7. Harlow
SEVEN
Harlow
The oppressive darkness within the tent clings to me like a suffocating shroud. Despite my watch insisting it's six a.m., the cave-like atmosphere swallows any hint of daylight. Wrapped in the cocoon of my sleeping bag, a fleeting illusion of comfort cradles me.
My existence, a constant dance on the edge of a razor, teeters between an insatiable desire to combat the world's wrongs and a compelling urge to abandon the tormenting injustices and carve a new path. My life has been an unrelenting struggle since the one event I’ve never told anyone about. There’s a battleground where my secrets play capricious games of hide-and-seek without warning.
The weight of the demon from my past threatens to compromise the mission. As I contemplate cracking the safe, I struggle with the decision to abandon Roger in his quest for his father. The motivation behind accepting this op might be perceived as betrayal, and perhaps it is, but I remain indifferent. Four years of relentless pursuit have led me to compelling evidence unveiling my father's murderer, and I am determined to confront the killer face-to-face.
"Harlow, are you awake? We have breakfast for you,"Roger's voice penetrates the tent's darkness. He's an unforeseen complication, injecting matters of the heart into a scenario where emotions are a luxury I cannot afford.
"I’ll be out in a minute." My response lacks any spark of enthusiasm.
Drawn by the enticing aroma of bacon and eggs, I leave the comfort of the tent to the campfire, where two shadowy figures sit in heavy silence. "Good morning," I mutter, my hands buried in my jacket against the biting chill.
"Come have some breakfast, and we’ll talk logistics about today’s operations," Sean commands.
I eat as if it’s my last meal, managing to fill myself for the day. Sean watches me trying to get a bead on me. Good luck, buddy.
"How and where did you learn to pick safe locks?" Roger inquires between sips of coffee.
"My uncle was a locksmith. I worked for him during the summer. He would have me practice on old safes. It became a hobby of sorts. I enjoyed the quiet of man versus machine. I always won. There were very few safes I couldn’t crack."
Sean nods his head. "How much experience do you have with Gardell safes?"
"Please, those are easy; they're combination safes with tumblers. Why keep something valuable in a combination safe? There are digital safes that offer better security," I scoff.
"It’s not my area of expertise, but I don’t think they know anyone is looking to break into it." Sean shrugs.
"We’re going to recon the house today and find a way in for tonight. There is a limited amount of time to get to the jet before it does a touch-and-go. It will land long enough for us to board. The timing must be exact." He spoons food into his mouth.
"This sounds like it’s going to be loads of fun." I take a sip of coffee. "What if I can’t get the safe open? Do you have a backup plan?"
Roger and Sean exchange looks. "No," Roger answers.
"The safe is too big to take with us and an explosion will bring too much attention, so it’s your show," Sean replies.
We devote the day to recon with scouting and planning. Sean’s assessment was correct. They are disorganized without a set pattern. This will be to our benefit or misfortune. We find our entry and exit points, provided everything goes according to plan.
An unsettling feeling nags at me, a suspicion this mission may be deceptively easy, but I keep my opinions to myself. I'm not the leader; my role on this team is crystal clear, taking orders and getting the job done
As the sun slips over the horizon, nightfall becomes our cloak. We pack our gear and drive down the mountain beyond the house, concealing the Rover in tree branches. We cover ourselves in mud for camouflage. Stealth becomes imperative as we navigate to the glass house. Our first challenge is the elimination of three guards and change into their uniforms.
Sean produces chloroform, and we drag the unconscious guards into the forest. The clock starts ticking as soon as we enter the lower level of the house. Upstairs the bass thumps and laughter filters through the air, providing cover. Luck is on our side—it’s a Friday night, party night.
The flashlight on Sean’s phone lights a dim corridor that leads us to a gray safe, covered in dust and rock debris. Fingerprints in the dust suggest someone has been in the safe. The bag underneath my garment carries the tools to crack the safe. The stethoscope is my most important instrument.
