Brent edged his way past the seventh floor, sensing movement inside the dark room to the left. He worked his way farther up the building before speaking once more into the microphone. “Activity on seven, southwest corner.”
“Got it.” This time it was Quinn Lambert's voice that came over the mike. “I'm showing eleven heat spots on the top floor. Looks like two are in the hallway.”
Brent nodded to himself, grateful that it wasn't him sitting across the street staring at the building with infrared goggles. “Give me five more minutes and I'll have a visual,” Brent told him, finally climbing onto the top floor balcony. He moved to the edge of the nearest window and peered inside to count the hostages who were sitting on the floor. From his angle he could see six of the sevenâone woman and five men. Two terrorists flanked the door, weapons in hand.
“I've got two guns by the door, and I've got a visual on six of the hostages.” Brent relayed the information, recalling the files on the hostages. Two women had been identified as missing, one a thirty-six-year-old from London and the other a twenty-two-year-old from Virginia. The woman in his view was the older one, making the missing hostage Amy Whitmore, the senator's daughter.
He'd known who she was even before he had seen her picture. After growing up in Virginia, it would have been tough not to remember the vibrant daughter of Senator Whitmore.
Sliding down onto the balcony, Brent crawled past several windows so that he could look at the room from the other direction. A sigh of relief escaped him when he saw the younger woman sitting on the floor across the room. He knew he was only a few of years older than she was, but he couldn't help thinking how young and fragile she looked sitting there with her knees pulled up to her chest, her face pale.
A need to protect her surged through him as he studied her. She was beautiful, even in these less-than-perfect circumstances. In her photo, her gorgeous blue eyes had been alive with humor, combined with a smile that was full of fun. He hoped this experience wouldn't erase that part of herâthe fun-loving manner he suspected was an integral part of her personality.
He took a moment to gauge the situation. The hostages all had their backs to him, but he had enough of an angle to recognize each of them from the pictures he had been shown during their mid-flight briefing.
One of the men was badly bruised on one side of his face, and Brent could only guess that he had tried to resist capture. A quick scan indicated that he hadn't been the only one. All five of the men appeared to need medical attention. The most visibly wounded was the man who had ripped off part of his shirt to bandage his leg. Unfortunately, the man next to him labored with each breath and appeared to be in shock.
Brent indicated to his teammates that he was in position, drew his weapon, and waited for the signal.
* * *
Amy felt the tension in the room increase as one of the gunmen spoke into his walkie-talkie in some language she couldn't identify. He scanned the room and focused in on her. She saw the intent in his eyes even before he turned his weapon on her.
I'm going to die,
she thought to herself. Terrified, she pushed back against the wall, as if those few inches might make a difference.
A moment later gunshots sounded, and then he was lying motionless at her feet. Her scream pierced the air as the window shattered and she watched wide-eyed as two men dressed completely in black jumped into the room, one from the balcony and the other through the door. The man who had come through the window stepped on the gunman's hand, which still held the weapon, and checked for a pulse. Amy didn't have to be told that the man was dead.
A helicopter echoed in the distance, but she didn't recognize the sound. Shock paralyzed her and her breath came in shallow bursts.
“Are you okay, miss?” The voice was all-American, the face smeared with something dark.
She knew he was talking to her, but her brain wasn't functioning well enough for her to think to respond. Nervously, Amy looked around the room again. The other gunman was also sprawled out lifeless on the floor. She couldn't catch her breath, and suddenly the rapid shallow breaths weren't enough. She gasped for air, her chest tightening as she struggled for another breath.
“Take it easy.” The black-clad American pushed her head between her knees and spoke in a calm voice despite the gunshots that were still sounding somewhere downstairs. “We're here to take you home. You're hyperventilating. I need you to relax.”
His voice was soothing, but still she struggled.
“Come on now. In, out. In, out.” He put a hand on her back, rubbing it back and forth. “That's it.”
