Page 3 of Protecting Olivia

Garrett was the first to rush the helicopter, no doubt he wanted to climb aboard and start scouring the dark web for information. I, however, just wanted to get in and catch a quick nap before shit hit the fan.

In under a minute everyone was aboard, and we were underway.

Chapter Two

Olivia

Every inch of my body ached, muscles I didn’t even know I had screamed in protest when I tried to sit up. My head was pounding from lack of sleep and food. The overwhelming stench of rotting garbage and…something else in the room made my stomach lurch, and I started to gag. It was hard to tell what the “something else” was with the amount of dried vomit that was now crusted in my hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I was allowed to take a shower. It had to have been days, but for all I knew, it could have been weeks.

When I was first brought here, I was given a daily bath and a tray of food. After the guard had caught me trying to pick the lock on my handcuffs with a plastic fork, I was no longer allowed food, or a bath, or the luxury of looking outside. The windows were now plywooded over, preventing even the tiniest sliver of daylight into the room. I had no idea what time of day it was, or how many days had passed since the windows were covered.

It had to have been past the morning hours if the guards were still sticking to their original schedule. There sitting next to me was a single bottle of water and V8 juice. That’s what I was supposed to live on, fucking vegetable juice and a small water.

I opened my water and took the first tentative sip, waiting to see if my stomach would reject the liquid. I would only get one bottle, I knew better than to drink it all at once even if my dehydrated body begged me to.

Yelling outside the door made me jump, and the tiniest bit of water splashed and hit me in the face. What I wouldn’t have given to dump the bottle over my head and rinse some of the grime off of my face and hair. But that wasn’t an option; the only water I would spare for cleanup was on my wrist. It was a waste now, I was sure of it. The angry red welts from the cuff rubbing had turned into open sores that were oozing pus. They were most definitely infected; it was pointless to continue to try and clean them. But I couldn’t stand the disgusting sight and needed to wash it anyway, even if it was in vain.

The yelling continued, growing louder and louder. These fucking idiots screamed and fought with one another every day. They had to have been the worst kidnappers in the history of kidnapping. The idiots obviously knew that I was a nobody. Sure, my mother worked as a White House aide, but no one would risk their political career on an aide's kidnapped daughter. Not to mention the government didn’t pay ransom.

I laid back down on the hard, wood floor and found my focal point on the wall across the room. I tried to tune out the yelling by focusing on the one blemish on the otherwise perfect black and white damask wallpaper. Most days it worked, I could find my center and meditate, other days I focused on that one spot and plotted how I was going to kill my captors.

I knew that was never going to happen and I was going to die in this room. I had made peace with it. I felt sorry for my mom; she would miss me and blame herself for my wild ways. But the truth was, she was a great mom even if she didn’t have a lot of time for me. I always knew she loved me. My best friend, Erin, hell she was my only real friend, she would miss me, too. She tried to tell me I had been drinking too much, and she was worried about me. So, what did I do? I shoved her out of my life. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right. I wasn’t ready to face what my life had become. What a disappointment I had turned out to be. The last conversation I had with her I told her to mind her own fucking business and lose my number.

Now I was locked in this revolting room, my death was certain, and I regretted every nasty word I ever spoke to her. Yet, she would never know. I would die in this room alone. Either the men who took me would kill me or the worsening infection on my wrist would. I begged the assholes to switch the metal cuffs to my other hand to give my shoulder a break and let the sores heal, but they refused.

My special spot on the wall was not helping, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quiet my thoughts. I couldn’t make the yelling go away. I squinted my eyes and strained to concentrate on the red mark across the room. The harder I tried to focus, the more my head hurt. All the years of yoga classes and meditation techniques I had learned were not helping. Instead, my mind was wandering, I couldn’t stop thinking about the spot on the wall. It had become an obsession of mine. I had nothing to do in this place but think.

In all my pondering, I had gathered that this room was freshly wallpapered. I knew it was. The first day I was brought here I could smell the glue. Why in the hell would someone wallpaper a room to keep a hostage in? I was beginning to think they chose this ugly pattern to drive me crazy. It made me dizzy just looking at it. Now there was a red spot across the room. Either I had officially lost my mind, or it was getting bigger every time I looked at it.

Gunshots pulled me from thoughts of wallpaper and spots. I crawled to the wall as quickly as I could and balled myself up as small as possible. I prayed to God that the assholes who took me were out there killing each other. I strained to hear what was being said. I spoke very little Spanish and could only pick up on certain words. I knew the asshole who took me could speak English. He spoke it fluently the night I met him in the bar. We spoke for a long while, his English was perfect. Now, however, the bastard wouldn’t speak a word of it to me. He only spoke in Spanish like the rest of them.

I was going to die locked in this room.

Chapter Three

Leo

When we touched down, Z received a message from Tex with coordinates to a place he called the Diner. When we arrived at the nondescript location in the middle of nowhere, it was indeed an abandoned restaurant.

“Sir, I have to advise against this. The location has not been vetted or cleared,” Gerald said, clearly vexed by the whole trip.

“Nonsense. I’m fine,” Tom dismissed.

“Sir.”

“I said I was fine Gerald. End of,” Tom asserted.

With that, we all exited the SUV that was helpfully left for us at the airstrip. “Mr. President, if you wouldn’t mind standing back with Gerald while I clear the building,” Z proposed even though Tom had just given Gerald a hard time about not entering.

This was not our first rodeo with the President. I actually felt bad for Gerald and Aaron; it had to be difficult guarding the POTUS when he made a habit of going off the reservation.

“Jesus, how many times do I have to remind you all – Tom, just Tom. There is no press corps here, no White House staff. We are gathered here as friends,” the President corrected. “And are you all forgetting that I was a UDT, doing the business in dungarees before the word SEAL was even thought up? Fuckin’ SEAL pups.”

It was hard to contain my laughter at Tom’s outburst reminding us all that he was an original Frogman. The Underwater Demolition Team, or UDTs, pioneered Naval Special Warfare. It is because of them that NSW is what it is today. They were badass motherfuckers with green faces wreaking havoc in Vietnam, and any Special Operator current or former knows to respect a UDT’s place in SEAL history. Tom was the only person that could get away with calling Z a SEAL pup. It was downright hilarious. I was definitely saving that shit for later use. Though there was no doubt it would earn me an ass chewing, it would be well worth it.

Tom pulled a Sig Sauer P226 from his concealed holster under his suit jacket and leveled it at the door. “Now if you boys are done yapping your gums about my safety, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Hooyah,” Z barked out a laugh.