Page 14

Archer

“Son of a bitch!” I yell. “No, no, no…” I’m in danger of biting through my pursed bottom lip.

The heat from bodies pushed in and around me is stifling. I’m being smothered by a mob of humans. Why the hell haven’t they let up? The parade has passed, for fuck’s sake.

There’s a large man in front of me, pungent from the day’s heat and our current proximity. I don’t think. I lash out. My palms land on his back, pushing with a strength that I haven’t felt since my time in the Middle East. He rocks forward but is buoyed by the surrounding people.

“Fucking move !!” I yell. My throat burns from the effort.

The man turns to see me, his eyes growing wide. In them, I see the reflections of the street lamps and battery-operated candles, held aloft by the crowd of worshipers. It does nothing but cast him—and everyone else—in a sadistic light.

I close my eyes. I inhale the deepest breath I’ve ever taken, and I feel it. The adrenaline in me. The anger. The acute terror. The worry for Mia’s safety. How could I have let this happen? She was my responsibility, goddammit! And now she’s gone. She’s fucking gone because I couldn’t protect her well enough. What did that say about me? How could I be a professional at personal protection when I fucking lose a client?

“Hey, whoa! Arch, what happened?” Midas is at my side. Somehow, he made it through the throng. I look at him, his eyes waiting for an answer. I don’t care that he’s my boss right now. I don’t care that I’m about to admit that I’ve failed at the one thing that I excel at. He can fire me for all I care. All I’m concerned with at the moment is getting Mia back. “Archer,” he says gently.

I’m looking at his face, but my eyes are unfocused. He’s so close to me that I can sense the deadly calm that comes over him in a crisis. It’s why he had made master sergeant and I didn’t. “She’s been taken,” I say, gritting the bitter words out like they’re rocks between my teeth.

He inhales deeply. “We’ll get her back, okay?”

I can tell he’s looking at me, but again, I can’t bring myself to focus my eyesight. My hands tighten at my sides. “It’s my fault. Me.”

“Arch. Not here, not now.”

I close the infinitesimal gap between us. My chest bumps against his. “She fucking means something to me, man.”

“You think I don’t know that, Arch? Jesus Christ…” A woman near him crosses herself.

When I don’t respond, he places a hand at the back of my neck, forcefully bringing me closer. I’m an inch from his face and we’re eye to eye. “We will get her back, do you hear me?” he says again. This time, I nod in understanding.

“How could I—”

Midas still has me in a headlock. “You better shut that shit down right now, do you understand? We don’t have time for it. We have a mission and we will execute it.” He shakes me at the last two words.

“Copy that,” I say feebly.

“Good.”

He releases his grip. The hair at the nape of my neck is wet with sweat from where his hand had been.

“Where’s Mia?” asks Blaze. He and the other two have finally caught up with us.

Legion looks around. “Don’t tell me—” Midas pins him with a knowing look. “Oh. Oh. Shit.”

Everyone looks to our boss. It doesn’t matter if we each have an idea or a plan. He calls the shots and we wait for our instructions.

“Okay, listen to me. We head to the Chapel Real. Whoever took Mia is after what we’re after. Once we get there, we split up. Legion, Blaze and Phantom—you guys take the adjoining cathedral. It’s too much ground for a single person to cover. If you find the tango, keep him alive for questioning.” He turns to me and says, “Arch, you’re with me. We stick to the chapel and the museum.”

A round of “copy that’s” is muttered and we continue our way west.

Phantom comes up behind me, claps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t blame yourself for this, man. Could’ve happened to any one of us,” he says in a lowered voice that only I can hear.

I grunt in reply.

Fucking finally the crowd dissipates. Now that there are several thousand people less, it takes no time before we reach the chapel.

“They’re closed, like I thought,” Midas says, reading a board by the heavy front doors. He tries the handle gingerly. Locked.

Blaze flashes his small case with lock picks. “And when has that stopped us, boss?”

We cover him as he gets to work. It takes him less time than it did at the palace.

The place is deserted. Midas makes hand signals to the others, and silent as ghosts, they disappear to the left. He and I stick to the outer walls by the pews, heading inward.

It’s when we pass under the ornate gate that a stab of pain hits me in my chest. If Mia were here, we’d be getting a history lesson on the piece. But she’s not. And her absence is palpable.

Midas and I go to the right and into the museum. Relics behind glass cases. There’s nothing more. No clue as to whether they’ve been here. When I see the jewelry box though, my gut tells me they had to have been in this room. And not very long ago.

