28. Diego

The further I walked from the cabin, the more uneasy I felt about leaving Roni behind. Surely there was another way to help fortify the cabin.

Don't lie to yourself, Diego. You need to make the trip.

Roni would be fine for the two days max that I planned to be gone. I packed light, and I spent all day alternating between a brisk walk and fast jog. Our hike to the cabin took longer because Roni wasn't used to the long stretches of hiking and exercising like I was. I took riskier paths this time around, but they helped make up time. An entire day's hike into town was completed in eight hours instead.

When I came across the main road that led into Anchorage, I let out a sigh of relief. I was sweaty, hungry, and exhausted.

The first thing I did was pull on my hoodie and beanie. I smeared some dirt on my face to help disguise what I actually looked like. My backpack and camo pants would help convince anyone I talked to of my story, a hunter who stopped in to get supplies. The chances of me running into the two people Roni and I encountered in the city was slim. It might be Alaska, but Anchorage was still a pretty large city.

I stopped into a diner and sat down at a booth.

A blond waitress likely in her forties approached. "My name is Darla. What can I get you, sugar?" Her roots were turning white, and her voice was deep, the telltale sign she'd been a smoker all her life. Her pack of cigarettes peeked out of the pocket of her red apron.

"Water, please."

She gave me a good once-over before she turned to leave me. "Sure thing."

She came back a moment later with the glass.

"What brings you in?" she asked curiously.

"Came up here for a hunting trip. Came in to refuel and resupply before going back at it," I said as I held up my glass in a mock toast and brought it to my lips. I drained half the glass right before her eyes.

"Well then, what can I get ya?"

I glanced over the menu and ordered a burger and several baskets of fries to go. She gave me a curious glance as I scarfed the food down and stuck the to-go box in my bag. I hoped Roni would appreciate the gesture.

She came to take my plate and brought the check. "Do you happen to know anything about the private jets flying in?"

I looked up at her as I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. "No, I don't. Is that unusual?"

She nodded. "Sure is. Usually there's the commercial airliners, military aircrafts, and the normal bush planes—but there are several private jets set to arrive over the coming days. My husband is a manager over at the airport. Apparently it's causing quite the stir."

Fuck, that had to be the Geneva Project.

"Any idea who the visitors might be?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Not a clue, unfortunately. I've been asking all my tables today to see what everyone knows. Sorry to bore you with what's probably just a mundane group of tourists. You take care, dear. I hope you have a successful hunt." She placed her hand on my shoulder lightly in a friendly way before she left for the kitchen.

I paid my bill in cash and made my way across the city. I had to be strategic about what exactly I bought. It wasn't like I could carry back a dozen two by sixteens or a lot of supplies. Shopping was just as much strategy as what to build and where. On top of that, I needed to get back to Roni quickly. We needed as much time as we could to prepare for what was likely going to be a large-scale attack.

I put serious consideration into notifying the local authorities and requesting their presence up on our cliff for a while, but my inability to trust them had me bypassing the police station without a word. I stepped into a hunting store and picked up several more guns. I had a strong feeling we were going to need them.

As I entered the home improvement store, I kept my head down as I threw supplies into a cart. A spool of thin wire, electrical wire, barbed wire, netting, a hammer, and loads of nails. Batteries, tape, a fold-up e-tool, and some snares. I loaded up on everything I thought I could carry. I quickly checked myself out in the self-checkout. I stepped outside, and it was long after dark. My best bet was to find a cheap motel to stay in overnight and head out shortly before sunrise. I couldn't take a chance on getting injured on the way back. I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of keeping Roni safe if I broke my ankle. I just hoped that Roni would be okay.

I approached a decent-looking motel.

"Checkin' in?" the redheaded man sitting behind his desk asked as I entered the lobby, if you could call it that. There was barely enough space for four people to stand in here.

"Yes, I don't have a reservation." I looked around. The space was dark and borrowed its decorations from the outside. Wood paneling, a potted tree, animals mounted on the walls—it all screamed cabin in the woods.

"Not a problem." He pulled a key off a hook; it was labeled with the number five. He slid it across the desk. "That will be sixty-five flat."

I pulled my wallet out and gave him the cash. I picked up the key, and as I turned toward the door, I caught sight of a small newspaper rack. I approached and snatched up the paper with the headline "THE GENEVA PROJECT, FIGHTING FOR POWER FOR THE PEOPLE OR TEMPER TANTRUM–THROWING CRIMINALS?"

The paper below had the headline "TWO MORE POLITICAL CHILDREN MISSING, D.C. MAYOR'S TWINS ARE MISSING."

I turned back to the desk. "How much for these papers?"

He barely looked up at me. "Complimentary."

I snagged one of each paper in the stand and hightailed it to my room. I shut the door behind me and flicked on the light. The interior looked like it came straight out of the seventies with shag carpet, bright orange linens, and a gold-patterned wallpaper.

"Definitely not winning any interior design awards."

I set my stuff down next to the bed and sat on the edge of the bed with the newspapers. A quick skim of the newspapers and I was confident that the Geneva Project was going to move in soon. They were getting more brazen. It was a game—how many could they grab before they got their ultimate prize, Roni?

With one woman dead, and four others reportedly kidnapped, one must wonder what is the end game for the Geneva Project? According to sources that wish to remain anonymous, the terror group won't stop their abductions until they get what they want: a political coup. They wish to be recognized as the new and premier political party and be given representation in the House, the Senate, and the Executive Office.

According to this unnamed yet reliable source, their ultimate target is Roni Hanes, the president's daughter. So now this reporter has to wonder, is Roni actually on a planned trip with her new boyfriend, or is she actually in hiding, and is he really her personal bodyguard? This reporter has looked into his background, and while it's impressive, including military service and private mercenary work that puts most law enforcement to shame, one must wonder what his assignment says about the president's confidence in the Secret Service and several department's joint investigations to weed out this cancer from our governmental agencies.

Wherever they are, we hope that the First Daughter and her boyfriend / bodyguard remain safe until this threat is put behind them, and maybe those holding political office should consider putting their children in hiding.

"Fuck!" I looked at the name of the reporter and committed it to memory. She might as well have placed a large freaking spotlight on us. Now everyone would be looking for the First Daughter in hiding, and if the private jets weren't theirs, the Geneva Project was going to capitalize on this, waiting for people to report sightings of the First Daughter. I was guessing this journalist never heard of OPSEC, operation security.

I observed the supplies I'd bought for our traps and felt overwhelmingly underprepared. I was going to have to double down and figure out exactly how to fortify the cabin tenfold. There was no way I was going to let a rookie mistake of being unprepared be the reason something bad happened to Roni. I let down a brother, who'd I dubbed New Kid, years ago. He walked through an area on a mission I'd just cleared, except it wasn't—not really. He was shot and barely made it out with his life. Unfortunately, his bullet was in a lung, and he was never cleared to return to active duty, even after multiple surgeries.

My mistake almost cost the kid his life and, no doubt, his career. It took me years to try to work through that guilt, and honestly it was a large reason I left the army before I put in my twenty years. Without my friends by my side, I had no confidence in myself that I wouldn't repeat the same mistake. There was no way I'd be able to live with myself fucking up in the same way—especially when Roni was at stake. She was important to so many people, and most importantly, she was mine—and I'd always protect what was mine.

We hadn't had the discussion yet. I haven't asked her to be my actual girlfriend, but I thought maybe we both understood what we were without the words. We'd felt that way since we were teenagers too stupid and inexperienced to admit it.

Roni was mine, and I'd die before I let anything happen to her.