Forget Me Not (38 page)

"Betraying my country! You slimy son of a bi—ugh!"

Rodriguez shut him up, jamming the butt of his weapon between Gabe's shoulder blades.

Gabe staggered forward, taking firm rein on his temper. Outnumbered five men to one, with no weapon of his own, he needed to keep his cool and think. The only thing he had going for him was his brain.

The PC continued to speed forward, smashing into swells, sending up white spumes on either side of the boat. But, hell, if he thought too long, he'd have all five men to contend with at once. Better to deal with these two first, seize the radio, and call for help.

Gabe twisted without warning, grabbed the barrel of Rodriguez's gun, and aimed it straight at Lovitt. Rodriguez pulled the trigger instinctively, spewing 9mm rounds about the cabin. Glass crackled and collapsed. Lovitt ducked, clutching his forearm where he'd been hit. With a growl, he threw himself at Gabe, who'd shoved Rodriguez hard enough to send him flying to the opposite wall.

As Lovitt barreled into Gabe, they fell crashing onto the digital readouts. Lovitt managed to get an arm around Gabe's neck. He hauled Gabe off the instruments, grappling for his own weapon. In the brief reprieve, Gabe struck out a foot and hit the ship's throttle, kicking it forward. The PC accelerated suddenly, knocking the CO off balance. He staggered backward, dragging Gabe with him. With a crunch, they hit the rear wall together.

The stranglehold on Gabe's neck loosened abruptly. He twisted free in time to see Lovitt crumple from a standing position. The man had hit the key box projecting from the wall, hard enough to knock himself senseless. Gabe snatched the 9mm pistol from Lovitt's limp fingers.

Rodriguez had recovered and was taking aim at him. At the flash of fire in the muzzle, Gabe dropped and rolled, returning fire. With a satisfying thud, a 9mm bullet pierced Rodriguez's chest. The man's weapon clattered to the floor, and a stunned expression stole over his face.

Gabe leaned over and seized the submachine gun. "You're a piece of shit," he informed the man. Tucking the smaller weapon into his waistband, he stepped over Lovitt, who was still unconscious, and locked the pilothouse doors, keeping the other men out, at least for the moment. He picked up the radio handset, making note of his coordinates. "This is the USS
Nor'easter,
PC 5. I have a Mayday. Do you read?"

"We read you,
Nor'easter.
What's your Mayday?"

Keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the three remaining renegades, Gabe relayed his situation as best he could. "There are two men down," he added, "and three hostiles aboard the ship. Friendly is in the pilothouse and cornered. Copy."

"What are your coordinates,
Nor'easter?'

Gabe quickly provided the necessary information. A shadow flickered by the doorway, and he ducked under the display dash, taking the handset with him. It was only a matter of time before the renegades shot the door down and came after him. Given their training, they would overpower him instantly. Damn it, he ought to have broken cover and jumped overboard. The ocean was the best place for a SEAL to hide.

"Repeat," he whispered. "The three hostiles aboard the ship are highly trained. Send in Special Operations Forces to overtake them."

Thud!
Gabe tensed for action, but it was only Rodriguez who'd fainted from his gun wound and slipped into a prone position.

Gabe snaked out of his hiding place to drag the man toward him. Leaving a streak of blood on the floor, he pulled the traitor on top of him, using the man's body as a shield. With a fine tremor in his fingers and his eyes trained on either door, he waited for the inevitable.

Helen,
he thought as the silhouette of a tango sidled up to the rectangle of glass at the door.
Forgive me for being so ignorant that I didn't see this coming. If I die here today, don't grieve me, baby. Not everyone is given a second chance. I'm thankful for the opportunity to have loved you the way you deserve to be loved.

M
aster Chief and a squad of four men found the XO at the Special Operations Building and no one else. Jason Miller sat at his desk staring blindly at its contents. When Westy and Sebastian leaned into his open door, he scarcely glanced up at them.

"Where's the lieutenant, XO?" Sebastian demanded, not bothering to pitch his question in deferential tones.

Miller remained glassy-eyed. "The CO took him out on the PC," he said, subdued. Without another word, he began emptying his desk's contents into the trash can.

Westy and Sebastian shared a knowing look. There would definitely be some changes in personnel soon.

"We've got to get to the PC before it heads out to sea," Sebastian said, heading for the door.

"Roger that." Westy ran past him, setting a faster pace. Throwing open the exit, they came face-to-face with Helen, Leila, and Mallory looking white-faced and very determined.

Sebastian was startled to greet Leila while in his master chief mode. "The CO has taken Jaguar to the PC," he told Helen, injecting as much reassurance in his tone as he could. "Rodriguez is watching his back," he added, seeing panic flare in her eyes. "I want you to stay here," he added firmly, "out of the way!" God, just the thought of Leila going anywhere near an armed situation made him panic. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," said Helen, answering for them.