As a silent unit, we continue on. The altar is searched next, the adjacent rooms following.

The rest of the team is coming up empty handed as well. A series of “clears” is all I hear in the comms.

Midas and I have nowhere else to search but the crypts below. There’s little hope of finding Mia there; the royal coffins are behind a heavy pane of plexiglass. At the base of the steps, there are no signs of disruption, odd shadows or even sounds.

From the centralized tombs, pathways run on opposite sides. I follow Midas to the left. We’re shoulder to shoulder, guns drawn. It feels a little odd to wield weapons in a holy building, but we aren’t taking any chances.

The room is dark. Through the mounted lights on our Glocks, we see nothing but an outer wall that holds a handful of coffins. Midas penetrates the room further while I shine the light against the wall. No disturbances.

“Clear,” he whispers, and I echo his remark. He nods his head toward the other side.

The other room is identical, just a mirror image of the first. The difference is, at the end of it, is a metal grate door with a chain and lock on it. It’s a perfect escape route. I cover Midas as he walks deeper in, coming to a stop at the lock. I’m mere feet behind him.

“No tampering. No sign of footsteps,” he says quietly, indicating the dark tunnel beyond.

He makes a twirling motion with his fingers and I follow him back out. As we reach the top of the steps, Midas comes to an abrupt stop. He holsters his piece and motions for me to do the same.

“ Buenas noches, senora ,” Midas says.

I’ve come up beside him now and see that there is a woman with a badge around her neck. An employee .

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed,” she says in a tight voice. The fact that the two of us are carrying pistols on our hips, doesn’t go unnoticed. To her credit, she shifts her eyes back to Midas, holding his attention.

Before he opens his mouth, Midas’s stance changes. His shoulders relax, his eyes soften and I recognize it as him slipping into his charming people-pleasing persona.

He cuts to the chase. “I’m afraid there’s been a criminal on the run, and we have reason to believe he’s been here,” Midas says.

The middle-aged woman crosses her arms, skepticism painting her tanned skin. “Are you with the policía ?”

“We work with them, yes,” he says in a half truth. Then he pulls out his wallet and flashes his retired Marine Corps ID card. “I apologize for not introducing myself. Adam Cruz, senora . United States Military Police,” he says, tacking on the falsity as an afterthought. Midas goes on to explain that a man in glasses might have entered with a younger, dark-haired woman.

I’m trying to tamp down the growing anxiety that’s running rampant through my veins. They could have been here. Part of me tells me that they might still be here, but the other part of my rationale leads me to believe that the tango has fled with Mia. They could be at the airport already and we’re here delicately questioning an employee for further information.

The woman uncrosses her arms, folding her hands in front of her. “A man and a woman came in about an hour ago. He left a sizeable donation so he and his fiancé could tour the building alone. I gave them an hour only. So when I heard your footsteps, I was coming to usher them out.”

“But you found us instead,” I say, finishing her train of thought. She nods, her lips in a thin line.

“Look,” Midas pauses briefly to read the name on her badge with a friendly smile, “Alma, we’ve searched the main parts of the building and have come up empty. It’s vital that we find this man before he does anything irrational, like hurt someone.” The cadence of his voice is gentle, imploring her to understand how important it is to find this man.

“The woman. She looked uncomfortable. Is she in trouble?”

“Yes,” I say swiftly. “He’s taken her hostage.”

Midas says nothing, but the way his jaw tics tells me he’d rather be the one to do the talking.

Alma smooths the lanyard holding her badge and says, “I’m not sure how I can help you. If you’ve searched…”

“Let us have a look at the CCTV cameras.” Alma looks to me like I’ve said something blasphemous. “That is,” I say, attempting to amend my rashness, “the footage could prove to be quite advantageous to us.” I clear my throat. I’m not up to date on Spanish laws, but with every fiber of my being, I hope this woman doesn’t refuse, saying we need a warrant.

“He’s right,” Midas says.

Alma looks between the two of us as if weighing our credibility. Smart woman. There’s a moment where nobody speaks. I can see this entire thing about ready to fucking implode, when Alma’s next words surprise me.

“Follow me.” She turns and heads back to the entrance. Before she leads us any further, she stops and points to an ATM. “The chapel would be obliged to your donation before we proceed.” There isn’t an ounce of remorse on her face. She’s a kidnapper in her own right, holding the footage hostage until she receives payment. I like her.

