Chapter 32 #2
From deeper inside, a man laughed.
The sound bounced off concrete and metal.
Across the basement, Bowden and Bravo emerged silently from the secondary stairwell, moving low and deliberate between storage cages. No footsteps echoed. No gear rattled. Just controlled, measured progress.
Hawk caught Bowden’s eye and pointed to the open door. The captain gave a small nod and led his team toward it. Everyone’s head was on swivel, making sure no one could sneak up on them.
Both teams closed the distance to their target room without crossing fields of fire. They stacked up in position along the wall on either side of the doorway.
Hawk pulled a small retractable mirror from his pocket, extended the handle, then angled the round end so he could see inside the room in the reflection.
Everyone stilled.
Since Hawk needed both hands for the mirror and signals, his Colt M4 assault rifle hung at his side on its tactical sling, leaving him temporarily exposed yet still allowing him to grab it quickly.
Brian shifted behind him, his 9mm handgun trained on the door in case it opened suddenly. On the other side, Bowden did the same.
Hawk lifted his hand with all fingers extended, confirming five hostiles.
He lowered his palm to knee height, angled two fingers to indicate the left side of the room, then cupped his hand over his own head—Tess was sitting or lying on the floor against the left wall, wearing some kind of hood.
Finally, the man tapped two fingers to his sternum three times, signifying proof of life.
Thank God. She was alive but incapacitated. If she had a hood on, she was most likely restrained as well.
Hawk shifted the mirror again, mapping positions of the gang members with more subtle hand signals—two guys were seated to the right, one pacing the center of the room, one stood along the far wall, and one sat closest to Tess.
As he tucked the mirror back into his pocket, someone inside spoke—self-assured and threatening. “Better hope your brother did what he was told to do.”
Brian’s stomach tightened as he recognized the voice.
Diego.
There was a faint shuffle. Footsteps. Someone made a hacking noise and then spit.
When Diego spoke again, he was closer to the door. “Time’s up, Bing. Is it done?” He was on the phone with Andy, but they could only hear one side of the conversation.
Brian checked his watch.
00:03:02
The call was early. Most likely, Diego was impatient and decided it was close enough to an hour.
Their time was up.
As Diego cussed Andy out and made threats, Brian met Bowden’s eyes.
Now!
The captain made the small circling motion with his hand. From behind him, Brooks stepped to the side, flash-bang in hand. Brian adjusted his footing, settling into muscle memory. Tess wouldn’t know what was coming. She wouldn’t be able to brace.
Three.
Two.
One—the flash-bang was tossed through the doorway. Both teams angled their bodies away, eyes averted from the blast.
The detonation hit like a physical shove—a blinding white pulse of light followed by a concussive crack that rattled Brian’s teeth even from around the door jamb.
The shock wave thumped through his chest, dust shaking loose from the ceiling as the sound ricocheted through the basement.
The sharp scent of burnt magnesium and hot metal filled the air, mixing with shouted curses and a female scream.
The team moved before the echo finished bouncing off the walls.
Bowden pushed the door wide. Hawk entered first, cutting right, while Brian followed half a step behind, spinning left, weapon up and steady. Both shouting at the gang-bangers to drop their weapons and get on the ground. “SBI! Drop your weapons!”
The room was in chaos.
Smoke lingered as three men staggered blindly, hands clamped over their ears. Another dropped to his knees, blinking hard and swaying.
Diego was near Tess—still on his feet with a gun in his hand.
The cell phone lay on the concrete at his feet, screen lit, sliding in a slow arc before coming to rest. He looked off-balance for a split second—shoulders uneven, knees slightly bent—but he recovered fast. His eyes were unfocused, blinking against the white haze, yet his grip on the pistol tightened.
He pivoted toward the doorway. Toward the SBI agents.
Brian didn’t think—just reacted—and fired once. The report cracked through the basement. Diego's head snapped back, and he crumpled to the concrete before he could pull the trigger.
He scanned his side of the room for any other threats, knowing Sean, Rafe, and the others covered his back.
No other shots were fired, but more commands were barked.
“Drop your weapons!”
“Get on the ground!”
“Drop your damn weapons!”
Metal clattered.
One gun. Then another.
“On the ground! Hands behind your head!”
The remaining kidnappers complied quickly, blinking through disorientation. The SRT members moved with practiced precision, kicking weapons away, securing wrists, and forcing bodies flat.
Brian didn’t spare them another glance.
His focus was locked on Tess.
She lay on her side near the west wall, the hood still covering her head, wrists bound behind her, and ankles tied.
Despite her eyes being shielded from the flash of bright light, she was still hit by the concussive blast. Her breathing was rapid and shallow as she wrestled with her restraints, trying to escape.
She had no idea what had just happened.
No idea who was in the room.
No idea if the gunshot had come from them—or from someone trying to kill her.
Brian crossed the space in three strides, holstered his weapon, and dropped to a knee beside her. He reached for the hood covering her face, desperate to get it off her but knowing he had to be mindful of any injuries.
“Tess, baby. It’s me. Are you all right? Tess?”
“Better hope your brother did what he was told to do.” The voice of the man Andy had called “Diego” came from somewhere nearby. Too close.
Tess flinched, the words slicing through her already frayed nerves. She swallowed hard, praying Andy had gotten a hold of Brian, who would know what to do.
Footsteps moved away from her. Slow. Unhurried. Confident.
She strained against the zip ties at her wrists, the plastic still biting into raw skin. They hurt like hell, and blood dripped onto her fingertips. Her ankles were numb from being bound too long. Her body ached, and every small movement made it ten times worse.
“Time’s up, Bing. Is it done?”
He was on the phone.
Her pulse spiked. She couldn’t hear Andy—only Diego’s side of the conversation. The silence between his words was worse than anything.
A low growl vibrated from his chest.
“What do you mean you’re still working on it?” he snapped.
Tess’s stomach dropped.
“No, I don’t care how—” Diego cut himself off, breathing hard through his nose. “You stupid idiot!”
Panic wormed its way to the forefront of Tess’s brain, her thoughts blurring at the edges. Her lungs felt too small, and dizziness washed over her.
He was angry.
Angry meant unpredictable.
She twisted slightly, trying to orient herself, but the hood stole all direction. Light and dark blurred together through the fabric. The basement air suddenly felt heavier, stale, and suffocating.
“Don’t play with me, Bing,” Diego barked. “You think I won’t—”
His footsteps came closer again.
Her heart began to pound so hard, she thought it might explode.
“I’ll put a bullet in her head and send you the video,” he snarled. “You think I won’t?”
Tess sucked in a shaky breath.
This was it.
He meant it.
She tried to shift, to roll, to get her head out of the way—anything—but the restraints held tight. Her shoulders burned from where she’d been dragged earlier and her current position. Her cheek throbbed where she’d been hit.
“Say goodbye,” Diego said, his voice cold now.
Her body shook uncontrollably, and she lost control of her bladder. There wasn’t room for shame—only terror. She was about to die.
She braced herself, praying it wouldn’t be painful. Praying Andy wouldn’t blame himself. That he would recover from another devastating loss of a loved one and somehow move on with his life, becoming someone she and her parents would be proud of.
Her lungs froze, then—
Something clattered across the floor.
A metallic scrape.
A half second of confusion.
And the world exploded.
The blast was blinding even through the hood—white light burning through the fabric like the sun pressed against her face. The noise that followed wasn’t just loud—it was violent. A crack that punched the air from her lungs and ripped through her skull.