Placing it near the heart of the dial, I listen for the tumblers to align the notches with the fence. It's an art form, a skill honed through years of practice. I take a deep breath, transcending time and space. My focus must be razor-sharp, attuned to the unique personality of the safe. Every safe tells you whether it will cooperate or resist.
"Harlow, we got company," Roger’s hushed words barely register.
Unfazed, I stay locked on my task. The prize lies within. It’s a game my uncle and I played, and he promised honing my skills would be worthwhile. Today, I hope to unwrap the reward like a Christmas gift.
The final notch clicks into place. My heart races and adrenaline surges into my bloodstream. Thirty minutes feels like three, as the handle releases and a black box reveals itself. As I open the black box, there’s what looks like a piece of an egg-shaped object. I stuff the box in my pocket and grab a large duffel bag filled with American dollars. I close the safe and spin the drive wheel.
"Got it," I announce.
As we flee into the tunnel away from the incoming, a corridor appears to the right, and we escape without knowing where it leads. This is not our Plan B. Gunshots echo as they ricochet off the walls. Our legs carry us as fast as we can move. The tunnel ends and we turn, standing at a crossroads.
"It was nice knowing both of you," Roger says dryly.
A shining dot of light catches my eye. "Is that the North Star?"
We look up, discovering a hole in the stone ceiling. "I’ll cover you while you climb through the top," Sean offers without hesitation.
"No, you have too much to lose with a baby on the way. I have nothing to lose," Roger declares and my heart beats wildly, but I don’t disagree with him. "I’ll put Harlow on my shoulders with the rope in my gear. She’ll throw it down. Let’s do this."
The deafening sound of gunfire stops for a moment, leaving an eerie silence in the air. The guards take a brief pause to figure out their next move.
Roger’s arms push me upward, urgency pulsates through every muscle as I snake the rope down the hole. Roger gives Sean a leg up as he pushes the large duffel bag above his head, which is no easy feat, but Roger makes it look easy, despite the immediacy of the situation. Sean is topside when Roger starts to take fire.
As Sean reaches the surface, a storm of bullets rains down, and Roger becomes a target. "Clear," he shouts, determination etched across his face as he grabs the rope and ascends the wall, narrowly avoiding the relentless assault.
Relief washes over me when his head emerges from the hole, a triumphant smile breaking through the tension.
We navigate the dense forest, each step laden with the urgency of time slipping away. The race against the clock becomes palpable as we push through the underbrush, heading back to the Rover. Every second counts and the weight of our escape bears down on us.
Sean makes a call. "We’re en route. What’s the ETA on the jet?" He hands the phone to Roger. "We are on schedule. The weather is good. Things are on our side. Let’s pray it stays that way," the voice comes through the other end. The severity of the situation tightens its grip on us.
Sean wrestles the Rover through the treacherous mountains and into the city. Time slips away as we head for the tarmac at the Kabul International Airport, every second marked with urgency. Unspoken questions linger about our escape plan, but some things are better left unknown.
Sean cuts the lights on the Rover as we enter an access road and pass by parked planes. He makes a sharp left as we pass the plane we are supposed to be on.
"Looks like we’re going to have to jump into the wheel wells," Sean grits out as the realization hits and he lays on the brakes.
The prospect of jumping into the wheel wells for a daring escape is daunting, but there's no room for doubt. "I've never done this before, but there's a first for everything," I tell myself, ready for the unknown challenge.
"Last one to the plane buys dinner," I shout, flinging the door open and sprinting toward the plane.
Roger and Sean are close behind as Roger overtakes me with the agility of a seasoned track athlete, teasing, "I ran track in school. See ya." The race against time takes on a new dimension as we reach the plane, the roar of its engines drowning out everything else.
We make it to the wheels as the plane turns left to the runway. The roar of the engines is deafening. I’m hoisted up into the body of the plane. A crew of mostly strangers awaits us, except for one familiar figure whom I haven't seen in years, adding a twist to the already adrenaline-fueled escape.