38
Sara
As mid-October approaches, the men’s preparations for the Turkey job ramp up, and I decide that this is going to be my opportunity.
If they do the same thing as the last time, leaving one man to watch over me, I may be able to sneak away unseen—especially if my jailer is going to be as occupied as Yan was during the Nigeria gig.
“So,” I casually ask Peter during one of our walks, “what’s the plan next week? Is Yan staying behind again?”
To my surprise, Peter shakes his head. “He can’t. None of us can this time. The security around the politician is too multi-layered; we’ll need all four of us to get to him.”
My heartbeat jumps into sudden hope territory. Trying not to sound too eager, I say, “That makes sense. I’ll be fine here. There’s plenty of food and—”
“No, ptichka.” Pe
