Chapter 6 En Route #2
"Any chance to recheck updated intel?"
"Ghost will pull latest satellite before we board. Anything changes, we adjust on the fly."
Risk nodded and went back to his kit.
Joker shifted position, the cargo netting creaking under his weight. "You think Nazari knows we're coming?"
"No," Steele said.
"You sure?"
"He's careful. But he thinks his walls keep him safe. Thinks his money buys him protection. He's wrong."
"And if he's not wrong?" Joker pressed. "If he's got advance warning?"
"Then we adapt. But intel says he doesn't. No unusual movement. No security increases. No changes to pattern-of-life. He's comfortable."
"Comfortable gets you killed," Bulldog said without opening his eyes.
"That's the idea," Steele replied.
Three hours into the flight, the cargo ramp lowered just enough for cold air to knife inside as they descended toward Erbil Air Base. The temperature drop was immediate. Went from climate-controlled cabin to near-freezing in seconds.
The runway lights cut sharp through darkness below them. Touchdown was controlled and smooth. The C-17's wheels kissed concrete without drama. Good pilot. Knew his aircraft.
Within minutes, they were moving across the tarmac toward a hardened hangar lit in muted amber.
The kind of structure built to survive mortar fire and keep operational secrets from prying eyes.
No fanfare. No ceremony. Just handoffs from one aircraft to another. One phase of the operation to the next.
A Special Operations liaison met them inside the hangar, voice clipped and professional. Young. Maybe late twenties. The kind of guy who'd done a deployment or two and now pulled liaison duty because someone decided he had people skills.
"Rotary is prepped. Fifteen-minute window."
Steele nodded.
The team moved like they'd done this a thousand times before. Because they had. Gear shifted from C-17 pallets to Blackhawk cargo. Weapons checked one more time. Night optics mounted and tested. Batteries swapped for fresh ones even if the old ones still had charge.
Ghost synced last-minute signal overlays with the helicopter's navigation system. Made sure the jamming equipment would interface properly. Made sure the pilot knew where not to fly if they wanted to avoid getting shot down by Iraqi air defense.
Hawk stepped outside briefly, scanning skyline and perimeter like the threat could be here already. Old habits. The kind that kept you alive when everyone else was dead.
Joker adjusted his gloves. Flexed his fingers. Checked his watch. "Iraq. Missed this place."
"No, you didn't," Risk replied, shouldering his medical pack.
Joker shrugged. "Fair."
The Blackhawks waited on the edge of the tarmac, rotors already turning.
Two birds. One for the team, one for backup in case the first went down.
Standard procedure for operations this far from friendly territory.
Wind kicked dust across concrete in swirling patterns that caught the amber light from the hangar.
Steele moved first. The team followed.
They boarded without hesitation. Muscle memory.
Each man knowing exactly where to sit, where to stow gear, how to strap in without wasting motion.
Inside the helicopter, noise swallowed speech.
The rotors were too loud for conversation.
They communicated with hand signals and practiced rhythm.
The kind of nonverbal language that came from years of working together.
Night swallowed the runway behind them as they lifted. Erbil fell away beneath them. City lights spreading out in patterns that made sense from the air. Planned streets. Organized districts. The Kurdish capital trying to be modern and cosmopolitan in a region that kept trying to tear itself apart.
Turkish-Iraqi Border Same Night
The charter plane was small, unmarked, and cost more than most people made in a year. Mara had paid cash. No questions asked. No manifests filed. No record that four women had crossed into Turkish airspace carrying enough tactical equipment to start a small war.
She sat near the window, watching darkness slide past below.
Turkey first, then the border, then Iraq.
The route they'd mapped carefully. The route that kept them away from commercial airspace and military radar and the thousand eyes that might wonder why a civilian aircraft was heading toward Mosul in the middle of the night.
Nadia sat across from her, cleaning her sidearm with the methodical care of someone who'd done it ten thousand times. Field strip. Wipe down. Reassemble. Check the action. Load the magazine. The ritual that kept hands busy and minds focused.
Kira was in the back, organizing medical supplies for the third time. Making sure everything was accessible. Making sure she could grab what she needed in the dark if someone went down and seconds mattered.
Sloane had her laptop open, reviewing the intelligence package one more time. Guard rotations. Security patterns. Structural weaknesses. The compound layout they'd memorized but kept checking anyway because one missed detail could mean the difference between extraction and grave.
"ETA to the border?" Mara asked.
The pilot's voice came through the small speaker. "Forty minutes. Weather's clear. No traffic."
Forty minutes. Then they'd cross into Iraq. Drive to the safe house Winter had arranged. Stage their equipment. Wait for the window.
0200 hours. Same time Delta would be hitting the compound from the north.
Except Mara didn't know about Delta. Didn't know that another team was targeting the same compound for completely different reasons. Didn't know that in a few hours, two operations would collide in the dark and everything would go sideways.
All she knew was that Amira and Karim Nazari had ninety-six hours before a seven-year-old boy was sold like inventory and his mother was executed to cover the tracks.
Now they had less than six.
"You good?" Nadia asked without looking up from her weapon.
"I will be."
"You haven't run field ops in two years."
"I know."
"Just making sure your head's in the right place."
Mara smiled faintly. "My head's fine. Ask me again when we're stacked on the door."
Nadia finished reassembling her pistol and holstered it. "This is different from what we usually do."
"I know."
