Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Can - By Kat Martin Page 0,121
at the ceiling, a thick lump building in her throat. Since her arrival, she had studied the terrain, hoping to find some way to escape, but the bayou surrounded them on one side, armed men guarded the other.
The lump in her throat grew thicker. What kind of a life would they live in this terrible place?
Closing her eyes against the urge to weep, Claire pretended she was lying next to Ben.
Thirty-Four
Leaving Jesse tied and gagged in the motel room next door, Ben, Jake and Alex spent the day making plans. Using Jesse’s information, Sol was able to locate the road into the compound via his satellite link. Trace downloaded photos that revealed the narrow, heavily overgrown dirt track winding deep into the bayou.
Satellite imagery showed eleven men inside the perimeter hog-wire fence, matching Jesse Bragg’s info, two females, and a smaller individual who had to be Sam.
The compound was set up much like the first, with rustic cabins around an open area, outbuildings and a garden. There was no sign of movement along the road leading into the compound, no sign of anyone guarding it.
By nightfall they were fairly certain which cabin Claire and Sam were being held in and were ready to go in after them. With time of the essence, they couldn’t recon the area beforehand. They would have to make do with Sol’s intel and the information reluctantly provided by Jesse Bragg.
Faces streaked with black greasepaint, dressed head to foot in night camouflage, tactical vests, and carrying semi-automatic pistols, stun guns and flash grenades, they loaded into the SUVs, armed for the confrontation they hoped to avoid.
Ben drove the lead vehicle, the Tahoe, Alex riding shotgun toward the hidden road leading into the compound. Jake drove the Jeep, Trace at his side, Jesse Bragg bound and gagged in the back, an asset in case he was needed.
By the time they reached the coordinates that marked the turnoff into the muddy, rutted lane, a half-moon had risen, making the night a little too bright, but giving them the ability to move more easily through the dense, boggy terrain.
According to their intel, the compound was three miles deep in the bayou. It sat in a clearing next to a branch of the Black Snake River that slogged along beside it, brimming with alligators and poisonous snakes.
The plan was simple. En route to the compound, Trace would use the sat phone to call the Egansville sheriff and the Houston P.D. He would bring the authorities up to speed on what had happened so far, telling them they had located Claire and Sam, and giving them the location of the secondary compound.
Ben figured it would take the deputies an hour to get organized and reach the camp, plenty of time to get Claire and Sam to safety—or arrive in time to rescue them if the plan went south and he and the others were hurt...or killed.
Once they reached the compound, Jake would position himself in a location allowing him to use the Pneu-Dart X-Caliber tranquilizer rifle he had used on missions before. A former Force Recon Marine sniper, Jake would fire sleep darts to take out the perimeter guards while Ben, Trace and Alex cut through the fence.
Trace and Alex would provide backup and take out whoever happened to get in the way—hopefully without killing them—while Ben went in and brought Claire and Sam to safety.
That was plan A. Get in and get out without the Patriots knowing what the hell had happened, then waiting in a safe location for the sheriff to arrive. Both Troy and Duke were wanted men. The other men in the compound were guilty of aiding and abetting a kidnapping at the very least.
The Braggs had gotten away with breaking the law before, but Ben couldn’t let it happen again. Claire and Sam wouldn’t be safe until Troy Bragg and Duke Hutchins were in prison.
Of course, on any mission there was always a plan B. That was the plan they would use if plan A turned into a major clusterfuck. That plan included defensive firepower and trying to keep everyone alive while the Patriots, armed to the teeth, rained hellfire down on top of them.
Ben focused on plan A.
The Tahoe bounced over a rock, then tipped sideways as it came out of a deep, muddy rut in the narrow dirt lane.
“Helluva road,” Alex grumbled, bracing himself for another jarring pothole.
“Good way to keep people out,” Ben said.
Alex grinned, cutting dimples into his cheeks. “Most people, at