Forgiving Paris: A Novel(30)
Like the one Anders McMillan was running.
Afternoon sunshine streamed across the Belizean shoreline as Jack took his spot on his balcony. Just another day in paradise as far as Anders and his men would be concerned. They didn’t expect anything. Jack felt sure of it. From his hotel balcony, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Same way Anders’s men wouldn’t.
The raid was in three hours.
Like before every mission, Jack would take the day to think through the details, seeing the events play out in his mind until they were so clear he wasn’t only going through the motions. He was living them.
Sunset tonight was at six thirty-one, and an hour after that the sky would be dark. Raids often took place on the darkest nights, and this would be no exception. Tomorrow was a new moon, so tonight just the faintest sliver of light would hang in the sky.
The USS Tripoli would begin their part of the mission at seven forty sharp. That’s when a pilot and two gunners from the Army’s 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment would lift off in a Black Hawk helicopter and fly it to the spot just over the rooftop of the Palace. The 160th regiment was a famous group, also known as the Night Stalkers.
Some people thought the Night Stalkers team was a thing of fiction, showing up only in action movies. That wasn’t true. These were the Army’s most elite pilots, able to fly under the cover of night and carry out some of the military’s most dangerous missions. The purpose of the Night Stalkers was to serve the nation’s elite military units—even if it cost them their lives. One of the division’s most famous raids was against Osama bin Laden. The regiment’s motto was simply: Night Stalkers Don’t Quit.
And they didn’t.
Jack felt good about their participation in tonight’s operation. Eight Navy SEALs would rappel from the Black Hawk to the roof of the building. Until given an all-clear signal, the Night Stalkers would remain hovering overhead with the two gunners ready to add support from the air. Just in case.
Eliza had told Jack what to expect at each of the doors on every floor. In addition, one of the agents on the ground had verified a few of the entries. Eliza still hated Jack, but she was telling the truth. She probably figured no point getting them all killed tonight. The raid was going down with or without her help, and she knew it.
Wrong information would only harm all of them.
A breeze blew over the balcony and settled Jack’s soul. Over the last few days, every bit of intelligence had been passed on to Oliver, and the information disseminated to the Army and Navy. The plan tonight had been analyzed from every angle. And the risks were substantial.
Guards at each of the doors were armed with auto matic weapons. The second they heard a helicopter overhead or someone crashing through a door, bullets would fly. Each of the SEALs would be wearing helmet and body armor, along with night-vision goggles. They would be packing the very best M4 rifles, .45 handguns, six-inch Daniel Winkler fixed blades, M79 grenade launchers and M67 grenades. And their weapons would be fitted with the best silencers on the market.
They would also have bolt cutters, tourniquets, various tools, and breaching devices—small flat boxes they could quickly fix to a door and ignite to gain entry into just about any room. In case the girls got separated and had to be rescued individually.
Each SEAL would also carry a camera—to collect every bit of evidence along the way. This was a multidimensional raid. First and most important it was a rescue. But beyond that tonight they would capture and arrest Anders McMillan and every one of his men. Captured alive was the goal, but if they met with resistance, it was a takedown. Period. The mission was justified in every sense of the word.
Jack only wished they’d had enough evidence to do this sooner.
Anders would be brought back to the States, where he would face enough charges to put him away for a couple hundred years. And while the Army, Navy and FBI pulled off the raid at the Palace, a Belizean police contingency led by Chief Manny Averes would apprehend Betsy Norman, an American expat who helped kid nap girls and bring them to the Palace. For much of Eliza’s life, Betsy had been assigned to her. Making sure she got her sun and that no man ever took advantage of her. Not until her father said so. From what surveillance suggested, the FBI had enough evidence to lock the woman away for good.
Jack wondered how many Betsy Normans there were in the world. Evil people willing to traffic girls—all to make a paycheck. He angled his face toward the sky. So many details, and each of them would have to work perfectly for the mission to succeed. In order for all of them to return home alive. He wished he could call Shane… or his parents. Someone who cared whether he made it back tonight.
But there was no one to call, and anyway, all Jack cared about was the rescue.
Eliza had told him most of the girls were U.S. citizens. She wasn’t sure about herself. “I tried to block out everything from my childhood,” she had told him. Whether that was true or not, Jack couldn’t tell. He didn’t blame Eliza for not wanting to talk about her life. Anything she said could get her killed—at least until after the mission.
Once they rescued the girls they would take them back to Texas. Agents in San Antonio would match them with girls on various missing children databases. If all went well, tonight the girls would sleep at a safe shelter outside the city.
And in a few days some of them could even be home.
The rest would be in the custody of the social services system, which would work to find their families or next of kin. The few Canadian children would be flown back to their country in the next week or so. Others, with no families, would be placed in foster care.