Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jorge
I slip into the driver’s seat.
“Where’re we going? I need directions.”
We’re headed to the Bahnhofsviertel—Station District—near the central train station.
It’s a high-crime area in Frankfurt. The type of place where someone getting beaten to a pulp or left out to suffer after dark is less questionable than in other parts of the city.
It’s known for high drug use, and there’s a red-light district there too.
It’s worse at night with parties, but it isn’t a desirable destination during the day either.
Alejandro enters the destination in the stolen car’s GPS, and I take quick glances. The police can track the car if they want, but we’ll ditch this one tonight. It’s not even the same one we used earlier.
“Looks like it’ll take us at least half an hour to get there. Though—with the way you drive…Para bola.”
It literally translates to “to stand ball,” but it means pay attention. Alejandro fucks around and grabs the “oh shit handle” above his door’s window.
“Be glad I haven’t killed you yet. And I’m not the one who’s been in three rollovers, primo.” Cousin.
“None of those were my fault.”
I snort. “You were driving all three times.”
“Rolling my Wrangler while off-roading is a rite of passage.”
“You keep telling yourself that about your little Toy Tonka.”
I was in the car for that one, and it really wasn’t that bad. It just sorta—toppled…Then rolled twice. We got it back on all four and were no worse for wear, though he needed a new windshield. There’s a reason they aren’t made out of glass.
“You nearly killed me though.” Joaquin brushes his finger over a scar over his left eyebrow.
I’m certain Alejandro’s rolling his eyes at my brother.
“You shouldn’t have egged me on to see if I could beat Seamus in that drag race.
He was the dumb fucker who skidded into the turn and took out my tail end.
He started to roll and pushed me over the edge.
He totaled his car. Mine just needed cleaning off. ”
“Both of you were fifteen and didn’t have permits! You’re both lucky your moms never found out. You woulda been hiding behind Tío Enrique while praying the rosary, and Seamus woulda been hiding behind his grandfather doing the same damn thing. Saoirse’s just as terrifying as Tía Catalina.”
We don’t discuss the third time because Juan was drunk in college, and Alejandro went to pick his dumbass up.
Juan thought he was funny, yanking at the steering wheel.
Alejandro’s car swerved on a patch of ice and rolled twice before slamming into a median.
He took the blame for that because he was behind the wheel along with two broken ribs and a broken nose.
Juan was already in trouble for underage drinking once he got home.
Juan always managed to slide by despite Tío Luis and Tía Margherita knowing what a little shit he was.
There was always some loophole or technicality.
It’s why he made a good cop for us on the NYPD payroll—until he fucked all the way up, and Maks couldn’t forgive or forget.
Our stroll down memory lane helps pass the time.
It only takes us twenty minutes to get to our destination.
It might not have been a land speed record, but it was better than what the nav said.
I pull over two blocks away on a one-way street.
Our men pull up at the end of the block.
There are no working streetlights, so that’s why I stopped here.
“Capitanes, aquí tenéis.” Captains, here you go.
One of our men brings our go bags. They have what we need.
Not only tactical gear and spare street clothes, but also fake passports and driver’s licenses, and a few thousand dollars in several currencies.
We have an extra cache of weapons in each.
Joaquin, Alejandro, and I put on jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters after our showers.
We’re in sneakers rather than dress shoes like we usually are.
None of us enjoy suits, so we take any chance we can to wear comfortable clothes.
Our men are already dressed in all black.
All of us suit up with our Kevlar vests, helmets, NVGs—night vision goggles, extra knives in our belts, and pistols strapped to our thighs.
We each have our rifles slung across our chests.
On missions like this, we have Velcro badges on the back of our vests that say polizei—police.
We have them in seven languages. As long as no one looks too long, it’ll confuse them.
We don’t have the letter and number IDs that usually go on the back of German police bulletproof vests. That’s what really gives us away.
We move into a formation with Joaquin to my right as we lead. He has the CCTV feed on a small tablet strapped to his vest that he’s carrying in his left hand. The screen’s so little, I’m not sure how he can tell what anything is, but he always does.
Right at the corner, then across the street, and three buildings down.
My brother tells us all that through hand and arm signals that aren’t standard military.
