You’re already awake when they knock on your door. You lock eyes with your mission lead, and he gives you a confident nod. You’re only a few steps out the door of your Mexican border-town motel when the beachside drug pusher offers you weed. You decline; you’re looking for underage girls instead. But he’s got you covered for that too, you just need to find boss Carlos.
The adrenaline is building in your body.
It’s good to be back. You rushed out without breakfast, but undercover missions rarely follow a schedule. You were supposed to meet Carlos thirty minutes ago, but it’s turned into ninety. You can’t sit down; the alley you’re standing in is covered in urine and garbage. A black SUV with dark tinted windows pulls up and the brake lights engage. Two armed guards emerge who seem like they shouldn’t have even fit inside. You’re scared, but the thought of having a successful rescue calms you down. Your stomach growls as the negotiation for the “party” drags on. You’re thankful for the Spanish you learned on a previous mission as you haggle over the price per girl and the preferred location to make it seem legit. The guy standing across from you, an ex-Navy SEAL, briefly touches his shirt. You pray they don’t see any of the hidden cameras. Carlos asks you a question, but it’s more of an invitation, “Can you be back in two weeks?”
The night arrives and Carlos parades the forty girls into the room.
All the lights are dimmed. You’re standing next to a handful of Special Forces guys in bad Hawaiian shirts. When the code word drops and you get “arrested” along with Carlos and his crew, you revel in their surprised faces. Every one of those girls, safe and sound. It’s a Thursday or Friday, but it doesn’t matter.
A few hours later, you hop on a plane back to the States, excited for what challenges the next day might hold.