“It’s now or never,” Gunny said into his radio, prompting both pairs of men to begin their trek forward.  If they could run, even with the weapons and gear, it would only take them about seventy-five seconds to cover the ground, but they couldn’t just stand up and sprint.  They needed some stealth if they hoped to get to the house without being noticed.  Instead of heading straight in, they spent as much time as they could keeping a screen in front of them. 

Four and a half minutes later Gunny was at the back door, Gino at the front.  “Ding, dong, Avon calling… Bitches,” Gino said into his radio as the charges went off removing the door from the frame and flinging it inward.  At exactly the same time, the rear door did the same thing. 

The guards downstairs were both stunned by the explosions.  The one in the kitchen, at the back of the house, was knocked unconscious as a large chunk of the door slammed into his head.  The guard in the living room stood up, but before he could pull out his gun, he saw the masked man that was first through the door had a rifle trained on his chest. 

Upstairs, Thompson Walters leapt from his bed and made straight for the room in which the girl was being held.  He unlocked the door and rushed over to where she had been sleeping on the floor.  It was obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to make a break for it.  Whoever had come through the door downstairs wasn’t going to let him run away, he thought, unless he had leverage.  His intent was to use the girl as a shield to get out of the house. 

Downstairs, both guards were secured with zip ties.  Gino wasn’t gentle at all with the man he’d taken.  He’d barely been able to breathe as Gino knelt with one knee almost on the back of his neck.  As Bobby cleared the rest of the downstairs area, Gunny called in Duke for their evac. 

“The girl must be upstairs, and there will be at least one more with her,” Bobby said as he took the lead on the stairs. 

“I’ve got two heat signatures to the left at the top of the stairs.  It looks like they are huddled together,” Ronny said into his radio before he headed up the stairs, bringing up the rear. 

“Roger that, Three,” Bobby replied.  At the top of the stairs he turned left.  Gino, right behind him, swept right just to make sure.  None of them expected it, but if they had the technology to mask heat signatures, the kidnappers might also. 

As Bobby approached the end of the hall, the last door was wide open and even before he got there, he could see the kidnapper holding the teenage girl in front of him as a human shield, holding his revolver to her head.

“Stop… or I’ll shoot her,” he yelled, frantically looking from man to man. 

Both rescue team members could see the girl was obviously scared out of her mind.  She sobbed loudly and screamed through her gag as her kidnapper manhandled her to keep the gun at her temple.  They could see the tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking into her gag.  It broke Bobby’s heart that she was going through this, and he could feel his anger welling up inside.

He stepped into the room with his M16A2 trained on the forehead of the man holding the gun.  Hitting him in the head would not be a problem, but if the kidnapper had a nervous twitch, the gun could go off and the girl could die.  That was not an acceptable outcome.  “What’s your name?” Bobby asked through gritted teeth.

“Put down your gun,” he yelled back.

“No,” Bobby replied flatly, “what’s your name?”

“Put down your gun, or I’ll kill her,” the man yelled again.

“And then what?  If you shoot her, you don’t have a shield anymore.  So, shooting her would be the worst thing to happen to you in your miserable life.”

“I mean it, man, I’ll kill her,” he repeated. 

Look for the rest of this chapter on Friday. On Wednesday, I’ll have a post about Gunny. In the meantime, if you like this excerpt, here is a link to the book on Amazon for Kindle.

“How?” 

“Don’t worry about it.  You’ll be at the waterfront at noon.  Call your boyfriend back up and tell him you’ll be there on time.  Don’t argue with me.”

“Madi, can you talk sense into your man?” Nicole said, exasperated. 

“No, but I also know he’s never told me he could do something when he didn’t have a plan,” Madison Gomez replied.  “Trust him.”

Nicole relented and called Mike’s cellular number back and told him that she would be there.  She didn’t know how, but that a friend was arranging transport.  She assumed it would be by boat, but even that would be tight at this point. 

Bobby walked into Nicole’s office, “Do you have everything you need ready to go?”

