CHAPTER 13 — Old Habits
Preparing for an infiltration mission as a forty-four-year-old suburban mother required a bizarre blending of two very different lives. On Thursday afternoon, I found myself packing Leo’s lunchbox with carrot sticks and turkey sandwiches, while simultaneously charging encrypted communication earpieces and checking the batteries on military-grade thermal optics I had borrowed from Elias. Mark walked into the kitchen, watching me carefully clean and inspect a heavy tactical stun gun. We had agreed, strictly, on non-lethal force. We were not assassins; we were trying to stop a crime, not commit murder.
"Are you sure about this, Sarah?" Mark asked, his brow furrowed with deep concern. "I know what you're capable of. I saw it with Greg. But these guys are professionals. Vance has dozens of them. If you get caught..."
I set the stun gun down and walked over to my husband. I placed both hands on his face, looking deeply into his eyes. "I spent two decades doing exactly this in places where the people didn't speak my language and the local governments wanted me dead. Marcus Vance is a local bully with a fat bank account. He relies on people being too afraid to fight back. I am not afraid, Mark. But I need you here. I need you to hold the fort. Can you do that?"
Mark took a deep breath, his hands resting on my waist. The coward I had nearly divorced months ago was completely gone. In his place was a resolute partner. "The doors will be locked. The alarm will be set. Nobody gets past me. Just... come back to us. Promise me." I kissed him—a fierce, promises-kept kind of kiss. "I always come back," I whispered.
That evening, I kissed my children goodnight, telling them I had to run some "errands" for Grandma. I slipped out the back door, dressed in entirely non-reflective black tactical gear, a low-profile plate carrier hidden beneath a dark windbreaker. I met Miller and Elias two miles away in a rented, unmarked utility van. Elias was behind the wheel, running diagnostics on his laptop, while Miller was in the back, checking the loadout. It felt remarkably, terrifyingly familiar. The scent of ozone, the quiet hum of electronics, the unspoken brotherhood of people who trusted each other with their lives.
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"Target warehouse is in the industrial district," Elias briefed us as he put the van in gear. "Two guards on the perimeter. Three inside. Vance is actually there tonight—intel says he’s meeting with a fence to move some stolen construction equipment. We get in, we access his physical safe in the back office, we photograph the ledgers, and we get out like ghosts. If we engage, it's silent and non-lethal."
"Just like the old days, Captain," Miller grinned, racking a zip-tie handcuff to test its strength. I pulled a black balaclava over my head, leaving only my eyes exposed. "No," I replied, the icy combat focus taking over my mind entirely. "The old days were just a job. This is my family. Let's move."
