Page 79 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Tag

T he desert sun was just clearing the ridge when we rolled into position. The heat was already pressing down, the air dry enough to crack lips and steal breath.

From our perch behind a ridge of boulders, I could see the warehouse squatting in the sand like it had been dropped there decades ago—sheet metal walls pitted and rusted, two busted-out windows, and one main roll-up door.

Through the scope, I counted three men on the roof, rifles slung, scanning the horizon. Another four paced the yard, keeping close to the warehouse entrance.

Faron’s voice came over communications. “Thermals show movement inside. Five bodies, plus the three hostages—they’re tied up near the back wall.”

“Copy,” I said. “We go quiet until we can’t.”

Gideon’s team ghosted down the west side, using rusted fuel tanks as cover. I signaled Faron, and we moved east—low, silent, each footstep measured. The smell of hot metal and sand filled my lungs.

At the side door, Faron planted the breaching charge. I exhaled slow, letting my focus narrow to the next thirty seconds.

Three… two… one—

The charge popped low and tight. We were through before the dust cleared, rifles up. The first guard inside barely had time to turn before Faron dropped him.

I swept left, putting two rounds into a second man who reached for his radio.

“Hostages!” Gideon’s voice cut in over communications.

I rounded a stack of crates and saw them—three men, hands bound, duct tape across their mouths. Relief flickered for half a heartbeat before a voice from the shadows froze me in place.

“Easy there, cowboy.”

A man stepped out from behind the hostages, pistol pressed to one’s temple. He wore a tactical vest, desert camo pants, and a smug grin. “You’re Tag, right? Graves sends his love.”

I kept my rifle steady, my stance loose. “Let them go, and you might walk out of here breathing.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m walking out. Question is—are you taking my place as the bargaining chip?”

Behind me, Faron shifted, but I caught the movement and gave a slight shake of my head. Too risky. One wrong twitch, and the hostage died.

I keyed my communication, my voice low. “Gideon—wrap the west. This one’s mine.”