“I’m ready.  Do we need to head out?”

“Patience, Grasshopper,” Bobby replied. 

A few minutes later she figured it out.  Maybe not as much figured it out as much as saw it.  Duke Smythe’s helicopter landed in the parking lot.

Duke casually walked across the parking lot to the building and walked in the door.  “Hey Nicole.  We probably should be on our way.  I don’t have permission to land here,” he joked with a smile.  He turned and casually headed back out, after picking up a couple of cookies from the counter.  Nicole was on his heels. 

***

Mike Holland was reporting from the Norfolk waterfront when a helicopter swept straight in from Indian River.  It wasn’t police or news, but it was interrupting his broadcast.  He asked to send the live feed to the studio while it landed. 

As he turned to look at the chopper, Nicole Dixon stepped out of the front seat.  She took off her headset, set it on the seat, grabbed a duffle bag, closed the door and walked straight toward him.  His cameraman shot the whole thing.

The production team never stopped Mike’s feed, so live over the air he said, “Damn, my girlfriend knows how to make an entrance.”

“No doubt,” he heard over his earpiece.

He was still looking at Nicole walking toward him when the chopper lifted off behind her and accelerated back to the north again.  Nobody stopped her as she walked right up to him.  She didn’t know he was live. 

“Hi Mike,” Nicole said, very relaxed. 

“Whose chopper?” Mike said.

“A friend.  He wanted some cookies,” Nicole laughed, with no idea that she was live in a couple hundred thousand homes. 

“Mike, you’re still live,” he heard in his earpiece. 

“Folks, her cookies are THAT good,” Mike said, recovering and looking at the camera. 

“We’re live?” Nicole said, looking at Mike, bordering on horrified at how that must have come across on TV. 

Mike just started laughing.  “That’s live TV, folks.  Back to you in the studio, Sandy… and we’re out.”

“Thanks for warning me Mike,” Nicole said, giggling.  “I look like an idiot now.”

“You?  I look like an idiot.  You look like the coolest chick in Hampton Roads.”  Then they both started laughing. 

“I gotta say, Nicole, Mike,” the cameraman started, “first, Nicole, your cookies ARE that good, and second, that was priceless.  That’s getting played at the station Christmas Party.”  Then he started laughing, too. 

After a minute, Tim, the cameraman, gathered his composure and started working up a plan for them to move around the celebration.  There were a lot of food vendors, a few with some unusual foods, and lots of people.  They were now expected to have a segment every fifteen minutes or so all afternoon, until the fireworks, except during the 4:45 to 7:00 slots which were regional and national news.  In addition to Mike, Nicole and Tim, they had a production assistant, a make-up person and an intern. 

“Timo is here with a booth, Nicole.  Should we hit him up?” Mike asked. 

“Yes, but I have to tell you something…  I might have a conflict of interest.  I’m a minor investor in his restaurant.  I’d hate to have anyone complain that we promoted him out of my financial interest.”

“Really?  When did that happen?” Mike asked. 

“Before he opened.  I hadn’t been there before, but that might be part of the reason he was so excited to see me.  It’s kind of on the downlow, though.  Only a few people know.”

“Ok.  Well, as long as you don’t trash all the competition, it should be ok,” Mike smiled

***

Timo’s was their third stop.  Nicole had found the best menu items from each of the booths they visited.  She interviewed head chefs when they were available, and with the intern running ahead and giving a heads up, most of them were available during the course of the afternoon.  A couple, aside from Timo, joked about being in school with her. 

They sampled everything from Lobster Bisque to funnel cakes.  Nicole kept a running count of food on-a-stick and hit twenty-one different things “on-a-stick”.  Mike was comparing it to a State Fair in the Midwest.  By the time their dinner break rolled around, none of the six were hungry.  Nicole had spread the food around, dragging the Production Assistant, the intern, the make-up artist, and even the cameraman in front of the camera. 

