate his experience these past few weeks, as well as his fears for the future. For now, they remained trapped inside until his fluency developed enough to share them. As soon as she brought him home, she would get him into therapy.
If she ever managed to get home.
