Page 5 of Cole
“Fuck,” said Cole racing toward their vehicle. If he could get to the truck, he could pick up the other men and hopefully get them out of there. Instead, he hit something else.
With the first step, he heard the cracking of the splintered wood and felt his body tumbling into the darkness below. His last thought was he would die in this shithole and never see his sisters, or any family, again.
There was light coming into the hole from above, so Cole knew that it was daylight. What he couldn’t be sure of was what day it was, or the exact time. He tried to move and hissed in pain.
The fall had broken at least one rib, possibly two, but the more concerning injury was his head. If he moved, he vomited. His vision was blurred, the headache unending, and as far as he could tell, no one knew where he was.
His team had been working their way toward the coordinates of the site given to them by command. Find the nukes, send back the signal, and get the hell out. The flyboys would take care of the rest.
But the team got separated, each man choosing to run in a different direction and meet up at a checkpoint. He couldn’t even be sure that his team had survived.
If his ribs were good, he could crawl and climb his way out of the hole, but just lifting his arms caused so much pain and difficulty breathing, he knew that he wasn’t getting out the traditional way. Besides the ribs, his hand was most likely broken as well. The same damn hand that he’d broken Arnie Moore’s nose with.
He tapped his comms once again, hoping to hear a familiar voice, but all he heard was white noise. He wasn’t sure if it was his head injury or if his comms were somehow damaged when he hit his head during the fall.
“Either way, you’re fucked, big boy,” he whispered to himself. With just enough room to wiggle out of the backpack, he dug to the false bottom and prayed that his VG device was still working.
Thank goodness he had a paranoid family.
CHAPTER THREE
“Where are you going?” asked Ham staring at his daughter.
“I’m headed to Aleppo, Dad. We’re negotiating the release of the hostages there. I’ll be with an entire Ranger team and the state department team members.”
That was the last conversation she’d had with her father before arriving in Aleppo. Days of intense negotiations, all while the Ranger team was searching for the hostages and trying to find a way in and out.
“We’re getting nowhere, sir,” said Bailey staring at the man from the state department. “We need to be more aggressive about this.”
“That’s what your family is known for,” he smirked.
“Don’t bring my family into this. They have nothing to do with anything here. I’m talking about getting more aggressive in our search for those hostages and not taking shit from the government.”
“This is a delicate matter, Miss McDonald. I think you should let us handle the details.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Johnson, I’m a professional negotiator who speaks their language. I’ve negotiated other hostage situations, all successfully. How many have you done again? Oh, that’s right. None!”
“Bailey,” said her colleague. “Get a coffee.”
“Fine. Keep his smart ass away from me,” she said standing and stepping into the lobby.
She approached the coffee station and heard commotion behind her. There was a man’s voice and she thought it soundedfamiliar but couldn’t place it. Turning with her coffee, she walked past the group and heard her name.
“Bailey? Bailey McDonald is that you?”
Bailey turned to see the face of an extremely handsome man. He was older than her by at least fifteen years, if not more. He was six-feet-two or -three, maybe two-hundred pounds.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked. The man’s clothes were dirty and torn, several others around him looking the same. “Are you the hostages?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “Yes, we are but we know one another. I used to work for RP, I mean, it’s now VG.”
“Wait, what?” she frowned.
“Bailey, it’s me. Angus. Angus Williams.”
“Oh, fuck me,” she muttered. He laughed, just shaking his head. “Angus, I can’t believe it. You were one of the hostages? You weren’t on our list.”
“Your list? I don’t understand.”
