91
Henderson
“We’re going to land right here,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the roar of the engines as I point to a patch of trees on the satellite photo. “Then we’re going to make our way over there.” I jab my finger at the white building in the middle.
“Got it.” Danser pushes back his dirty-blond hair, his face in profile uncannily reminiscent of Sokolov’s. “Do you have photos of the targets?”
“Here.” I hand over the photo of Esguerra’s wife. “We want to capture either this woman or her baby—or preferably both. They’re our ticket out of the compound.”
Barrett peers at the photo over Danser’s shoulder. “She looks kind of little. Should be easy enough.”
“This one would work also, but I don’t know if she’ll be at the main house.” I pull out a picture of Sara Sokolov and gi
