The woman had been kidnapped for over a year. After endless torture at the hands of the terrorists, her mind was broken, her spirit numb.
When she first heard Brock’s familiar American-accented English, she froze in disbelief, staring blankly at the kind, reassuring white face before her, thinking it must be another cruel dream.
It wasn’t until Brock uttered the words “We’re here to rescue you” that she finally snapped back to reality. Her once lifeless, dead-fish like eyes suddenly lit up with hope.
“My name is Stacy. Stacy Marshall. Please, you have to help me, you have to get me out of here. If I stay, I’ll die…”
Her voice trembled with a chaotic mix of fear, joy, and desperation as she strained against her ropes, trying to crawl toward Brock.
As a seasoned operator, Brock instantly recognized the signs. She was spiraling, her emotions unstable, on the verge of losing control.
That meant one thing, before untying her, he had to follow the second step of standard procedure, assess the hostage’s mental state.
Long-term captives often suffered from psychological damage. If freed without caution, they could become unpredictable, lashing out, tearing at a rescuer’s gear, or bolting recklessly into danger.
Even in a best case scenario, it complicated the mission. Worst case however, it could get people killed.
And these weren’t hypotheticals. They were lessons learned in blood from past generations of operators.
The check itself was simple, ask a series of interactive questions, guide the hostage through breathing exercises, and watch for signs of cooperation.
A hostage who could remain calm enough to follow instructions was usually stable. Those who had gone mad couldn’t, as they were unable to connect with reality.
Thankfully, Ms. Marshall proved relatively stable. Starved and frail from over a year of captivity, she still managed to answer Brock’s questions and follow his prompts. Her emotions settled quickly, though her body gave out, leaving her slumped on the floor, limp as a rag.
“Bravo 1, hostage confirmed. Identity and mental state verified,” Brock reported as he began loosening the ropes binding her wrists.
“Copy. Free her up. Once the helo arrives, we’re heading straight to the roof,” Jason replied, moving closer to assist him. He was about to check in on Team Two when a sudden voice came crackling through his earpiece.
“Bravo 1, this is Bravo 3. We’ve located the basement entrance, but there’s a problem. It was Cerberus who found it.”
Jason’s expression hardened.
Cerberus was no ordinary dog. It was their specialized bomb-sniffing K9. If it had found the basement, it could only mean one thing. There were explosives down there.
And nothing was more dangerous than explosives. Guns, knives, skill, none of it mattered when explosives went off. Everyone was equal before the blast.
But even knowing that, Bravo Team had no choice. If the basement was real, and if it was rigged with explosives, then Long Zhan’s earlier prediction had been right.
Samir, the man responsible for hundreds of deaths, was likely hiding down there.
Bravo 3 hadn’t pressed further with just three men, not against a threat like that. Instead, he had called it in to Jason.
“Bravo 1 copies. Hold your position, I’m on my way,” Jason ordered without hesitation. The mission wasn’t just about saving the hostage anymore. If possible, he wanted both the hostage and Samir in custody.
Before moving out, another transmission cut through.
“Bravo 1, this is Helo 1. Helicopter inbound, five minutes out.”
“Copy. Five minutes is plenty,” Jason confirmed, then turned to Brock. “Bravo 5, get Ms. Marshall to the roof. As soon as the helo arrives, put her on board. Her safety comes first.”
With that, Jason strode out, pausing only to give one more order, “Long Zhan, cover Bravo 5. Make sure nothing happens to the hostage.”
“Roger that,” Long Zhan replied, nodding sharply before heading inside.
He seemed compliant enough, his movements precise, his actions steady. But inside, his thoughts churned like a storm.
“Son of a bitch. If I’m stuck escorting the hostage, I’ll never get close to Samir. And without Samir, there’s no way to find the location of his stash. We’re talking tens of millions of dollars in gold. If the CIA finds it first, I’ll get nothing. That’s not just a loss, that’s torture.”
Frustration ate away at him, but as he helped Brock lift Marshall to her feet, his mind was already racing, scheming.
Everyone knew terrorist groups were masters at making money, kidnapping, ransom, smuggling, weapons deals, foreign backers, blood money from war…
And Samir, a leader, had been at it for over two decades. Arrogant, ruthless, and obsessed with hoarding gold.
It didn’t take a genius to realize how vast his fortune had to be.Even if he got to know of the location of this stash, getting it out would still probably prove to be an extremely difficult task.
For a score that massive however, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live in luxury forever…
Long Zhan wasn’t about to walk away.
The temptation was simply too damn strong.
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