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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

C allan peered through binoculars at the small island, a smudge of black breaking up the moonlight reflecting off the Atlantic.

If not for the moon, the strip of land would be hidden completely.

A boat, lit up like downtown during the holidays, slipped around the south side of the island and disappeared.

When it was gone, there wasn’t a single light ahead. Thank God for the tracker that indicated Alyssa’s location. Without it, they would never have found her.

That the tracker worked, and that Ghazi hadn’t found it, were the first miracles of the operation. For Alyssa and Peri to survive, they would need many more miracles before this was over.

Brooklynn had relayed Alyssa’s most recent message. Thirty minutes. And the country club was a target, along with DC, though what in DC was anybody’s guess.

Not the hotel, since the Russian wouldn’t be there yet.

But there were plenty to choose from.

They needed to be careful not to let on that they knew the club was a target, so they evacuated the Wright women on police boats. Then, with Robert in custody, the club had closed down, all employees ordered off the property, though they’d leave a few at a time so it wasn’t obvious.

Just in case.

There was no way to warn the entire city of DC, though, not without alerting Ghazi that they knew his plan.

They would just have to stop him before the drones could be deployed.

The driver of the borrowed fishing boat Callan rode on—a state cop named Coulter—had cut the lights a few minutes before and then, about a half mile from shore, cut the engine. Now, they bobbed on the choppy water, waiting for word.

Callan returned belowdecks, scanning the crowd. Grant was standing on the far end, back to a closed door. At a small table were guards he used to work with at the security agency. Bartlett, the one who’d helped with the plan, was there, along with a bunch of other people whose names had escaped Callan.

They were different colors and shapes and sizes, a couple of women but mostly men, all wearing similar intense expressions. Grant had told him most of them were former special forces, and Callan didn’t doubt it.

These were people who could handle themselves. Some sat on the floor, others at the table. Most wore scuba gear.

Grant’s pregnant wife, Summer, had grudgingly stayed to protect the rest of the Wright family. And her and Grant’s unborn child.

Gavin stood with one hand on a counter to keep upright despite the boat pitching this way and that. Too restless to sit.

Grant caught Callan’s eye. “We good to go?”

“No activity on shore. No indication they know we’re here.”

The men in wetsuits made their way past Callan and up to the deck.

Callan followed and watched as they jumped into the frigid water and disappeared.

Grant had followed him and now made his way to the front of the boat. He was their leader. His job was to watch and direct.

Callan returned belowdecks to wait with Gavin and Bartlett.

Gavin and Callan were focused on saving their daughters.

Bartlett had made himself familiar with the SJSS system. His job was to secure the drones, ASAP.

“They know what they’re doing,” Bartlett directed the words at Gavin, who had a good poker face, but he couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.

Gavin nodded once.

Callan had never been great at being part of a team. He preferred to go it alone.

Right now, the lives of the two most important people in his world depended on the team that’d just slipped into the frigid water, and a lot more people to get it right.

They’d decided, since a sneak attack wasn’t going to work, they needed a decoy.

The state police would idle off shore long enough to make sure all eyes were on them.

And give the scuba team time to reach land and move across the narrow island to approach the beach houses from the back.

When they were in place, the cops would disembark at the dock Alyssa’s captors had used. There were six of them, who would follow footprints—or at least look like they were following footprints—to the house where Alyssa was being held. They would separate into teams of two, but not hide. One team would approach number eleven and knock.

God willing, Ghazi and his people would answer, not start shooting.

Their story: That an owner of one of the properties had seen the boat and, knowing nobody was meant to be on the island, had called the police, fearing squatters or looters. They’d tell Ghazi and his band of thugs that those owners were disembarking to do some maintenance work on their properties.

The other two teams would be on the lookout for more men and report back to Grant and his team.

Meanwhile, the boat Callan was on would dock on the north side. The driver would wait while Callan, Gavin, Grant, and Bartlett strolled off in full view of everybody.

All wrapped up in winter gear. Their faces hidden.

More decoys, meant to confuse Ghazi and his people. Convince them all was well. No need to panic.

No need to kill anybody.

Callan figured another ten, fifteen miracles, and this just might work.

Please, God. Please, let it work.

“They’re on land,” Grant said through the earpiece in Callan’s ear.

He was itching to go. To get Alyssa and Peri in his arms.

But still, they waited.

And then, just as the engine rumbled to life, Grant said, “It’s time.”

Meaning the state police had docked and were headed to the house.

Whatever happened now, it would be over soon enough.

Please, protect them, Father. The soldiers, the cops.

The ones I love.