His hand stilled on her back and Amy lifted her head, finally able to get some air. She noticed for the first time the communications headset he wore as he made a comment into the little microphone by his mouth. He turned his attention back to her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I'm going to check on the others. Just wait right here.”
Amy watched him move effortlessly from one hostage to another as his partner started at the other end and worked toward him. They gave each of the hostages whatever emergency medical treatment was necessary to transport them. Finally, he moved back to where she was still sitting.
“Can you walk?”
Amy nodded, chastising herself for falling apart. Still shaking, she pointed across the room. “Is Frank okay? He was shot in the leg.”
The man nodded. “He'll be fine. The members of my team are going to move the wounded into the helicopter, and then we'll get you out of here.”
He took up a position by the door, weapon in hand, as two other men came in and helped move the wounded out of the room. He appeared completely in tune with everything around him, but his stance was relaxed.
Amy watched him, wondering what it must be like to work in the armed forces. He probably didn't have any idea where he would be next month, or even next week, but would just be going where his superiors sent him. She shook her head, surprised that her mind was wandering at a time such as this. Still, she was grateful that there were people like him in the worldâpeople who were willing to sacrifice their personal freedoms to protect her safety.
When the last of the wounded had finally been escorted out along with the other female hostage, the man returned to Amy and reached out a hand. “Come on. Let's get you out of here.”
Amy let him pull her to her feet and was surprised when she had to tilt her head back to look at him. At six feet tall, she was used to looking most men in the eye. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked. When he nodded, she continued. “What's your name?”
He smiled at that as though they had just met at the grocery store instead of in the middle of a rescue operation. “Lieutenant Brent Miller, U.S. Navy SEAL.”
“Well, Lieutenant.” Amy brushed off her sweatpants and turned her gaze back to Brent. “Thanks for dropping by.”
“Anytime.”
Brent pushed open the door to the roof, where Tristan was helping the British woman onto the helicopter. The hostages needing medical attention were already settled in the back of the 72-foot-long helicopter along with Quinn. The rest of the team had already taken their seats as well, except for Kel, who was waiting for Brent by the door.
Brent took Amy's hand in his and pulled her to a ducking position as he escorted her to the waiting chopper. They were barely inside when his commanding officer yelled to the pilot.
“All bodies in!” Kel shouted, motioning for them to strap in as he took his own seat. “Let's get outta here!”
Still holding onto her arm, Brent helped Amy into a seat as they took off. A moment later a bright light flashed and the helicopter rocked violently. Sparks flew from the door next to Amy, and flames licked along the bottom of the doorway. A split second later, the door latch sparked and the door crashed open. Tristan grabbed a fire extinguisher and doused the flames in the now-open doorway.
“Where's it coming from?” Quinn shouted over the cries of the hostages.
“Looks like another terrorist cell in that building. There's an antiaircraft gun on the roof,” Kel answered, pulling his microphone in front of his mouth to communicate with the pilot as they increased altitude. “How bad are we hit?”
“We're okay as long as we get out of range fast,” the pilot told him, already turning the helicopter away from the threat. “We just got word that the insurgence is spreading. Everyone is pulling out.”
Kel turned his attention to Tristan, who had abandoned the fire extinguisher and now had both gloved hands on what was left of the door handle. “Get that door closed.”
“It's jammed. I can't close it.”
“Then get strapped in.”
Tristan reclaimed his seat and glanced at Amy, who was staring wide-eyed at the charred black edges that surrounded the open doorway next to her. Tristan pointed to the seat belt that was not yet fastened around her. “Get buckled in!”
Before Amy could comply, the helicopter rocked violently onto its side to avoid another attack. Brent heard Amy's scream and turned just in time to see her tumble out of her seat and grasp for something to hold onto. Another evasive maneuver by the pilot sent her sliding toward the hole where the door should have been. Brent tore off his seat belt and lunged after her, sprawling out on the floor of the helicopter that was currently at a forty-five degree angle. He grabbed Amy's wrist just as her body slid through the doorway into open space.