Midas retrieves a substantial amount of euros from the machine and hands it to her. “I hope that will suffice for your troubles?”

“Indeed, senor .” She might be a little smug. “This way.”

Behind the ticket counter is a small control room of sorts. On a metal desk sits a monitor. Alma takes a seat and begins rewinding the footage to an hour ago. She pauses the screen. A clear image of Alma’s back is seen with Mia and the spectacled man. He has her by the elbow and even through the monitor I can see the painful expression on her face.

Alma drags the slider, speeding the film along. She clicks the cameras that are located in the temple and the altar areas. Mia and the man are shown meandering the space like tourists. But the rigidness in her spine and the way that the man keeps looking over his shoulder give away their ruse.

“Click this one,” I say, pointing to a smaller screen. It’s the museum. It shows them entering, then stopping at the jewelry box. Then the man appears startled and points a gun in his pocket at Mia. My blood boils. The timestamp indicates that in under a minute, they exit the museum.

“Go back to the altar cam, please,” Midas says.

Sure enough, Mia and her kidnapper are shown exiting the museum. The man looks left, then right, obviously trying to come up with a strategy to get out. He spots the steps leading down to the crypts. They run.

“Are there cameras down there?” I ask, unable to recall any in the dark.

“They’re out at the moment,” Alma says. “‘Technical difficulties’ as you Americans say, no?”

A curse sits on the tip of my tongue, but in a moment of clarity, I swallow it. Because Alma has sped up the film once more. No more than five minutes after entering the crypts, the man emerges and flees. Alone .

Midas and I look at each other, coming to the same conclusion at once.

“She’s still down there,” we say in unison.

I take off at sprint, the soles of my boots squeaking against the marble floor. For the first time since the crowd, hope fills my lungs. It propels me forward, surging through me like I’ve just taken a hit from an EpiPen.

Mia is here.

I pass the pews in a blur, rounding the massive above-ground tombs of the monarchs. I use the wrought iron fencing surrounding the effigies to slow myself; it’s like I’m rounding third and unable to stop from my momentum before hitting home plate.

At the bottom of the steps I take a second before I decided to head to the right. These crypts were empty when Midas and I swept the area. Where the hell could she be down here?

“Mia!” I shout through heavy breaths. “Mia!”

Belatedly, I realize that Alma must have turned the lights on, because I notice the velvet rope in front of the wall of coffins has been disturbed.

“Mia!” I yell again, visually searching, frantic for any other sign of her being here.

And then I hear it. Her voice. It’s muffled, like she’s talking with a sock in her mouth.

“—Dillon?! Here! In here!”

My head whips around, tracking the sound. All I see are the foot ends of coffins.

No… Has she been… For how long?

“Mia, listen to me,” I say loudly. “I need you to kick. Show me where you are.” Thudded banging comes from the wall. A soft plume of dust falls to the floor. There . She’s in the lowest recessed row. In the middle.

I toss the rope’s pole violently. The base and the metal hooks clang against the tile, leaving a ringing in my ears. The coffin is no more than a foot from the floor. My feet are shoulder width apart. And I begin pulling, the box sliding between my legs with little effort. The scraping is akin to nails on a chalkboard and my molars protest as it echoes in the small room.

I place the head of the coffin down gently, emitting a dust cloud. I cough. The lid is flat and relatively smooth. There’s little to no gap between it and the bottom. “Hang on, Mia,” I say to her, taking out my Montana knife. With the heel of my hand, I jam it in the seam. I begin to pry. The blade begins to carve grooves in the wood with my efforts. “Mia, I can’t get the lid…I just need to be able to get my fingers in between…” I say, straining further. “Kick as hard as you can. See if you can’t dislodge it.”

“’Kay. Just get me out of here.” Her frightened plea fuels me, stoking my adrenaline.

The box shifts with each kick. She gives it her all. Toward her feet, the lid gives just enough for me to get my fingers under it. And I lift with all my might. A guttural roar rents from deep within me. The lid flies through the air, landing near the iron door with a clatter like a plank that’s been dropped from a great height.

There, scrambling to her knees, is Mia. I drop to mine. I ignore the sharp pain at my kneecaps. Her arms fumble around my neck. She digs her fingers into the back of my shirt, grasping until she’s satisfied with the considerable pressure. I crush her to me, cradling the back of her head with my hand. We’re pressed together, as close as we can be. Our breathing is harsh and shallow.

