Dylan didn’t join in the banter. He’d felt uneasy since last night when that gunshot had gone off. They’d watched as a body wrapped in plastic was carried onto the loading dock and dumped into a van. What the hell had happened over there?
He went over the plan. “We play for a while. You try to get the ball from me, and then I’ll take it from you. That kind of thing. Then, when the time is right, I’ll kick the ball into one of those window wells. If the guards raise their weapons, we stop, act surprised and friendly, and let them get it for us.”
“Got it.”
Last night, Segal had gone for another walk, this time making his way around the warehouse. He’d found a door that went downstairs, but it had clearly been in disuse for a while, the stairwell full of dirt and trash. There wasn’t even a guard posted there—a sign perhaps that it was bricked up from the other side or inaccessible in some other way. Sister María had said there was only one entrance to the room where she and the others were being kept.
Now, it was up to Dylan and Jones to gather intel on those windows—if they could get close enough.
Dylan dropped the ball to the asphalt and dribbled it down the street. Jones came up beside him and almost tripped him trying to get the ball away.
Speaking Spanish now, Dylan ribbed him. “What was that,pendejo?”
Over on the loading dock, a couple ofsicarioswere watching, grins on their stupid faces.
Dylan and Jones grappled over the ball, Jones finally stealing it and dribbling it the other way. Dylan ran up beside him, stole the ball, and took off. Back and forth they went, working up a sweat in the hot sunshine, the guards shouting encouragement and laughing along with them.
Then Dylan saw his chance. He kicked the ball straight toward one of the basement windows. It rolled and sank into the window well.
Goal!
“Mierda.”Shit. Grinning and chuckling, he jogged toward the window. “Out of bounds. Sorry.”
One of thesicariosby the main doors shouted for him to stop, but he pretended not to hear, bending over and reaching for the ball.
Iron bars bolted into concrete. Gaps not wide enough for a person to pass through. Windows made of single-pane glass.
There was no way anyone was going in or out of these windows.
“Hey,güevón, what are you doing?”
Dylan scooped up the ball and stood, putting a dumb smile on his face. “Just getting our ball, buddy.”
They went back to playing, stealing the ball from one another until at least an hour had passed.
“You’re getting better,” Dylan said to Jones, still in Spanish. “Let’s get something to eat,pana.”
They were due to check in with Tower and Shields.
This time, Andris was there.
Tower didn’t like what Dylan had to say. “There’s no way to get those bars off without risking injury to the hostages?”
“None, sir.”
“What about additional entrances?” Andris asked. “We’ve got the main doors and loading dock and then a side entrance. Anything else?”
“I circled the place last night,” Segal said. “The only additional entrance I found is an unused door that goes down to the basement. The hinges have rusted, and there’s a few years’ worth of debris piled up in the stairwell—leaves, trash, mud.”
Dylan offered his two cents. “We need to know that’s not a dead-end before we try to get in that way. We don’t want to blow the hinges only to walk into a brick wall.”
Then Jones chimed in. “Why can’t we just kill the guards and use the key? They’ve got at most six guys at the doors and two on the roof. If we use suppressors and move at night, we might be able to get inside without anyone knowing we’re there.”
Segal shook his head. “We’d have to neutralize all our targets at the same exact time, or someone will set off the alarm, giving them a chance to kill the hostages.”
“Actually, it might be our best bet,” Andris countered. “They won’t take the sound of a key sliding into the lock as a threat. Is there any chance that they’ve changed the locks?”
“No way.” Dylan was certain of it. “We’ve been watching round the clock.”