Brent felt someone grab his feet to keep him from tumbling out right after her, but his eyes stayed on Amy. Her body was dangling in the air, her blue eyes wide with shock and fear. The angle of the helicopter made it impossible for her to reach the landing skid to stop her fall or use it to help herself climb back in.
His own upper body was hanging halfway out of the helicopter, and he could feel at least two of his teammates struggling to support his weight along with Amy's. The pilot's voice came over his headset. “The horizontal stabilizer must be damaged. Get everything secured. It's going to be a bumpy ride.”
Brent reached down with his other arm to grasp her wrist, hoping to pull her in, but gravity was an opponent he wasn't able to overcome. He saw her awareness. She knew that the only thing keeping her from plummeting more than thirty feet to the ground was the slippery grip Brent had on her arm. She was a hanging target as the pilot tried to move out of the city with gunfire sounding in the streets below.
She was slipping, and Brent knew that it was only a matter of time before his grip faltered. He could hear one of his teammates trying to edge in beside him, but the angle of the helicopter was still tilted dangerously to one side. Another minute hanging and one of the antiaircraft guns was bound to get a clean shot.
A split second was all it took for Brent to make his decision. He wasn't going to let this woman die like this, and he knew all of the hostages were at risk until they cleared the border. Brent called out to Kel.
“Have the pilot head for the biggest roof he can find.” Brent kept his eyes on Amy's. “Preferably in a nice dark corner of the city.”
“We're losing fuel.” Kel's voice came over the headset Brent wore. “If you can't bring her in now, we may not get another chance.”
“I'm going with her,” Brent said, instantly hearing scrambling going on behind him. He knew the risks, but sometimes the only way to save something was to let it go. If they were losing fuel, they might not be able to take off again if they landed. Since his grip wasn't solid enough to pull her in at this angle, he had no other choice.
The helicopter dropped altitude, and Brent prayed that he could hold on long enough. Amy's eyes were huge as she realized there was no way she could get back into the helicopter.
The rooftops below them grew closer and closer to Amy's feet as they dropped altitude, but Amy didn't look down. Her eyes were locked on Brent's as he fought to hold onto her. Brent felt himself slide another inch out the door, the sweat of his hands on Amy's arm making it nearly impossible to maintain his grip. He felt her slipping, his heart pounding as her arm slid through his hands. She screamed. Brent leaned a little farther out of the helicopter, trying to reclaim his grip.
Just as her fingers started to slip free, Kel's voice came over Brent's earpiece. “Now!”
Brent didn't hesitate. He felt the hands on his ankles release, and he let go of Amy and allowed his body to fall forward out of the helicopter. He tucked his head and a split second later rolled onto an unforgiving hard surface a few feet from where Amy had landed.
Brent turned to see a package drop onto the far side of the roof as Amy shifted beside him. He crawled over to her to check for injuries. “Are you okay?”
Amy shook her head and looked at him like he was crazy. Stunned, she pointed above them. “We just fell out of a helicopter.”
“Are you injured?” Brent corrected.
She considered for a moment before answering. “I don't think so.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Brent's attention shifted to the helicopter above them. He could see the fuel spraying out into the air, and he spoke into his microphone.
“You're losing fuel fast. Get out of here.” Even as Amy started to protest beside him, he held up a hand to silence her. “We'll get our feet wet and see you in a few days.”
Kel's voice came back. “I'm going to drop Quinn first.”
“Negative. You have the wounded. If you land early, you're going to need all the hands you've got,” Brent replied. A second later the helicopter elevated and moved off into the dark sky.
“Are you nuts?” Amy sat up, her eyes wide as she looked from Brent to the helicopter and back to Brent again. “You sent them away?”
“At the rate they're losing fuel, I'm not sure they'll make it past the border as it is.” Brent scanned the rooftops nearby as he spoke. “If they take the time to pick us up, and add the additional weight, all of us would be on foot long before we reached the border. The others need medical attention. You don't.”