"We're not just pulling someone out of a trafficking house. We're hitting a fortified compound in a foreign country. Armed guards. Unknown variables. And if it goes loud, we're on our own."
"I know that too."
"Just want to make sure you know what you're getting us into."
Mara turned from the window. "I know exactly what I'm getting us into. A woman and a child need extraction. We're the ones who show up. That's the work. That's always been the work."
Nadia held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Just checking."
Kira appeared from the back, medical pack over one shoulder.
"I've got enough supplies for major trauma on two people plus field treatment for minor injuries.
If anyone takes a serious hit, we're driving straight to the safe house.
I can stabilize there but we'll need to get them out of country fast."
"Winter's got transport staged at the safe house," Mara said. "Two vehicles. One for us, one for backup. Local driver who doesn't ask questions. Route to Erbil is clear."
"And if it's not clear?" Kira asked.
"Then we make it clear."
Sloane closed her laptop. "Latest satellite pass shows no changes to the compound. Same guard rotation. Same heat signatures. Amira and Karim are still in the residential wing."
"And Nazari?"
"Working late in his office. Same as every night this week. G.I.D.E.O.N. predicts ninety-two percent probability he'll still be there at 0200."
"And the other eight percent?"
"He's asleep in the master bedroom. Either way, we know where to find him."
Mara nodded. The plan was solid. As solid as it could be with seventy-two hours of planning and incomplete intelligence.
They'd breach from the south. Quieter approach.
Less visible from the main gates. Cut through the perimeter wall with thermite charges.
Fast and controlled. No explosions to wake up the entire neighborhood.
Move through the compound. Neutralize guards non-lethally if possible. Reach the residential wing. Secure Amira and Karim. Get them to the extraction point. Load into vehicles. Drive hard for Erbil before Nazari could mobilize a response.
Simple. Clean. Precise.
Except operations were never simple once the shooting started.
The plane began its descent. Mara felt it in her stomach. The drop in altitude. The shift in engine pitch. They were approaching the border. The point of no return.
"Gear check," she said.
They moved through the ritual without discussion.
Nadia verified her weapons. Kira rechecked medical supplies.
Sloane confirmed communications equipment.
Mara checked her own loadout. Sidearm. Spare magazines.
Night vision. Tactical knife. Zip ties for restraints.
Everything staged where she could reach it in the dark.
Two years since she'd run field operations.
Two years of strategic oversight and mission planning from L'Abri S?r while her team did the dangerous work.
But this one was different. This one required her to be the person who came for them.
Not because the team couldn't handle it.
Because sometimes the work demanded that you put yourself on the line.
The plane touched down on a remote airstrip that probably didn't exist on any official maps. The kind of place where money bought silence and no one asked why four women were arriving in the middle of the night with enough equipment to assault a small fortress.
Winter was waiting with two SUVs. Black. Nondescript. Clean plates that would pass casual inspection. She'd done good work. Fast work. The kind of logistics coordination that made operations possible.
"Safe house is forty minutes south," Winter said as they loaded gear. "I've stocked it with everything on your list. Food. Water. Medical supplies. Ammunition. Clean phones. Local currency. Two escape routes if you need to abandon the primary location."
"Guards at the compound?" Mara asked.
"No changes. Same rotation. G.I.D.E.O.N.'s been monitoring their communications. Nothing unusual. They're not expecting trouble."
"Good."
They drove through darkness. Turkish countryside giving way to Iraqi border territory. The crossing was quiet. Money had changed hands. Guards looked the other way. The kind of unofficial border control that existed everywhere if you knew who to pay.
Iraq looked the same as Turkey in the dark.
Just roads and darkness and the occasional distant light marking a village or compound.
But Mara felt the shift anyway. They were in country now.
Hostile territory. Operating without official sanction or support.
If something went wrong, no one was coming to help.
The safe house was exactly what Winter had promised. Small. Isolated. Defensible. Supplies stacked and ready. Two vehicles in the garage. Escape routes mapped and memorized.
Mara checked her watch. 2100 hours local time. Five hours until insertion.
"Get some rest," she told the team. "We move at 0130. I want everyone sharp."
Nadia stretched out on one of the cots Winter had provided. Kira organized her medical station. Sloane reviewed the compound layout one more time, whispering details to herself like a prayer.
Mara couldn't rest. She sat at the small table and stared at the map. At the compound where Amira and Karim waited. At the route they'd take. At the thousand variables that could go wrong.
Thought about Harry's basement. About Vivienne's house. About the auction where Tallie Porter had appeared like an avenging angel and given Mara a second chance at life.
Now she was the avenging angel. The one who showed up when nobody else would. The one who kicked down doors and dragged people out of hell.
In five hours, she'd prove it.
Or she'd die trying.
Either way, Amira and Karim weren't being left behind.
Her phone buzzed. Quinn. Back at L'Abri S?r monitoring everything through G.I.D.E.O.N.'s systems.
"Compound's quiet. No changes. You're still clear for 0200 insertion."
"Copy," Mara replied.
"Mara?"
"Yeah?"
"Come home safe."
"That's the plan."
She ended the call. Looked at her team. Three women who'd survived their own versions of hell and decided to become something sharper. Something that cut back.
In five hours, they'd find out if that was enough.
Mara closed her eyes. Not sleeping. Just waiting. The way she'd waited in that cage. In that basement. On that plane.
Except this time, she wasn't waiting to be saved.
She was the one doing the saving.
And nothing was going to stop her.