I'm fine. No pain no gain, he thought as he rushed to meet up with the rest of the group. He ignored the slight twinge he felt in the side of his lower abdomen as he ran.
* * *
"How's your arm." Mat looked at Lincoln as he flexed his right arm open and closed. They both stood at the back of the group of men that would be engaged in battling Audrianna's abductors.
"Not a problem." Lincoln whispered back. A triple amputee, Lincoln wore special high quality bionic prosthetics that were grafted in aesthetically pleasing synthetic skin. His arm and legs looked and mimicked natural limbs. He had forsaken an integral doctor's visit to fix a categorical malfunction in his arm to be present for his Boss's meeting.
Cory Broderick, the commander in charge of the operation, was in front of the group giving a briefing. The two aides listened in quietly. Corey finished the briefing and Lincoln called the officers to attention.
"I can't stress this hard enough guys," Lincoln circled the men seated in the room dressed in military fatigue. "This is a "No Fire" operation until specified otherwise. Understood?"
The men nodded emphatically in response.
"Good." Lincoln nodded in Broderick's direction.
Broderick looked over at Mr. Maxckmillian who was at the time taking a private call.
"The receiver has been placed," Viktor heard Xin say. He sighed as he disconnected the line on his cell and gazed at the members of his wife's security team. His eyebrow rose at Lincoln Huntington, his wife's personal aide, who was now in charge of the rescue mission to save her from the abductors.
"Zat it?" he asked in his heavily laden Russian accent.
Lincoln's reply was equally terse. "For the CPA meeting, for now- yes. We will act as soon as we have her coordinates."
"Khoroshiy." Viktor Maxckmillian swiveled the black ergonomic chair around to face the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the coastal city of Port-of-Spain. They had an all-encompassing view of the of the Gulf of Paria. The slashing, ominous waves, coupled with the encroaching mass of blackness in the sky that gave way to sparse strips of white light that barely touched the oceanic surface spoke of treacherous weather.
Viktor's act was as much of a dismissal as the group expected, and the fifteen military-trained men began leaving the regional office of Maxckcom International, located in the Eric Williams Financial Complex. As their steps receded, Viktor heard one steady, assured foot land beside his desk.
"That there be devil's weather." Matsenêstse King, Viktor's blond-haired, green-eyed Texan aide muttered under his breath. Mat had sharp, strong features and a square jaw that relaxed into an easy smile far too often. His hair was tapered short and neat.