“We need to hide!” Sister María whispered. “This way.”
Weapon raised, Dylan followed her down a narrow hallway to a set of stairs that led down to a door with the wordMantenimiento— Maintenance — painted on it in large, black letters. The door was padlocked.
“Stand back.” He kicked the door open then flicked on the light.
Electrical panels. Pipes. Emergency water shut-off. Janitorial supplies.
Dylan drew Sister María inside and closed the door behind them.
In his earpiece, Tower announced they were safely away.
“Cobra Actual, this is Cruz. Copy that. We’ve taken shelter in a basement. Will stay in touch via cell phone.”
The team would soon be out of range of his radio.
“They made it?”
“Yes.” Dylan saw relief on Sister María’s face.
“Thank God.” She glanced around. “Now what?”
“Now we survive.”
7
This wasn’t how Gabriela had expected the rescue to end. At least Dianne and Tim were on their way home again.
When she spoke next, it was in English. He’d spoken English to her before. He obviously knew she was from the US, even if he didn’t know her real profession. “What’s your name?”
“Dylan Cruz.” He raised his night-vision goggles, which were fixed to his helmet, then took off his helmet and shucked off his backpack. “I’ve got a medic kit. It looks like someone roughed you up. Let’s take care of it.”
She touched fingers to her swollen lip. “The man you killed did that.”
He pulled a kit out of his backpack. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
He still believed she was a religious sister. Under these circumstances, would she be authorized to drop her cover? She had no idea. What had happened tonight wasn’t in the playbook.
Better to keep your cover for now.
He reached for a metal folding chair and motioned for her to sit. “Sister.”
“Don’t apologize. You only did what he forced you to do.”
“Live by the sword, die by the sword, right?” He handed her a moist wipe. “You’ve got his blood on your face.”
“Thanks.” She wiped first her face and then her hands, then handed him the wipe. “What branch of the military are you in?”
He tucked it into a plastic bag, “I used to be a SEAL. I was an assaulter with Blue Squadron, DEVGRU—what you civilians like to call Seal Team Six.”
Gabriela was impressed. She knew what DEVGRU was.
“I work for a private military company now.”
That explained the lack of a US flag or any other identifying feature on his uniform. It might also explain why the Agency hadn’t told him and the others that she wasn’t a religious sister. Her mission was classified as top secret. She doubted whether employees of a private company had top-secret security authorization.
“And your family is from Cuba?”
He grinned. “Puerto Rico.”