Chapter Thirteen
Jackson cursed under his breath. An hour wasn’t much time, but in some ways it felt like an eternity, especially for the hostages. Every second that ticked by could mean another beating or worse.
Across the room, Isla was already moving. “I’ll print the mask,” she said, her voice calm but brisk. “Give me five minutes to get ready.” She grabbed her tablet and headed for the door.
Noah stood at the center of the room, studying the screen. “The Brotherhood’s almost certainly already there,” he said. “In place, waiting.”
“Then where are the hostages?” Jackson asked.
One of the techs, a younger guy with short dark hair, frowned at his monitor. “That’s the thing. The rest stop doesn’t match anything we saw in the background of those images.”
“Could the images have been staged?” Jackson asked.
“Maybe,” the tech admitted. “Or the hostages were moved.” He zoomed out on a digital map. “I’ll start looking for nearby locations. Old barns, sheds, anything abandoned within a ten-mile radius.”
“Do it,” Noah said. He turned to another tech. “Get the drones up. I want eyes on every road and structure near that rest stop.”
The hum in the operations room grew louder as everyone moved into action. Jackson stayed by the monitor, his gaze fixed on the red pin marking the meeting site.
Jackson and Noah stood in front of the map, heads close, voices low and clipped.
They ran through the options like men clearing a room, precise and brutal in their logic.
Isla would have to look like Avery and act like Avery, but she couldn’t look as if she had a team hiding nearby.
The trick was making the van look empty while keeping a team ready to move the moment Isla had eyes on the hostages.
“No heat signatures,” Jackson said. “If they sweep the van with a scanner and see extra bodies, it’s over.”
Noah nodded. “We’ll cloak the operatives. Thermal dampers in the seats, localized cooling packs, and we’ll position them low and spread out to minimize a heat footprint. It’s not perfect, but it’ll buy us enough time to get eyes and then act.”
Jackson pictured Isla in the driver’s seat, hair covered, face a dead-ringer thanks to the five-second mask.
She’d look alone. She’d drive up to the meeting point like she belonged there, ask to see the hostages, and give them their opening.
If the kidnappers balked, the team in the van would have to move fast and quiet.
Noah tapped the tablet and pulled up the overlay of escape routes. “Once Isla signals we’ve got visual, two men hit low and clear. Two others cover approach routes. Beck’s on overwatch with the chopper if we need a vertical lift.” He met Jackson’s eyes. “Timing has to be surgical.”
Jackson’s jaw practically locked. “We get one shot at this. No second chances if they’re violent when they find out it’s a decoy.”
Avery’s voice cut in, raw and immediate. “What if it fails? What if they figure out it’s Isla and not me?” She was standing too close, the worry in her face plain as daylight. “I can’t just sit here and let people die because I’m hiding.”
Jackson’s first reaction was blunt. “No,” he said, cutting her off before she added more. “You are not walking into that.”
Avery didn’t step back. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Just hear me out,” she insisted. “If the Brotherhood figures out Isla’s a decoy, they’re going to start killing the hostages. We need a Plan B that actually gets them out alive.”
He folded his arms, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “Plan B doesn’t mean throwing you at them.”
“It might,” she argued. “But only if it’s surgical. Only if everyone else is in position.”
Jackson studied her. She wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t being reckless. She was thinking like they trained to think, like someone who’d been targeted her whole life and wanted to stop the bleeding.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “What’s your plan?”
She gathered her breath. “Plan B kicks in if the kidnappers realize Isla isn’t me and demand I go personally.
I’ll wear body armor and I’ll be armed. Once I’m out of the van, I’ll create the distraction myself.
Maybe a smoke bomb or something loud enough to mask movement.
That’ll give the operatives the chance they need to move in and free the hostages. We control the moment, not them.”
The muscles in Jackson’s jaw turned to steel. “You want to be the bait.”
“I want to be the insurance policy,” she said. “If they want me, they get me on our terms. Not theirs. We control the timing, the route, and the cover. We have drones, chopper overwatch, and teams placed on egress routes. We make sure the people with the guns never get to set the tempo.”
Jackson looked at her for a long moment. He hated the thought of her in the line of fire, but he also knew she wouldn’t be still while people died.
“Fine,” he finally said. “We’ll draft the routes and the backup signals. We’ll rehearse the comm windows. But you listen to me. If I tell you to get the hell out of there, you do it.”
“Okay,” she said. “I will.”
He swallowed and already started running the plan in his head. Time was everything. They had to make their choices count.
Jackson listened as Noah ran down the roster, voice flat and clinical.
“You’re all in the van. Jackson, Garrett, Cal, Isla, Avery, and Colt,” he added, tipping his head to the operative at one of the computers.
