“Do it,” Noah said. He turned to another tech. “Get the drones up. I want eyes on every road and structure near that rest stop.”
The hum in the operations room grew louder as everyone moved into action. Jackson stayed by the monitor, his gaze fixed on the red pin marking the meeting site.
Jackson and Noah stood in front of the map, heads close, voices low and clipped. They ran through the options like men clearing a room, precise and brutal in their logic. Isla would have to look like Avery and act like Avery, but she couldn’t look as if she had a team hiding nearby. The trick was making the van look empty while keeping a team ready to move the moment Isla had eyes on the hostages.
“No heat signatures,” Jackson said. “If they sweep the van with a scanner and see extra bodies, it’s over.”
Noah nodded. “We’ll cloak the operatives. Thermal dampers in the seats, localized cooling packs, and we’ll position them low and spread out to minimize a heat footprint. It’s not perfect, but it’ll buy us enough time to get eyes and then act.”
Jackson pictured Isla in the driver’s seat, hair covered, face a dead-ringer thanks to the five-second mask. She’d look alone. She’d drive up to the meeting point like she belonged there, ask to see the hostages, and give them their opening. If the kidnappers balked, the team in the van would have to move fast and quiet.
Noah tapped the tablet and pulled up the overlay of escape routes. “Once Isla signals we’ve got visual, two men hit low and clear. Two others cover approach routes. Beck’s on overwatch with the chopper if we need a vertical lift.” He met Jackson’s eyes. “Timing has to be surgical.”
Jackson’s jaw practically locked. “We get one shot at this. No second chances if they’re violent when they find out it’s a decoy.”
Avery’s voice cut in, raw and immediate. “What if it fails? What if they figure out it’s Isla and not me?” She was standingtoo close, the worry in her face plain as daylight. “I can’t just sit here and let people die because I’m hiding.”
Jackson’s first reaction was blunt. “No,” he said, cutting her off before she added more. “You are not walking into that.”
Avery didn’t step back. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Just hear me out,” she insisted. “If the Brotherhood figures out Isla’s a decoy, they’re going to start killing the hostages. We need a Plan B that actually gets them out alive.”
He folded his arms, trying to keep the anger from his voice. “Plan B doesn’t mean throwing you at them.”
“It might,” she argued. “But only if it’s surgical. Only if everyone else is in position.”
Jackson studied her. She wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t being reckless. She was thinking like they trained to think, like someone who’d been targeted her whole life and wanted to stop the bleeding.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “What’s your plan?”
She gathered her breath. “Plan B kicks in if the kidnappers realize Isla isn’t me and demand I go personally. I’ll wear body armor and I’ll be armed. Once I’m out of the van, I’ll create the distraction myself. Maybe a smoke bomb or something loud enough to mask movement. That’ll give the operatives the chance they need to move in and free the hostages. We control the moment, not them.”
The muscles in Jackson’s jaw turned to steel. “You want to be the bait.”
“I want to be the insurance policy,” she said. “If they want me, they get me on our terms. Not theirs. We control the timing, the route, and the cover. We have drones, chopper overwatch, and teams placed on egress routes. We make sure the people with the guns never get to set the tempo.”
Jackson looked at her for a long moment. He hated the thought of her in the line of fire, but he also knew she wouldn’t be still while people died.
“Fine,” he finally said. “We’ll draft the routes and the backup signals. We’ll rehearse the comm windows. But you listen to me. If I tell you to get the hell out of there, you do it.”
“Okay,” she said. “I will.”
He swallowed and already started running the plan in his head. Time was everything. They had to make their choices count.
Jackson listened as Noah ran down the roster, voice flat and clinical. “You’re all in the van. Jackson, Garrett, Cal, Isla, Avery, and Colt,” he added, tipping his head to the operative at one of the computers. “Everyone except Isla will be cloaked. Garrett and Cal on the low entry, you and I take overwatch if we have to go hot.”
He nodded. No point arguing. They moved with the efficiency of men who’d done this before. Garrett checked comms and ammunition. Cal ran point on the entry kit. Jackson strapped extra magazines into his vest and slotted smoke grenades and flashbangs into pouches along his belt and Avery’s.
Noah went over the timing one more time. “Isla goes in alone. She gets visual on the hostages. If she signals live, the team hits. If she goes dark or the feed shows a compromise, we abort to Plan B and move Avery in as the emergency exchange.”
They geared up fast, every motion tight and practiced. Jackson checked his gun, then his sidearm. He counted rounds twice. He felt the weight of the decision in his chest, but there was no time to dwell.
They were heading for the garage when Isla stepped out of the bathroom. The wig sat right, the mask lined up. From the doorway she looked like Avery at a glance. Close enough to sell itfrom a distance. Jackson’s first reaction was a small, cold relief. It might be enough to buy them the seconds they needed.
Isla moved as if she knew the role, folding her hands at her sides. Jackson saw the quick glint at her hip where two hidden holsters hugged her waist under the coat. They were concealed from quick scans, tucked low and flat. Isla met his eye and gave a tiny, confident nod.
“All right,” Jackson said. “Let’s go.”
They loaded into the van, gear clinking softly in the confined space. Isla slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and the wig, her voice calm as she checked comms. “Everyone set?”