“Folks,” Mike began, “standing next to me is Tim.  He’s been my main cameraman for the last six months.  If the camera is not quite as steady as it normally is, it’s because Nicole Dixon has all forty pounds of it on her shoulder and is the one doing the filming.”

“She insisted that I get to eat on camera,” Tim said nervously.  Then he took a bite of the corndog and extolled its virtues to the viewing audience.  “Hey, this is a beer-battered corndog.  I wasn’t expecting that.  It’s awesome.”  Then Tim did an interview with the owner of the booth while Mike looked on. 

Tim took the camera back and the team headed back to the remote van to drop their gear and head out to dinner, although none of them could possibly eat after their afternoon “grazing” as Tim called it.  They still went into a nearby restaurant and sat at a table for a little while and chatted while picking at an appetizer and enjoying some cold beverages. 

***

Just before the fireworks went off at 9:15, they did their last remote shot of the day.  After wrapping up, the six of them joked around for a few minutes, and signed a few autographs.  Mike was used to the autograph sessions.  Nicole was shocked the first time a kid came up and asked her for her autograph but got used to it.  Tim was the biggest surprise.  Several people came straight up to him and wanted a “Tim the Cameraman” autograph, and that was exactly what he gave them. 

After the drive back to the studio to drop the truck, Mike drove Nicole back to her shop.  She gave him a quick tour as the last of the delivery crews returned with their equipment.  He was suitably impressed with the production kitchen.  Then they had a goodnight kiss and she returned home, exhausted from a long day. 

Jack came to the T intersection at Dock Street.  He took a left.  After a few blocks the road turned into Main Street, then to Old Osborne Turnpike. 

“He’s still back there, Jack.  It’s either a huge coincidence, or he’s following us.”

A moment later, the road name changed to New Market, as the Osborne Turnpike forked off to the right.  When they passed Pocahontas Parkway, the area turned from suburban to more rural.  Jack punched up the speed to see if the Caprice would drop back. 

The speed limit was forty-five, and Jack pushed it up to just under seventy.  The Caprice dropped back at first, but as he slowed for an approaching traffic light, it appeared in the mirror once again.  A few moments later they passed I-295, and Jack let it loose.  He pushed the classic pony car up over a hundred miles per hour. 

Passing through Granville, the name of the road changed to John Tyler Highway, although it was still Virginia Highway Five.  Jack slowed for the residential areas, but otherwise kept his speeds up near a hundred miles per hour.  Each time he slowed, the Caprice appeared in the mirror once again. 

As they approached Charles City, Jack pushed the Mustang to one-forty.  The Caprice dropped back but reappeared in the distance each time the road straightened out.  As he came to the turn for Courthouse Road, the Caprice came on strong behind him.  It pulled up to only a couple dozen yards behind. 

Jack jumped over into the opposite lane and slammed on the brakes, swinging hard into the left-hand turn.  He pulled the shifter back down into third gear and punched the gas. 

The Caprice overshot the turn, spinning on the road until it could come to a stop and turn around to try to pick up pursuit. 

“Seven to Team, Seven to Team,” Ric said into the radio he’d dug out of his “go-bag.”

“Seven, this is One, go ahead,” Gunny responded a few moments later. 

“One, I am riding with Mustang up past Williamsburg and we have a vehicle pursuing us.  We have tried to shake it, and it is definitely following.”

“Roger that, Seven.  Any shots fired?”

“Negative, One.”

“How fast are you going?”

“Mostly seventies and eighties, but a few times over a hundred.”

“How’s fuel?” Gunny asked.

“How are we looking on gas, Jack?” Ric asked.

“Little over half a tank,” Jack replied. 

“Half a tank.  Using it fast when we drive hard, though,” Ric stated. 

“Are you on I-64, Seven?”

“Negative, but I think we are headed toward the Interstate.”

“Get there.  Keep me informed.  We’ll try to pick you up,” Gunny stated before getting on the phone. 

