Chapter 1
Stuart “Pid” Hall wasn’t surprised their carefully laid-out plans had gone to hell almost the second they’d touched down in Algeria. Rescue missions like these never went according to plan, but that hadn’t kept the SEAL team from hoping maybe this time would be the exception.
Dealing with people whose emotions were high, as well as those who loved to incite a crowd into violence just because they could, tended to mess up even the best plans.
The sitting president had been in power for twenty years and the citizens of Algeria were fed up with the corruption in his government.
Protests had broken out. At first they’d been peaceful, but as time wore on, more and more violence had begun to creep into the country.
The government had begun to crack down on the protestors, but that didn’t quell the enthusiasm and desire of the people to fight for change.
It only fanned the flames. Certain groups were also inciting the protestors for their own agendas.
In addition, reports indicated that rival political parties, representatives from foreign countries, and even private groups had joined the protests and were purposely turning peaceful gatherings into violent, out-of-control mobs hell-bent on destroying everything in their path.
Which was what had brought Pid and his SEAL team to the area. They’d been tasked with evacuating US Embassy employees until the country and the situation stabilized.
They’d flown into the city of Algiers on the coast of the African country just as the sun was setting. Fires from the current protests burned vividly against the night sky as they flew toward their target building.
The evacuation on the roof of the US Embassy had gone smoothly so far…until a small boy had brought up the possibility of his nanny being missing.
Normally, Pid wouldn’t have been so concerned.
The woman could have simply been evacuated on an earlier transport, or maybe the child was wrong about his nanny’s nationality—in which case it was out of his hands.
They were only allowed to evacuate American citizens.
But something about the child’s urgency had dinged Pid’s radar.
They had a bit of a wait before the next chopper would arrive. Not much…but some. The ambassador’s home wasn’t far from the embassy, a few blocks at most. Pid was sure he could get to the house, check for the missing woman, and make it back before the last chopper left.
Slate volunteered to go with him, and after a brief conversation with Mustang, their team leader, and getting his approval, they set off into the dark night to find the woman.
The boy had said her name was Monica. They’d verify her identity and nationality, then get back to the embassy and get the hell out of there.
What should’ve been an easy snatch and grab, so to speak, turned out to be anything but.
The mob outside the embassy had grown in numbers in the relatively short time since the team’s chopper had landed on the roof.
Currently, their actions had nothing to do with democracy or protesting the current president, and everything to do with destroying things for the sake of destruction, by the looks of things.
Looting was rampant; people were running everywhere, arms full of whatever they could carry.
No building was immune. And it wasn’t just businesses.
Homes were just as vulnerable to the lawless men and women.
From what Pid could tell, many of the most destructive looters didn’t look like Algerians.
Shaking his head at the blatant violence and of the depths of depravity he was witnessing, he and Slate did their best to avoid the worst of the crowds.
It took them longer than they wanted to reach the ambassador’s residence, where the little boy had been certain Monica would be waiting for the family’s return.
By the time they got to the house, the sounds of rioters getting closer and closer from all sides made the hair stand up on Pid’s arms. Mustang had already radioed and said there was no way they’d be able to get back to the embassy safely.
It was fully surrounded by the unruly mob and was no longer safe.
Mustang ordered them to stay in touch and let him know when they’d made contact with Monica.
They’d figure out a time and place for them to be picked up by the chopper in a safer location once the rescue was made.
Pid and Slate silently crept up to the ambassador’s house. There were no lights on inside, which didn’t bode well for their chances of finding the target still there. They approached from the back, away from the street.
“Shit,” Slate said as they neared a sliding glass door. It was shattered into a million pieces. The shards crackled as the two men slowly moved forward, their weapons at the ready.
Stopping to listen, Pid didn’t hear any sounds from within. His heart thumping strongly in his chest, he took point and entered the dark house ahead of Slate.
They cleared the living area and the kitchen, with no sign of Monica or anyone else. Aware of the unruly crowd getting closer, and that their window of time to find the elusive nanny was slipping away, Pid and Slate headed for the stairs.
