Page 28 of Wicked Intention

When they exited the cell, the cop addressed the two brigade members waiting there. “The prisoner is yours.”

The younger of the two brigade members grabbed his arm. He was marched from the holding area, through the lower level, and out of the building. As they paused, Finn looked around, but they were in a secured area of the airport, and trying to escape here would be a waste of time.

Bright lights illuminated the military transport truck that stood in front of them. It looked vintage—like forty years old vintage—with a large tear in the canvas cargo cover near the cab on the right-hand side, and the tires were covered in dried mud. They were using something this large to move him to another prison? Not that he was complaining. The truck gave him more room to maneuver.

The older soldier barked his displeasure, and the driver jumped out, moving to the rear to help the man lower the gate. He’d have four guards, all members of the presidential brigade.

Could be worse.

“Get in,” the older man ordered.

Finn glanced between the truck and the sergeant. “My hands are secured behind me. How do you expect me to climb up?”

After a brief discussion, two of the men got in the back, and when Finn stepped up on the foothold, they grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him inside. There were two benches, one along each side of the truck, and the soldier Finn had recognized gestured to the seat on the right side. He andthe younger soldier settled on the opposite side. The truck was closed up, and Finn heard the two cab doors slam. A moment later, the engine sputtered to life, and they slowly began to move.

He shifted his arms to get his hands in a better position to break free when his chance arose.

“What are you doing?” the younger man demanded in Spanish.

Keeping his voice easy and calm, Finn said, “Just trying to get comfortable.”

“Be still,” he ordered.

“Fine,” he agreed. Finn already had himself set up exactly how he wanted. All he needed now was the opportunity.

As the truck continued to rock along at a slow pace, Finn waited for the two men across from him to get bored. An instant of inattention, that was all he needed. He’d break the cuffs, take a pistol from one of the men, and leap out the back. It was doable. Not optimal, but he’d be able to execute.

Only neither of the soldiers appeared ready to relax. Not even after about half an hour of driving.

“Which prison are we going to?” Finn asked casually.

Silence.

Given the time on the road, Finn narrowed the options down to three, including a military prison to the north.

A while later, the rhythm of the road changed. They’d left the Rio Blanco metro area and were in the countryside now. Shit, that had to meanEl Manzano, literally the worst prison in Puerto Jardin. It was the most secure, the hardest from which to escape.

In his mind, Finn pictured a map showing both the airport and El Manzano. He did some fast estimating and decided that at their current speed, he had approximately forty-five minutes until they reached the military penitentiary, but he’d have to get loose well before that. Maybe within another halfhour to be safe. His guards remained alert with their gazes focused on him.

Finn took a breath. He’d be patient, but if they didn’t relax in the next twenty-five minutes, he’d have to act anyway.

He’d been out of Special Forces for a couple of years, and while he’d tried to keep his skills honed, Finn knew he’d lost the sharp edge. He hadn’t needed it. His job was to protect Zo and whatever artifact they were retrieving, and while that could be risky, it wasn’t pretending to be a gunrunner dangerous. He took another breath.

Escape was doable. It had to be doable because he wasn’t dying today. He wasn’t leaving Zo on her own.

He visualized the sequence he’d need to enact and estimated how long each action would take. Then he replayed a different scenario. Finn did this again and again until he came up with the plan most likely to succeed. Once he had that, he mentally rehearsed it until he was confident he could execute it flawlessly.

Neither guard so much as glanced away the entire time.

About ten minutes before Finn was set to take action, the truck slowed. Had he miscalculated the time?

But the younger soldier’s reaction told Finn something was up. He got ready, waiting for the men to stop watching him, but while the kid was distracted, the man who’d worked with his team on the Torres takedown remained alert. Watchful.

The truck stopped.

“Go see what is happening,” the man Finn recognized ordered.

“Sí.” The kid holstered his weapon, opened the canvas covering the rear, and climbed over the gate, dropping to the ground below.

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