He knew everybody had their radios, but nobody was listening.  One of them was always on in case there was a problem, but he needed to call to get some of the others.  He started dialing the phone, and quickly got Ed, Bill and Duke.  They started making calls, too. 

In five minutes, he had three teams assembled.  In ten minutes, they were heading out to I-64.  Gunny would try to figure out how far up he could get them and still be in front of the chase. 

“Seven to Team, we are entering I-64 at exit two-one-four.  Heading east.  We are pushing the speed up.”

“Affirmative, Seven.  Head to the Farm.  They are expecting your arrival.  Use ALL speed to stay in front of pursuit,” Ed said into his com. 

“Stretch it out, Jack,” Ric told the driver. 

Jack put his foot to the floor, shifting up through third and into fourth gear as the speedometer passed one-forty, resting a little over one-fifty.  He looked up in the rearview mirror and saw the Caprice coming off the ramp.  It was not close, but it wasn’t falling back, either. 

The teams were speeding north on I-64, trying to get near Williamsburg before Jack and Ric got there.  It was going to be tight, though.  The four teams were spread out, with Ed and Bill bringing up the rear in Bill’s black Porsche 928.  They were going the fastest, though, bumping the one-seventy mark when they were clear of traffic. 

Gunny and Melody were in her Mustang GT, doing a consistent one-thirty at the front of the line.  Gino and Duke were in Gino’s “hot rod Lincoln” a few miles ahead of Bill and Ed. 

Each pair called out mileposts as they passed them.  Gunny and Melody were two miles east of Jack and Ric when Gunny told Melody to head the other way.  She knew that the closing speed only gave her ten to fifteen seconds before Jack passed them.  She flipped on her flashers and jammed the brakes, aiming for a police turn-around in the middle of the highway. 

She crossed the road to the other shoulder, and as soon as she made it onto the shoulder, Jack’s Mustang screamed past her.  She accelerated back onto the highway as the Caprice roared past as well.  She punched her speed up over a hundred, then past one-forty, to keep pace with the chase. 

Further along the road, Gino and Duke had made their turn, and Bill and Ed had made their turnaround, too.  Both teams were sitting on the side of the road waiting for Jack’s approach. 

At a speed of one-fifty, Jack was putting a mile under him every twenty-five seconds.  Even at one-twenty, it was only thirty seconds to transit a mile. 

Seemingly, in almost no time at all, Jack had Bill and his dad in the Porsche between him and the Caprice.  Gino and Duke were a few hundred yards behind the Caprice, and Gunny and Melody were bringing up the rear. 

“Seven,” Gunny said into his com, “left on Capitol Landing exit.  Maintain speed through the gate.  You’ll stop just after the roadblock.”

“Roger, One.”

“Exit two-three-eight,” Gunny said, just to make sure. 

Jack veered off the highway at the exit less than a minute later.  As he approached the top of the ramp, the Porsche slipped past him and slid to a stop in the middle of the road, just to the right of the ramp.  Jack downshifted into second gear as he made the turn onto Capitol Landing Road. 

The Caprice was boxed in.  He couldn’t turn right and break off pursuit because of the black car sitting across the road.  He looked at the ramp back down to the highway, but it was blocked by a pick-up truck, as was the little turn-off to the ramp on the other side of the road a couple hundred yards later.  He kept up his chase with the Mustang…

Just after flying through the gate, the Mustang slammed on his brakes after passing two military Blazers parked on either side of the road, diagonally.  When the Mustang slid to a stop, there were several soldiers pointing M16s at them.  The Caprice slammed into the front of both of the Blazers as they came together to block the road behind the Mustang. 

The two men in the Caprice were dragged out at gunpoint as the other three pursuing cars slid to a smoky stop behind them. 

Jack put his hands up to the window to show he wasn’t armed.  Ric did the same on the other side of the car.  As Ric stepped out the closest soldier looked in and saw three handguns sitting on the floor where he’d dropped them when they stopped. 

Ed casually walked up to the soldiers by Jack’s Mustang.  “He’s with me, guys.  Stand down.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Smith,” the one with Lieutenant’s bars on his uniform said. 