At the top, Pid gestured for his teammate to check the rooms to the right while he took the ones to the left. He checked a bathroom and what was obviously a child’s room before entering the master. It was dark, like the rest of the house, and there was still no sign of the nanny.
After clearing the bathroom, then looking under the bed and in the closet, Pid lowered his weapon a fraction. No one was here. The house was empty.
So why did he feel so uneasy? Why was the glass door downstairs broken from the outside? Had someone broken in, forcing the woman to flee?
Looking around the master bedroom, Pid frowned. Nothing seemed out of place. The bed was made, the drawers were shut, and the clothes in the closet still hung neatly. No signs of a break-in. Yet…something still niggled at the back of his brain.
He stepped closer to the nearest dresser and opened the top drawer.
Bingo.
While at first glance, the house looked neat and orderly, someone had been here.
The clothes in the drawer were in disarray, as if someone had rifled through looking for something.
Opening a few other drawers, Pid saw the others had also been gone through as well.
Whoever did it had been smart enough not to leave outward signs that anyone had been there.
A noise from behind him had Pid spinning around, his weapon at the ready.
“The rest of the house is clear,” Slate said quietly.
Nodding, Pid forced himself to relax. Taking a chance just in case, he took a deep breath and called out, “Monica? If you’re in the house, it’s safe to come out! I’m a Navy SEAL and I’m here to get you to safety.”
Pid’s voice echoed in the room, and there was no response from Monica or anyone else.
Slate shrugged. “It was worth a shot,” he told his friend.
They heard an explosion coming from outside, then cheering from a crowd of people.
“Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before they firebomb this house,” Slate said.
Pid nodded. He followed behind his teammate as they headed out of the master bedroom—but something made him turn and look behind him one more time.
“Wait,” he said urgently.
Slate turned. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Something’s off,” Pid said. “Look at this room. It’s…uneven…?” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it the moment he’d entered the space.
The window on the far wall wasn’t evenly centered, which normally wouldn’t be surprising…
except in each of the other bedrooms, the window on the front-facing wall was perfectly centered.
In the master, there was about five feet to the right of the window, but only two feet on the left.
Maybe the builder did that on purpose…but Pid didn’t think so.
His eyes scanned the room. He didn’t know what he was looking for…
Then his adrenaline spiked when he saw a spot on the wall that wasn’t completely flat.
He wanted to think he would’ve noticed it first thing if there had been adequate lighting.
And now that he’d seen it, the fact that there was no furniture against that wall—when almost every other one in the room had bookshelves, a dresser, even an armchair against one wall—was an obvious sign there was some sort of space behind it.
Pid gestured to Slate and his teammate nodded as he raised his weapon, pointing it at the part of the wall that wasn’t quite flat. As he crept closer, Pid thought he could make out the outline of an almost imperceptible door.
This would be tricky. Pid wasn’t exactly sure how to open the door, and fumbling to find the mechanism would alert anyone hiding behind the wall to his intentions.
“US Navy SEAL,” he called out once more, hoping like hell it was Monica hiding behind the wall and not anyone else. As he stepped closer, he had the momentary thought that maybe it had been the nanny herself who’d rifled through the ambassador’s belongings.
To his surprise, he didn’t have to figure out how to get into the hidey-hole. The crack in the wall that had caught his eye widened…
And suddenly Pid was staring down the barrel of a pistol.
“Don’t come any closer. I have no problem blowing your head off,” a woman’s voice said.
It was all Monica Collins could do not to throw up. Time had no meaning while she’d been holed up in the safe room. The ambassador had it installed right after he’d moved in. He’d stocked it with a bit of food, some blankets—and most importantly, a handgun.
After running up the stairs when the SEAL had shown up at the back door, she’d headed straight for the room. The walls wouldn’t stop bullets, but the ambassador hoped the space would keep his family safe and hidden if someone ever broke in looking for valuables.