“Y-you found me,” she says against my neck. Her breath catches. There’s a hint of wetness against my skin and I hear her hiccup.

I stroke her hair, the motion soothing me as much as her. “Aw, Christ, Mia…I always will. Always.”

She pulls back sharply. Her lips land on mine, fierce and messy. I groan against her mouth before parting it with my tongue. I kiss her with a deep hunger that wasn’t even present in Colombia. The force of it hits me like a gut punch and its then that I realize just how gone for her I am. How is it possible to feel like if this evening had been the worst case scenario, there’d be no coming back from it for me? The notion is strong, but no less true.

In my arms, she’s safe. She’s here and she’s real. And beyond this, there’s nothing else I want.

I break our kiss. Pushing her back to arm’s length, I cup her face. The room around us becomes abstract and irrelevant. I see only her. Mia’s hair is disheveled and covered in dust. Pieces hang down her forehead, across her eyes. Her mouth parts in a curious curve, watching me rake over her features. And her eyes, aglow and still glistening from relief, pierce me to my very core. She’s breathtaking.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, beginning to take inventory of her person. I use the opportunity to lift her chin, brush the hair off her forehead and run my hands down her arms.

She winces. “It’s just my shoulder…got a little tweaked when I tripped,” she says a little shyly.

Then I remember the way she was manhandled by her elbow in the footage. “He hurt you. That motherfu—”

“Dillon.” She uses her strong arm and places her hand on my cheek. “I don’t care about that right now. I’m just happy you were able to get to me. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve stayed in there,” she says on a shudder.

I hardly realize she’s still half in the coffin, kneeling. Getting to my feet, I scoop her up.

“I can walk,” she says, protesting.

I deposit her several feet from where we just were. “I know.” My hand goes to her cheek, tracing the tear tracks through the dirt and grime. It reminds me of the night we came to New York and she was hiding in the shadows of her front door. She had been beautiful then, hauntingly so.

Because I can’t help myself, I lean down and kiss her again. She melts against me, meeting each other halfway. Warmth spreads to my extremities, replacing the thrill of adrenaline. Her lips are soft and supple against my own, a lingering appreciation at the mere contact.

I’m too lost in the sensation of gliding lips and roaming hands to even hear when we’re no longer alone.

“ Ay dios mío !” We turn in time to see Alma crossing herself, eyes glued to the desecrated coffin.

Behind her is Midas and the rest of the team. Blaze is the first one over to us.

I raise my hand in warning. “Careful of her shoulder,” I say.

“You’re hurt?” Blaze asks, his eyes darting all over her. I know it’s his medical training, but I don’t like it.

I step back closer to Mia, placing my own arm around her waist. “I’ll be the one to take care of it.”

Mia slaps at my pec. “Settled down, caveman.”

Blaze places his arms up in surrender. “What she said, man.” But he’s wearing a knowing smile and I know that the last thing he is, is butthurt.

Phantom offers Mia a small, but genuine smile, but I don’t miss the way he eyes the two of us. Turning to the coffin, he whistles. “I think I’ll just go topside and wait for y’all…Legion? Blaze?”

They shuffle out of the cramped room. Mia and I aren’t far behind them.

We leave Midas to deal with the aftermath of the broken and sullied coffin, and Alma’s growing hysterics over the fact.

It’s some time before the two reemerge, Alma looking slightly less green around the gills. Midas looks a little wearied, with circles starting to appear under his eyes. None of it stops him from making his second stop of the night at the ATM on our way out. “Our sincerest apologies, Alma,” he says, handing over another stack of euros. “That should cover any repairs…”

I don’t hear what she says in response because Mia and I have stepped out into the cooling night air. It’s open and vast, a welcome contrast to her confinement and our stifling crowd experience from earlier.

On our walk back to the hotel, I hold her hand.

When we reach our floor, everyone goes to their rooms, satisfied with the night’s outcome. Mia thanks the guys for their efforts before they disappear behind their doors.

“Midas, thank you. For everything that you guys did tonight.” Mia has hold of my hand still, with no intention of letting go. What would it matter anyway? Midas had seen us kissing when he came down to the crypt.

He tilts his head. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

She offers him a tired, but grateful smile. “Oh, and one more thing,” she says, moving half an inch closer to me, “Dillon will be staying in my room tonight.”

Midas had just placed his key in the slot. At her statement, it’s forgotten, the lock beeping and blinking red as he turns to look at her.

“Copy that,” he says softly.

Then, the door closes behind him.