The soldiers near them lowered their weapons. 

“You good, Jack?” his father asked him.

“Yeah…” Jack replied. 

“Let’s go find out who our company might be,” the older man said, maintaining his casual attitude.

Ed, followed by Jack and Ric, walked over to the roadblock to see who’d been in the Caprice.  The two men had minor injuries, but were cuffed on the ground, guarded by soldiers pointing rifles at them. 

“They have ID?” Ed asked. 

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Smith,” a Sergeant replied, handing over their wallets to Ed. 

Ed looked through their wallets and checked their IDs.  He’d run them later.  In the meantime, the Military Police that had responded started cleaning up the mess and re-opening the road into Camp Peary, location of the CIA’s infamous “Farm.” 

When they had a moment alone, Jack asked his dad, “Why do they keep calling you Mr. Smith, Dad?”

“Covert operations base.  Almost everyone here that isn’t wearing a uniform is ‘Mr. Smith’ or Mrs. Smith’ for security reasons.”

“I’m not gonna ask,” Jack said in reply.

“Good,” Ed said, smirking. 

***

After everything was cleaned up and everyone was almost ready to head back home, two squads from the Virginia State Patrol showed up, with full lights and sirens.  The cars stopped just outside the gate.  One of the Troopers rushed toward the gate to confront whoever he thought he needed to confront. 

“What the heck is going on here?” he demanded.

“About time,” Bill replied. 

“We have reports of several of the vehicles here traveling with excessive speed on I-64.  I need licenses and registrations now,” he further demanded. 

“The only licenses and registrations you need are for those two,” Ed said, pointing back to the two men cuffed by a military Blazer.  “They were chasing another vehicle, and that vehicle had to use excessive speed to keep from being shot at.”

“We’ll need everyone to remain while we investigate.”

Ed handed over the two IDs.  “Nope.  This is what you need.  I think when you look, you’ll find these names are connected with some drug cartel.  I’ll call your post commander in a moment and let him know.”

The MPs brought their prisoners forward to the VSP Troopers while Ed headed back to the gatehouse to call the VSP Superintendent.  A few minutes later the troopers got word over their radios to bring in the cuffed men and let everyone else leave the scene.  Although the troopers were none too happy about it.

“Hey, just relax, nobody has to get hurt.  You don’t have to shoot us,” Jack said, not knowing if they spoke English, but also hoping that he was transmitting on his earpiece.

“Que estas haciendo?  Hablas espanol?” the leader of the drug carriers said.

“Ellos no hablan espanol,” Ric replied, then translated, “They don’t speak Spanish.”

“Entonces diles que se callen la boca,” the leader said to Ric.

“He says that if you don’t speak Spanish, you should stop talking,” Ric said to Madi and Jack.

“Tell him that we won’t talk then, Ric,” Jack said.

“Ya no estan hablando mas, entonces solo preguntame y yo traduzco lo que les quieras preguntar,” Ric said to the leader of the group. 

Ric kept trying to explain to the group of drug carriers why Jack and Madi were out in the middle of the desert giving water to people in order to interview them.  They didn’t seem to be buying it. 

***

“Ed, this is Ronny.  We have a problem,” Ronny Torres said into the phone to Ed Dixon. 

“What is it, Ronny?”

“I think a group of hostiles has Jack and his team held at gunpoint in the desert in Arizona.”

“Crap,” Ed said as he pulled out his earpiece and put it in.  “Can you patch me into his channel?”

“I can, Ed, but you need to be really careful.  I haven’t responded to him.  He just turned his coms on a minute ago, and if he isn’t used to having someone talk into his ear, he might say or do something to give away that he has a way of communicating.  We don’t want that.”

“Roger that, Ronny.  I’ll let you take the lead.  I’ll just listen in,” Ed responded. 

A moment later, Ed was tuned into Jack’s channel.  Ronny was plotting the location from the GPS reading he was getting off Jack’s transponder. 