“Everyone except Isla will be cloaked. Garrett and Cal on the low entry, you and I take overwatch if we have to go hot.”
He nodded. No point arguing. They moved with the efficiency of men who’d done this before. Garrett checked comms and ammunition. Cal ran point on the entry kit. Jackson strapped extra magazines into his vest and slotted smoke grenades and flashbangs into pouches along his belt and Avery’s.
Noah went over the timing one more time. “Isla goes in alone. She gets visual on the hostages. If she signals live, the team hits. If she goes dark or the feed shows a compromise, we abort to Plan B and move Avery in as the emergency exchange.”
They geared up fast, every motion tight and practiced. Jackson checked his gun, then his sidearm. He counted rounds twice. He felt the weight of the decision in his chest, but there was no time to dwell.
They were heading for the garage when Isla stepped out of the bathroom.
The wig sat right, the mask lined up. From the doorway she looked like Avery at a glance.
Close enough to sell it from a distance.
Jackson’s first reaction was a small, cold relief.
It might be enough to buy them the seconds they needed.
Isla moved as if she knew the role, folding her hands at her sides. Jackson saw the quick glint at her hip where two hidden holsters hugged her waist under the coat. They were concealed from quick scans, tucked low and flat. Isla met his eye and gave a tiny, confident nod.
“All right,” Jackson said. “Let’s go.”
They loaded into the van, gear clinking softly in the confined space. Isla slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and the wig, her voice calm as she checked comms. “Everyone set?”
“Good,” Noah’s voice came through the earpiece. “You’re green.”
The van rolled forward.
Avery crouched on the floor in the back with Jackson, Cal, Colt, and Garrett.
The space smelled faintly of oil and metal.
She couldn’t see much from where she was, just flashes of the road through a slit between the seats.
The cloaking sheet lay folded beside them, ready to be pulled over once they neared the meet point.
Jackson leaned close, his voice low. “I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances out there.”
She turned her head toward him, eyes steady even in the dim light. “Then do the same,” she whispered.
He almost smiled, but the tension in his gut held it back, and he focused on the drive, on the mission. The van hummed over the rough county road, every turn bringing them closer to the rest stop.
In another few minutes, the real test would start.
Noah’s voice came through Jackson’s earpiece, low but tight. “I just got feedback from the drone.”
Jackson’s pulse picked up. “Talk to me.”
“There’s an old barn about a quarter mile from the rest stop,” Noah explained. Papers rustled faintly behind his words, the sound of quick movement in the operations room. “It looks active. Fresh tire tracks, new padlock on the doors, and movement on thermal.”
Jackson’s jaw clenched. “Hostages?”
“Can’t confirm,” Noah said, “but it’s our best lead so far.” A pause stretched before Noah added, “I’m sending a second team there now. If they find the hostages, we may not need Isla to make contact.”
That stirred a small surge of hope, thin but real. Jackson glanced toward the front. Isla kept her eyes on the road, but he saw her hands tighten on the wheel. Avery, crouched beside him, looked up with a silent question in her eyes.
The van bumped along the uneven road, every second stretching longer than it should. Jackson prayed the drone was right. Because if the hostages weren’t in that barn, Isla was about to drive straight into a kill zone.
Jackson watched the live feed from the drone flicker on the small screen mounted near the dash. Nothing but the cracked highway ahead and brush on both sides. The barn wasn’t visible from here, but the second team was closing in.
Noah’s voice came through again. “Still no visual confirmation. Keep heading to the rest stop, but stay alert. I don’t like how quiet it is out there.”
“Copy that,” Jackson said.
Isla’s hands stayed tight on the wheel. The van rumbled down the narrow road, dirt and gravel kicking up behind them. Cal checked his weapon. Garrett gave a short nod. The tension in the back was thick enough to choke on.
Jackson scanned the tree line through the slit in the front partition. He couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were on them. The van hit another bump, and Avery grabbed his arm to steady herself. Her skin was cold. He gave her a quick nod, the only reassurance he could offer.
“Half a mile out,” Isla said quietly.
Then movement caught Jackson’s eye.
Something ahead. A figure stumbling into view.
He leaned forward. “Hold up. We’ve got someone on the road.”
Isla slowed, and Jackson soon saw a man, running toward them, bloodied and battered. Jackson recognized the face in an instant.
Mick Barker.
Jackson barely had time to react before the world blew apart.
A grenade hit the asphalt between Mick and the van, exploding in a roar of fire and dirt. The blast rocked the vehicle, throwing Jackson hard against the seat as shrapnel and debris rained across the windshield.