A few minutes ago, in a room far away from the desert, an atmosphere of defeat hung thick in the air, having watched on the big screen on one of the walls their people video feed go dark one by one till the last that was now only showing unmoving feet in recognizable combat boots among other consequences of the fatal rocket blast.
The occupants of the room have watched with bated breath as things went downhill for the elites sent to the ruined desert town, they themselves battling on their computers to look for some improbable turnaround.
Unlike those computer gurus in this place that seemed like an operation center, there was a middle-aged man in the room that did not fit with the intellectual and technical vibe of the others.
He seemed more like a business man with receding dark hair and would have given an air of authority even with his fat and his protruding stomach if not for the thick despair in his heart radiating from his whole person as he sat on the floor with his head in his hands.
The other person in the room presenting a difference is a white man standing in the middle of the room in suit without tie and a little short of 6 ft. He was facing the giant monitor staring at the last static image while gritting his teeth and looking ready to punch someone.
Suddenly, the despairing business man going from despair to rage, jumped onto the man in suit shouting:
"You f*cker, you promised to bring me back my daughter. I paid you for that and now, not only did you fail miserably, because of you her fate is even more uncertain. What if they kill my baby, huh? Or worse? By the time another rescue is launched we would have lost track of the terrorists. How are you going to remedy that? HOW? TELL ME."
After letting the middle-aged man finish his diatribe, the man in suit who now seemed to be the leader of the operation looked at the grieving father gripping his collar with a hard expression and responded coldly:
"Me too, I would like to know how those guys seemed to have known about my people and expected them because there was no way they could have flopped the mission like that.
My people were busy preparing the mission which leaves you as the most probable leak.
I remember telling you to calm you down about the time you will be able to get your daughter back. Don't tell me you were stupid enough to communicate it to someone else?"
That caused the middle-aged man to widen his eyes, thinking back to how he rubbed it triumphantly in the face of the mastermind of his daughter's precarious situation, a rival in business, telling him to wait for his revenge.
Just as quickly as he went from despair to rage, he went into a even deeper pit of despair, self-blame and self-loathing:
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,... Baby forgive me, it's daddy's fault..."
And started crying.
Unfortunately, that didn't inspire any sympathy from the operation leader. Eyes flashing, just as he was about to say something, one of his people called him while pointing at the giant screen:
"Mr. Schneider, there seemed to be a situation."
Angry at the uncertain report, he retorted while turning back to the monitor:
"Is there a situation or not? I'm not paying you to be uncertain."
The others who were as silent as cicadas in winter all redirected their attention to the only surviving video feed on the screen.
They saw someone surely cosplaying a desert specter appear on the feed while being stealthy. He seemed to check the body before taking its pants and boots for himself and wearing them, causing the spectators to feel weird.
With the person moving around, he was not always on the screen, even if they managed to understand that he was plundering the dead man's belongings.
However, when the man dressed in a suit saw the person smoothly check the guns like he was used to it or rather trained for it, his expression changed. Turning to the crying middle-aged man, he asked him:
"We have a chance to turn things around, do you dare to gamble?"
"How?"
"Answer me first. And keep in mind that you will have to pay more to compensate for the losses your blunder caused."
"I don't care. If you can bring me back my daughter I dare to gamble."
"Good. The one on the screen is trying to be discreet so the chances of him being with the terrorists is low. And, the way he handled the equipment showed traces of military training, maybe special forces-"
"So?"
The stylishly dressed man frowned when he was cut off due to a lack of patience. Nevertheless, he continued:
"So, we can hire him for the job. The problem is that we don't know how capable he is, if he will accept nor if he will succeed. On the other hand, we may not have another chance to intervene, he, possibly, is your daughter's last hope.
The choice is yours, what do you decide?"
The middle-aged man calmed down to think while looking at the screen. He watched the man use the sheet he was wearing to cover his head and face. Even if his arms lacking in muscles did not inspire any confidence to him, seeing him done and about to leave, he relented:
"Contact him."
The man in suit, Mr. Schneider, nodded and ordered:
"Use the emergency light on the camera to attract his attention and pass a message."
"Yes, sir "
Pointing at another subordinate, he gave another directive:
"Find me who he is. Even if we can't run a face rec on him, try with his body parameters and his eyes when he turns around."
"On it, sir."
Suddenly, before they could speak to him after seeing him pick up the dead man radio, the video feed went dark and they heard a cold and somewhat magnetic voice with a certain roughness likely due to lack of water:
"Alright, now I'm listening. What do you want?"