“I have a location for him.  He’s near Scribner Gulch, about twelve miles west by northwest of Nogales, Arizona, and probably a hundred yards from the Mexican border.  It’s going to take about eight hours to assemble a team and get them to that location,” Ronny told Ed on the phone. 

“That means we are useless.  He’ll likely have this solved one way or another before we can even get in the air.  Can you get Border Patrol there faster?”

“Depends on what they have available, Ed.”

“Let’s get everyone together so that we can go if we get word, Ronny.  I’ll phone Bill.”

Ronny sent out word to Gunny, Melody, Bobby, Duke and Gino that they had a situation and needed to be ready to fly at a moment’s notice. 

“Bill, it’s Ed.  Jack might be in trouble at the border.  Ronny got a call that sounded like they were being held at gunpoint.”

“You have the team prepping to go?” Bill replied.

“Ronny sent out the word, but I don’t know that it will do any good.  They’re in flippin’ Arizona.  It’s gonna take eight hours to get on location.  I think we should get in the air, though.”

“I agree.  I’ll meet you at the hangar in forty minutes.”

“Ronny,” Ed said into the other phone, “hangar in forty.”

“Roger that, Bossman.  I’ll have the team there.”

Ronny opened up a radio channel to the team, “Hangar in forty minutes.  Wheels up at 7:00pm.”

Ronny went back to a discreet channel with Jack.  “Gulp if you can hear me, Jack.  This is Ronny.”

Jack, standing in the desert two thousand miles away, gulped.

“Ok, Jack.  I got your call.  The team will be in the air in forty-five minutes, but it will take until around eleven, local time, to get where you are.  Stay on coms, and try to keep your camera bag near… I’m guessing that is where your radio is.  I’m going to switch you to a team channel from my end.  We’ll all be here with you.”

***

The leader of the group started barking orders to his men.  A few minutes later another group showed up and they started transferring some of the packs, presumably drugs, to the new arrivals.  Then a cloth bag was put over his head and his camera bag taken away.  His hands were roughly taped behind his back and they started pushing him to walk.

“What’s going on, Ric?  Where are they taking us?  Why are there bags over our heads?” Jack said.

The leader of the group yelled at Ric for a moment in Spanish.

“Don’t talk, Jack, they are taking us back to their headquarters while they decide what to do with us,” Ric replied in a harsh whisper.

***

“Jack, sniff if they took your camera bag away and the radio is in the bag,” Ronny said into his Jack’s ear.

Jack sniffed loudly.

“You are walking toward Mexico.  I alerted Border Patrol of your location through some cut outs, but they won’t be there for a while, if at all.  Stay calm.”

Ronny pulled up a menu on his radio and started listening to the audio from the handset in Jack’s camera bag.  It was muffled, but he was able to pick up that they were being taken to the “outpost” near a ranch about five miles south.  He got on the com unit and told his team that Jack had just been moved into Mexico.  And he expected that they would be stopping for at least a while about five miles south of the border. 

“Jack, you are currently in Mexico.  It sounds like they are taking you to a forward operational base about five miles south of your present location.  I’m guessing that you are in for a long, hot walk.  I’ll be on the other end of the radio.  Don’t talk unless you know you aren’t going to get on their bad side, and don’t let them get the idea you have a way of communicating outside.”

With that, Ronny signed off for a little while.  He would still be able to talk with Jack, but he had his own gear to get ready and he had to get to the hangar to make the flight out to Arizona.  Bill used his contacts to secure facilities at Fort Huachuca, south of Tucson.  They had four special forces, unmarked vehicles that would be waiting for them when they landed.  Ed had arranged the company Gulfstream G-III to fly the team from Patrick Henry International Airport, where Earthworks owned a hangar, to the airstrip at Fort Huachuca.  Expected flight time would be around four hours.  After getting on the ground, they expected it to take three to four hours to locate Jack and his companions. 

