Finding Kenna (SEAL Team Hawaii #3)(97)

“Test, test, test,” Mustang said into his microphone, making sure their radios were working properly.

“Got ya.”

“Loud and clear.”

“Ten-four.”

The rest of the team chimed in, letting their team leader know they could hear him without any issues.

“We’re going to touch down in five. The families are desperate to escape, so we’re gonna have to do our best to keep order. Reassure them that everyone will be evacuated, but there will be several trips and a few different choppers coming and going,” Mustang said.

Pid nodded along with the rest of his team. He knew the plan, they’d gone over it several times, along with contingency scenarios. They were SEALs; having a backup plan for their backup plan was what they did. They’d all studied the maps of the area around the embassy and they knew where to meet up if they got separated.

Four minutes and forty-three seconds later, the chopper touched down on the landing pad on the roof of the embassy.

Pid and his teammates quickly exited the helo and made their way to the group of men, women, and children huddled near the stairwell.

Mustang took the lead and spoke to the group, explaining how many people would be going in this first trip. Pid and Midas checked IDs to make sure they were only taking American citizens. That was one of the hardest parts of the job; many times they’d had to turn away friends and loved ones of the Americans they were rescuing because there simply was no room for everyone, not to mention they didn’t have the proper paperwork to get them out of the country.

Ten people would be leaving on the first chopper. Pid checked the IDs of the middle-aged ambassador and his wife as they waited to board. She had two little boys huddled against her sides, and they all looked terrified. Pid did his best to smile reassuringly at the children, but he’d never been that great with kids, and they merely stared at him and hugged their mother tighter.

Pid turned toward the next person in line when he felt a tug on his belt. Looking down, he saw one of the little boys—the older one, he guessed—standing next to him.

Pid kneeled so he was eye-to-eye with the boy. “It’s going to be all right,” he said.

“Monica,” the boy said in a shaky, scared voice.

Pid frowned. “What?”

“Monica’s not here.”

“Who’s Monica?” Pid asked.

“Our nanny. Daddy said there wasn’t time to go back to the house but I don’t want to go without her. She’s waiting for us and probably scared!”

Pid patted the boy awkwardly on the shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated just a second before nodding. “Promise.”

The boy gave him a plaintive look just as his mom grabbed his hand, fast-walking him toward the chopper as if afraid someone would change their minds and they wouldn’t be able to leave.

Pid stood and turned to Slate. “You hear that?”

Slate nodded. “We’re not supposed to be running all over the city looking for stragglers. We have orders,” he reminded Pid.

“I know, but it sounds as if she thought they were coming back for her.”

“We don’t even know if she’s American,” Slate said reasonably.

Pid nodded, even as he frowned. He didn’t know why the boy had struck a chord in him. Maybe because even though the kid was scared, he’d loved his nanny enough to brave talking to Pid. “Once we get this chopper loaded, it’ll be a while before the next one arrives. I know from studying the maps that the ambassador’s house isn’t far from here…”

Slate stared at him for a beat, then nodded. “I’ll talk to Mustang and go with you.”

Pid mentally sighed in relief and he gave Slate a chin lift. They’d dash to the house, talk to the nanny. If she was American, they’d bring her back here for extraction. If not, they’d inform her that the family was safe and she should lay low. They could be there and back within twenty minutes. Thirty, tops.





Monica Collins paced anxiously back and forth. Where were they? The family should have been back by now.

Desmond Laws, the US ambassador to Algeria, and his wife had left with their two little boys two hours ago on an errand, and hadn’t returned. It was her morning off, so she’d stayed behind. It wasn’t exactly smart to go anywhere with the protests going on, but Desmond had told her not to worry and left anyway. And now they weren’t back, and the protestors were creeping closer and closer to the house.

She was scared to stay, but even more scared to leave. Growing up, her dad’s mantra was, Stay put. Protect what’s yours. But Monica didn’t think the house was the safest place to be right now.

The crowds had gotten more and more unruly as the protests continued. She’d watched on the news as people broke windows of businesses and homes, looted stores, even burned cars and buildings. The house the US government had provided for the Laws’ was in a neighborhood that was usually very safe. But nothing was as it had been when Monica had first arrived in the country.

A sound at the back door startled her—and she turned to see a man standing on the other side of the glass. He wore green camouflage pants and shirt, his sleeves rolled up. He had material over his mouth and nose, and black paint smeared on his face above the covering. He also had a rifle slung around his chest, and she caught a glimpse of a black tattoo on his forearm.