We don’t need to give our plans away to anyone who can understand those.
We’re more covert that way. Lessons our grandfather taught our dads—even mine and Alejandro’s, who were his sons-in-law.
In my family, in-law is only what outsiders say.
There’s no difference. Once you’re family by blood or by marriage, that’s all that matters.
We have a dozen men with us, so we spread out. Six split off, three going in each direction as they creep around to the back of the building. The rest of us hunker down as we wait for them to give us an update. It comes through our earpieces.
“No hay puertas aquí atrás. Las ventanas están en el segundo piso. No hay acceso.” No doors back here. Windows are on the second story. No access.
“Regresar.”
I give the order for them to come back. We use a tool that looks a lot like a crowbar to force the door open silently. There’s no light, so we all flip our NVGs down. I enter first since I’ll never send anyone ahead of me when I command a mission.
My woman’s family, my mission to lead.
Joaquin follows me in. We both have thermal imaging binoculars, so we peer in different directions once we move the NVGs out of the way.
Annoying, but both are necessary. We look at each other and shake our heads.
I point to a stairwell that goes up and down.
Our men know what to do without verbal or hand commands.
Four go downstairs with Joaquin, four remain on the ground floor with Alejandro, and I take the last four upstairs.
“Nada.” Nothing.
I hear Joaquin’s hushed voice in my ear. I’m almost to the top of the stairs with my men behind me, rifles at the ready. I’m the next one with an update.
“Tres.” Three.
I can’t tell from the heat-seeking binoculars whether any are Gunter. My men and I move toward the door, making room for Joaquin and his men to pass us. They go up to the next floor.
“Duos. Subiendo.” Two. Going up.
We all wait for my brother to give us a report from the last story.
“Nada.”
I breathe a little easier while Joaquin and his team come back down a floor. Alejandro and his men join me. He sticks with me while half his team goes up to join Joaquin.
“Tapones para los oídos puestos.” Earplugs in.
I give everyone a chance to slip them in. My brother and I have devices to burst the doors open. I know Joaquin’s ready when I hear him practically whisper.
“A las tres.” On three.
It’s on my count. “Uno, dos, tres.”
The moment the doors swing in, Joaquin and I lob our flash bangs inside. I know his works because even with earplugs, I can hear it. We’ll only use our smoke grenades if we have to.
“?él está aquí!” He’s here!
It’s one of the men with Joaquin. The men with me still sweep the expansive space.
I don’t know what it once was, but it looks like a flop house now.
Only one man looks intelligent enough to know what the fuck is going on, but we won’t underestimate the others.
Rather than killing them on the spot, we zip tie them. I check in with the men upstairs.
“?Cómo está él?” How is he?
“Ambas manos.” Both hands.
What the fuck did Joaquin say?
Leisel spins around on the sofa as I enter the house.
He eyes widen as she watches me help her father inside.
Her expression screams it’s one of the most joyous moments of her life.
She and Heidi sprint to their father, and his arms engulf them probably the same way they have since they were little.
I bet he was a bear of a man back then; he still is now.
The sisters look at each other as tears stream down their faces, but they let go sooner than we probably want. Their mom’s desperate to hug him too. Leisel steps back and reaches for me but gasps.
“Papa, your hand!”
“I’ll explain everything, but—”
Gretel practically throws herself into Gunter’s arms, and he wraps them around her, lifting her off the ground.
The hand we thought he lost is precariously close to her ass as they kiss in a way that makes me think Heidi and Leisel have never seen—in a way they could’ve gone their entire lives without seeing.
Liesel’s nose curls instinctively just like her sister’s.
They look away. Heidi clings to Friedrich as I pull Liesel against me.
She inhales my scent. Each breath filled with my cologne seems to calm her.
“Daddy.” She exhales the word before she kisses my neck.
“Baby girl, I’m here.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?” She tries to pull away.
“Don’t you dare move, or else everyone here will see how hard my girlfriend makes me.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Soon-to-be fiancée, not-too-far-in-the-future wife. Is that better?”
“Infinitely.”
Gretel and Gunter finish their kiss with a gentle peck. Then Gunter looks at the rest of us.
“I’ll explain everything, just let me catch my breath.” He kisses Gretel’s forehead.