Chapter Fifteen
The first few minutes after Chance dropped in, the radio communications that crackled in his ear weren’t of the friendliest nature.
His team didn’t outright call him an idiot, but he knew they weren’t certain of his decision.
Everyone had heard Parker’s grim statistical likelihood of his success versus his death.
Chance was pretty sure that wherever Jared was, he was giving him a big double-finger salute and popping antacids.
Hours had passed. The longer Chance went without finding Jane, the heavier his thoughts became.
He’d searched several burned-out buildings without success.
Pressure ticked in his chest. The adrenaline-high buzz from his teammates dropped off, and a grim reality set in.
She wasn’t where he’d expected her to be.
The team’s guesses where Jane might be weren’t easing his concern. Their list had been short: She’d been captured, gone into hiding, or taken off. But the variations and unknown factors were sickening.
Finally, as morning light cast a depressing glow over the ruins of what was once a beautiful city, he crouched and checked in with headquarters again, fully expecting HQ to demand his extraction until a better plan was determined.
“Actually,” Parker said in a noncommittal tone, “I might have found something worthwhile.”
A small flame of hope ignited. “What does that mean?”
Parker hummed. “Truthfully, it’s a crapshoot. I can’t tell you for certain, but since you’re out there, might as well check on it.”
The edge of hesitant deliberation in the IT-maven’s tone gave Chance warning. “All right. I’m here. I’ll check it out.”
“I ran a walkable radius of satellite footage against thermal disturbances that mimicked how a person moves.”
Definitely a crapshoot. His heart sank. “There could be a hundred people walking the city’s perimeter.”
“Actually, no.”
Chance looked up as if the voice in his comm piece was coming from the sky. “Really?”
“There weren’t any people traveling alone and on foot. Except for one. That person headed toward the closest refugee camp.”
Chance rubbed his temples and groaned.
“Yeah,” Parker agreed. “Those can be hit and miss and, at best, aren’t great situations for a woman traveling alone.”
“What do you know about this camp?” Chance asked.
“The basics that have been reported by humanitarian groups. The most recent report shows minor paramilitary group involvement.
Chance pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s good, right?”
“Depends on what we’re comparing to.” Parker paused as though he was re-reading the report. “Your biggest concern will be the locals’ loyalty to a growing criminal regime.”
“Awesome,” he deadpanned. “Got anything on those guys?”
“You’ve already been acquainted,” Parker said. “That’d be the nutjobs who took the Thanes and sprayed bullets for fun.”
“Maybe she was right to get moving.” The nutjobs had been fanatical about hunting the Thanes down. “But an unknown camp…”
“Yeah,” Parker agreed again. “If Jane Singleton was hoping to find a friendly face, she would have done better by jumping into a pit of vipers.”
“Jeez, man.” Chance grumbled. “Did you run a statistical analysis on that too? Or just trying to lift my spirits?”
Parker snorted.
Chance shook his head. “So, I head west, huh?”
“West. Right dead center of the encampment.” Parker continued with details on the last thermal marking picked up, a rundown of threats and possible entry points as Chance worked his way west. Once he was clear of the battered buildings, he could see the faint outline of the refugee camp in the distance.
How did Mary Poppins cover that much ground?
He checked his compass, memorized the coordinates where the thermal imaging had lost sight of her, and set off.
The sun beat on the back of his neck as he crossed the deadlands.
Heat radiated from the ground. Sparse clumps of grass and brush provided little shade or area to rest. Chance covered the distance as quickly as he could.
He couldn’t shake the image of Jane’s face the very moment they both realized he couldn’t save her.
At least, couldn’t at that moment—because now, he’d be damned if he didn’t bring her home safe and sound this time.
But he couldn’t fault her anymore for staying behind.
The more time he spent reviewing what had happened, the more he saw her bravery for what it was.
She didn’t know what she was doing, but the nanny had erred on the side of caution to save the boy.
Stupid. But impressive.
That was a combination he didn’t like that he liked.
The longer he trekked across the desert, the more badass he thought her actions had been. Not that he condoned the stunts that the Thanes were famous for.
Finally, Chance was close enough to the camp to review his next move.
He paused approximately a hundred yards out and assessed the situation.
The main gates were nearly two miles from this spot.
Would Jane walk the fence perimeter, not knowing where a gate might be?
It’d be the most practical option given the circumstances.
But this was Mary Poppins, the superhero nanny. Would she jump the fence?
