His Wife or Her Grave

The Escape Plan

TYRELL

Forty-eight hours.

Tyrell sat in a folding chair in a safe house that smelled like mildew and gun oil, staring at a satellite image of James Keene's estate spread across the table in front of him.

Forty-eight hours since Ziva had walked toward James with her head held high.

Since she'd sacrificed herself to save him.

Since he'd failed her. Again.

His face was bandaged where one of James’s men had hit him with a rifle butt. Three cracked ribs. Bruised kidney. Marcus had wanted to take him to a hospital.

Tyrell had refused.

There was no time.

"Sir." Marcus entered the room, carrying two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Tyrell. "You need to eat something."

Tyrell didn't touch the coffee. Didn't look up from the satellite image. "Show me the guard rotations again."

Marcus sighed but pulled up the surveillance footage they'd been collecting. Cameras they'd positioned in the woods surrounding the estate. Thermal imaging. Drone footage.

James's fortress.

Twenty-foot walls. Armed guards at every entrance. Cameras. Motion sensors. Guard dogs.

And somewhere inside: Ziva.

If she was still alive.

Tyrell's hands clenched into fists.

"The perimeter shifts every six hours," Marcus said, pointing at the screen. "Twelve guards total. Four at the main gate. Two at the service entrance. Six on roving patrol."

"Inside?"

"Unknown, but based on the size of the property, I'd estimate at least another dozen. Maybe more."

Tyrell studied the layout. The estate was massive. Thirty rooms minimum. Multiple floors. Dozens of places to hide someone.

Or hurt someone.

"I let her go," he said quietly.

Marcus looked at him. "Sir."

"I should have died first. Should have told James to shoot me. Should have..."

"Then she'd still be captured. And you'd be dead. And no one would be coming for her." Marcus' voice was firm. "She made a choice. A brave one. Now we honor it by getting her back."

Tyrell's chest ached. Every breath hurt.

He couldn't sleep or eat. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. Ziva walking toward James. The fear in her eyes when she'd looked back at him one last time before Timothy jabbed that needle into her neck.

I'm coming. Hold on.

"What about the tunnels?" Tyrell asked.

Marcus pulled up a different image. An old architectural plan.

"The estate was built in 1847. Originally a manor house for a shipping magnate. Beneath the property, there's a network of service tunnels. Used for moving supplies, servants, that kind of thing."

"Do they still exist?"

"Satellite ground-penetrating radar says yes. Most have collapsed, but there's one main tunnel that runs from the old carriage house here..." Marcus pointed, "to a sub-basement beneath the main house."

"Can we access it?"

"The entrance is hidden. Overgrown. But with the right equipment, yes."

Tyrell leaned forward. "How long to breach?"

"Cutting through the old iron gate? Ten minutes. Maybe less."

"Security?"

"The tunnels aren't monitored. James probably doesn't even know they exist. The plans were filed over a century ago."

Tyrell's mind raced. A way in. Undetected.

"We go tonight."

Marcus hesitated. "Sir, we need more time to..."

"She's been in there for two days." Tyrell's voice was hard. Final. "We don't have more time."

"This is suicide."

"Then I'll die getting her out." Tyrell stood. "Assemble the team."

Marcus studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

The team assembled in the safe house's garage.

Six men. All ex-military. Extraction specialists Marcus had worked with before.

Tyrell had liquidated what was left of his assets to pay them.

He didn't care.

Money meant nothing if Ziva was...

He couldn't finish that thought.

The men geared up in silence.

Tyrell strapped on his own vest, checked his weapons. Glock 19. Extra magazines. Combat knife.

Marcus approached, face grim. "Sir, if we're captured..."

"We won't be."

"But if we are, James will kill us all. Slowly."

Tyrell met his eyes. "Then we don't get captured."

Marcus nodded once.

They loaded into two black SUVs. Tyrell rode in the first vehicle, staring out the window as they drove through darkness toward the estate.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Tyrell's heart stopped. He pulled it out.

A text message. No words. Just a video file.

His thumb hovered over it.

"What is it?" Marcus asked from the driver's seat.

"I don't know."

Tyrell opened the file.

The video started.

Ziva.

Alive.

Standing in a room lit by candles. Wearing an elegant white dress, like something a bride would wear.

Her hair was styled. Makeup applied. She looked like a doll. Perfect and lifeless.

She stared directly at the camera, eyes hollow.

James’s voice came from off-screen.

"Say it, darling."

Ziva's mouth moved. Her voice was flat. Robotic. Reading from a script.

"I'm staying here willingly. Don't come for me."

The video ended.

Tyrell's hands shook with rage.

Marcus glanced over. "Sir?"

Tyrell handed him the phone.

Marcus watched. His jaw tightened. "It's coercion. She's reading a script."

"I know."

But the image of Ziva in that white dress, standing in that candlelit room like some twisted wedding ceremony, was burned into Tyrell's brain.

What had James done to her in two days?

What would he do if Tyrell didn't get there in time?

"Drive faster," Tyrell said.

Marcus pressed the accelerator.

The estate appeared in the distance. Dark against the night sky. Walls and towers silhouetted by security lights.

A fortress.

A prison.

Tyrell's chest tightened.

I'm coming, Ziva. Hold on.

The SUVs pulled off the main road onto a dirt path barely visible through overgrown brush. They drove another mile before stopping.

Everyone got out in silence.

Marcus led them through the woods. They moved like shadows. Practiced. Efficient.

After ten minutes, they reached it. The old carriage house. Collapsed on one side. Covered in ivy.

Marcus pulled back vegetation, revealing a rusted iron gate set into the ground.

"This is it," he whispered.

One of the team members pulled out cutting tools. Started working on the lock.

Tyrell knelt beside the gate, looking down into darkness.

Somewhere on the other end of that tunnel: Ziva.

The lock gave way with a metallic snap.

They lifted the gate. It groaned on ancient hinges.

Marcus shined a flashlight down. Stone steps led into blackness.

"Radio silence from here on," Marcus said quietly. "Comms are only for emergencies."

Everyone nodded.

One by one, they descended into the tunnel.

Tyrell went last, pulling the gate closed behind them.

The darkness swallowed them whole.