***

Bill came through his front door like a hurricane.  He rushed up the stairs without a word to his wife, who was sitting in the kitchen talking with their daughter.  She had come over to visit with her mother for a few minutes, not expecting her dad to be there. 

“Bill, what’s going on?  What’s the hurry?” she asked, following him up the steps. 

“We have a situation.  I have to fly out to Arizona,” he replied, not seeing his daughter behind his wife.

“Daddy, is it Jack?  Is he in trouble?  That’s the only thing I can think of that would send you to Arizona like you’re on fire,” Amy said to her father, worry across her face.

“As much as I want to deny it, yes… Jack is in a tight spot.  I have to go,” her father said as he grabbed his tactical gear from under the bed and pulled a case from the closet. 

“I’m going,” Amy said, more a statement that any type of question. 

“Amy, I really don’t think…” Bill tried to reply before she cut him off.

“That I can handle seeing him with a bullet hole in his chest and a stab wound in his side?  I can and I have,” she told her father.

“We’re both going, Bill.  And I’m calling Sharon,” Chrissy told her husband.

Chrissy rushed to her closet and grabbed a few items, including two weapons that had been presents from her husband, and her own fatigues that she wore to the range.  She grabbed a second set for her daughter, since they were so close to the same size.  Then she picked up the phone in the bedroom and called her friend, Jack’s mother.

“Sharon, Bill just rushed in.  It’s Jack.  He’s in trouble in Arizona.”

…

“Ed is still there?”

…

“Then I guess we’ll see you at the airport.”

Chrissy hung up the phone and made her way downstairs.  Amy picked up the phone and quickly called her assistant. 

“Donna, I am not going to be back to the office today.  Not sure about tomorrow.  I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

…

“An emergency came up… a family thing.”

…

“Thanks.  Just tell them to hold on and we’ll reschedule anything that you have to bump.”

The young woman hung up the phone and turned to her parents, “Let’s roll.  I’m ready.  I’ll have to deal with a few things later, but that will be later.”

The trio went to the garage and jumped in Chrissy’s AMG. 

“Ed, it’s Bill.  I have Chrissy and Amy with me.  They were at the house,” he said over the radio.

…

“You mean before Chrissy called?”

…

“See you in a minute.”

***

Jack walked through the desert with a bag on his head for almost three hours.  That put the time at around six in the evening.  He didn’t expect that Gunny and the team would be able to locate him for at least five more hours. 

As they approached a barn, with no other buildings in sight, the hood was removed from Jack.  He looked over and saw the hoods removed from Madi and Ric a moment later.  He hadn’t had any water during the entirety of their hike and assumed the other two had also not had any. 

“Agua?” Jack said quietly to the man holding his wrists.

“Dile que se espere un ratico,” the man said back to Jack quietly, telling him to be patient.

The three were led into the barn and pushed into a stall and left alone.  They huddled close together to talk for a moment.

“Madi, Ric, are you guys ok?” Jack asked.

“Just thirsty,” Madi replied.

“I think I have someone trying to help us get free,” Jack told the other two.

“Did someone see us before they put the hoods on?” Ric asked.

“Something like that.  But they have walked us into Mexico, so that complicates things,” Jack told the others.  “But aside from needing a drink, you guys are ok?”

Both nodded that they were. 

Jack was working on finding a way to get out when Gunny’s voice came over his earpiece.  “Jack, it’s Gunny.  Don’t respond.  I’ve been listening and I’m guessing that you and your companions have been locked away somewhere.  We have a rough location.  We are on the way, but it will be another two hours before we land.  Then we have to get to where you are, and it won’t be highway.  Probably five hours total.  Sniff if you understand.”

Jack sniffed. 

“You ok, Jack?” Madi asked.

“Yeah, I think it’s the hay in this barn that are bothering me,” he replied to her. 

“Good job, Jack.  Thanks for telling me you’re in a barn,” Gunny said on his earpiece.  “We’re coming for you.  When we get there, we are going to have about a fifty-yard circle to search within.  Hints like you just gave me might make all the difference.”