He examined the fence and couldn’t think of a way she could manage the barbed wire. Without training, it’d be nearly impossible. He crossed scaling the fence off of his list and walked parallel to the camp, keeping his distance and searching for any factors that would influence her choices.
Engines roared behind Chance. He crouched and watched a pack of motorbikes race across a dirt-packed road that led to the camp gates. Dirt plumed in their wake, casting a dusty cloud as they disappeared from sight.
While he didn’t have a good look at the group, his senses tingled.
The motorbikers could be part of the local crime regime, or worse, related to the group who’d abducted the Thanes.
He checked in with HQ again, but got nothing.
Their last transmissions had been spotty, and like they had planned, he was on his own.
He edged closer to the fence line and picked up his pace.
Despite the sun and limited water and supplies, he jogged until an irregularity in the chain-link fence caught his eye.
He squatted and studied the rusted, broken links.
The hole in the fence had been repaired more than once, but it was clearly in use again, large enough for a person to crawl through.
Would she have seen this at night? Chance squinted both ways in the distance and then searched for any signs of the refugees.
The long, narrow tents on the other side of the fence didn’t have openings.
From the wind-blown patterns on the ground, it was clear that people didn’t congregate behind the tents.
Again, he heard the motorbikes, though this time their engines roared from deep in the camp.
A cold chill shivered down his spine. He had no proof that Jane had entered this way, but his intuition said time wasn’t on his side.
He needed to move in immediately, or this job would change from search-and-rescue to recovery.
Chance pushed through the tight breach in the fence and hustled to the narrow space between the tents. He stood out against the dirty white tents and stuck to the outskirts of the camp. Its layout became apparent, and he threaded himself closer to the sound of activity.
A few women and children saw him. Every time, they ducked their chins and scurried away without so much as a questioning look or the sound of an alarm.
A commotion and revving motorbikes served as his beacon.
He crept deeper into the belly of the beast, crossing pathways that reminded him of dirt-road intersections.
Diagonal from his position, tent flaps separated.
A man with an overstuffed basket pushed into the daylight.
Chance froze, unable to hide. Eternity passed as he held his breath. The basket had blocked the man’s view.
He ducked between canvas walls again and analyzed the light foot traffic.
Several men with large bundles made their way down the path.
They gave Chance hope of a nearby marketplace or meeting space.
But the rising influx of motorbikes gave him heartburn.
The bikes rattled and raced. Every rider wore an assault rifles over their chest. At least that kept things interesting.
He’d seen enough and moved out. He stayed off the pathways, skirting the spaces between tents, until he reached a cross-section that forced him from the shadows earlier than he’d anticipated.
A bellowing commotion rolled through the dry air. It sounded less like a marketplace and more like an angry pep rally. Motorbikes and irregular pops of skyward-bound gunfire punctuated the tension. He closed his eyes, praying for a sign that this was the right time to make his move.
Chance wiped sweat off his brow and moved out. He jogged several strides and stopped. Across a clearing, an old, beat-to-hell motorbike practically glistened in the sun. So long as he could hot-wire the rust bucket, he’d take this as his sign.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Without cover or disguise, he sprinted to the bike and marveled at its simplicity. There wasn’t much to hot-wire. Only a simple switch.
“All right, all right.” He straddled the narrow seat, positioning his weapons for better access, and wrapped his hand around the rickety handlebars. “Here goes nothing.” He pressed the ignition button. An ear-grating whirr whined from the engine. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
He scanned the area then pushed off, twisting the throttle.
The bike cried as it picked up speed, defying his expectation of what it could handle.
He turned from the commotion and sped back the way he’d come, searching for the area where women congregated and crossing his fingers that they’d have what he needed.
And they did. He sped toward a line of linens drying in the arid heat. He tore by and grabbed an armful of linens and clothes, then hightailed to the ignored area by the fence.
Chance had absolutely no idea how to cover himself with the fabric swaths he’d grabbed, but so long as he could configure a semi-decent disguise, he’d be fine.
The likelihood of locating Jane had to have immediately increased.
At least in his opinion. HQ, with Parker and his number-crunching formulas, might disagree.
But for now, Chance couldn’t shake his grin.
With newfound confidence, he roared toward the center of the camp, only stopping when he could see the gaggle of men and bikes a hundred feet dead ahead.
He gripped the throttle—but his stomach dropped. The commotion was different. Less like their battle cry and more like… wild excitement. The enemy was celebrating.
Was he too late?