Page 88 of Sweet Betrayal

“Six visible, but more inside. I also think they’re expecting a VIP, in which case, there’ll be secret police too.”

Phoenix’s mouth hardened into a thin line. He briefed his team. Eight highly-trained men, all kitted out with ammunition, grenades, flashbangs, body armor, and everything else a special forces operator would need for a mission of this kind. They were a lethal fighting force—exactly what he needed.

“Right, let’s go,” Phoenix said, when he was done.

Tom opened the back of the van and the team piled in. “Excuse the unconscious guy,” he said. “I used him to find out where the warehouse was.”

None of the hardened men batted an eyelid.

Phoenix sat up front beside him as they drove to the warehouse. The black SUV was still there, along with Anwar’s helicopter.

Tom ground his jaw.

“That’s the State Security chief, Abdul Anwar’s,” he told Phoenix. “He’s here to transport the prisoner back to Syman City where she’ll be tortured and executed. She knows too much to let live.”

“Then we don’t have much time.” Phoenix surveyed the structure and the security measures, taking it all in with a knowing eye.

They let the men out of the van and the team huddled together as they outlined their plan of attack.

“Your team take out the guards,” Phoenix was saying to Viper, who nodded. “We’ll enter the warehouse and neutralize the threat. Tom, you grab the hostage. We’ll go in fast, go in hard. Tom, are you able to drive through the front gate?”

He nodded.

It was a sound plan. Tom knew they’d practiced similar drills many times. Hostage rescue was what these guys did, be it on oilrigs, tankers or dry land. They were pros. He couldn’t have asked for a better team.

Within seconds, they were ready to go.

Tom got behind the wheel.

“Ready?” asked Phoenix. He had his seatbelt on and hands on the dash, braced for impact.

“Ready.”

Tom put his foot on the gas and picked up speed. He angled the van toward the gate and smashed right through, sending mangled wire and steel flying in all directions. Sparks from the electric fence spat at the darkening sky.

The soldiers jumped out of the back. The two guards manning the gate were dead before they could even reach for their weapons. Other police came running, but they too were mowed down by the American operators. Within minutes, those who weren’t dead or bleeding, surrendered by throwing down their weapons.

Tom stormed into the warehouse a step behind the second evacuation team, ready to take out anyone who objected. The first person he saw was Prince Hakeem’s State Security chief standing near a crumpled body attached to a railing in the far corner. His heart nearly stopped.

Hannah!

Abdul Anwar reached for his gun.

Tom squeezed the trigger. Twice. Double tap. Abdul Anwar gazed at him in disbelief, before toppling to the ground, a neat hole in the center of his forehead, another in the chest.

“Nice shooting,” said Phoenix, as Tom rushed forward.

His team had taken out the other guards. Cordite stained the air and three bodies, other than Anwar’s, littered the warehouse floor.

Tom used his knife to cut Hannah free from the railing. She crumpled into his arms, barely conscious. Her blouse wasripped open, exposing her bare breasts, red with welts. Dark bruises were beginning to appear on her shins, and the torn skin on her wrists was leaking blood. Her hair was matted, she was developing a black eye, and there was a deep cut on her cheekbone that required stitches.

A strangled sob caught In his thro”t. “’annah?”

She was unresponsive.

He gathered her up in his arms. “Hannah, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids flickered briefly, before closing again.

---