He suffered the terrible suspicion that she'd heard, but she wasn't listening. In that case, they'd just have to outrun her. "Let's go." The SEALs leapt into their vehicles and sped away. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the waterfront. It wasn't merely raining now, it was pouring. They jumped from their vehicles, gazes fixed with dismay on the empty berth where the USS
Nor'easter
normally sat at anchor.

"What now, Master Chief?" Vinny asked.

Sebastian's gaze raked the array of sea vessels, mostly amphibious craft rocking in their moorings. His heart beat fast and thready.

"There's a helo on the LCU," Westy noted, pointing toward the Landing Craft Unit, a 135-foot amphibious craft. Its normal cargo was tanks, cranes, and food supplies, but today, as if put there by providence, sat an MV-22 Osprey, multi-engine helicopter.

"Takes two men to fly it." Sebastian eyed Luther, who'd been trained to aviate. "What do you say, sir?"

Luther hesitated, casting an uneasy glance at the operations building. They didn't have time to solicit an official request. Seizing military transport without authorization could have serious ramifications. On the other hand, the SEALs would never forgive themselves if they let their platoon leader die.

"I don't see what choice we have," Luther agreed.

"Let's go." They ran along the pier toward the LCU. The petty officer standing guard fell back, too intimidated to try to stop them.

Once on the LCU, the SEALs scrambled into the helicopter, leaving the copilot's seat for Sebastian, who unlatched the bird from its moorings. He leapt nimbly aboard.

"Hang on!" Luther shouted as he started up the engine. "We're in for a rough ride."

The Osprey rose with a
whop whop whop
of the main rotors. The gusting wind caught its tail and swung it about, narrowly missing the radio antennae on the landing craft. As they rose into the air, rain spewed into the open cargo hold, wetting the floor where Westy, Vinny, and Teddy crouched. None of the men even noticed.

Each one of them grappled with the bizarre reality that their commander was not the man they'd thought, that he'd lured one of their own out to sea to finish what he'd failed to do in Pyongyang.

The last time they had huddled together thinking of Jaguar, it had been pitch-black. They'd been called in to sift through the remains of the warehouse, looking for some piece of him to take home. It was a SEAL tradition never to leave a body or a man behind. That had been the night they'd found Jaguar's tooth.

"I think we'll need these," Westy shouted, from the rear of the helicopter. He tossed a pair of wool-lined gloves at each of the SEALs.

The men donned the gloves with relief. Fast-roping onto the PC was their best option for attack. The deck wasn't big enough for the helo to land.

Westy tested the sixty-foot French-braided fast rope that; would speed each man toward the deck.

"There's the PC!" Luther shouted, maneuvering the helo so that it veered east.

The men prepared themselves, hearts pounding, minds completely focused.

Master Chief abandoned the copilot's seat to join them. "Listen up," he said. "Here's the plan." He lived by the tenet of the six-Ps: positive prior planning prevented piss-poor performance.

As he laid it out for them, the men gave him their full attention. "We have no idea how many men are on board, but you can expect them to be trained, probably former SEALs. Debilitating shots, but not fatal," he added. "These men are going to answer for their crimes, especially the CO. We'll drop onto the stern and move our way forward. Any questions?"

The men kept silent. No, the plan was pretty clear. It wasn't the most optimal takeover, but it wasn't like they had a lot of options right now.

Luther brought the Osprey around, pulling it into position over the PC. Wind buffeted the helicopter, making it difficult to flare the chopper—lower the back end.

"We've been spotted!" he shouted.

Seconds later, bullets strafed the side of the Osprey. Westy snatched up an MP5 and aimed it at the solitary figure on the deck, driving him out of sight with a short burst of fire.

"Go, go, go!" Master Chief shouted.

One by one the men dropped out of sight, zinging down the rope that trailed onto the
Nor'easter's
narrow stern. Westy provided cover as the gunman reappeared, taking shots at Vinny, who was the second man to descend.

"Now you!" Sebastian called, signaling that he would cover Westy.

As the chief made his descent, Sebastian spared a word with their pilot. "Pull away the minute I'm down," he shouted.

Luther nodded. He knew as well as the master chief that the PC's MK 38 225-millimeter chain gun would make short work of the helicopter.

With a final shot off at the gunman, Sebastian gripped the rope and dropped off the Osprey backward. He flew down the medium, feeling the heat generated by friction right through his lined gloves. His descent was faster than that of his men—mostly because he'd had more practice but also because he didn't want to think that they might be too late.

Gabe heard the whopping of the helo's blades and grinned. No way could the military police have responded that quickly. He had enough confidence in his men to assume it was them, coming after him. With the psychic force that they'd always shared, they'd known he was in trouble. Hot damn!

All he really needed was the distraction they offered. The shadows at the doorway melted away as his would-be murderers turned their attention to the interlopers.

Gabe squirmed out from underneath Rodriguez's body. With a weapon in either hand, he unlocked one pilothouse door and peered outside. The bridge wing was clear. At the same time he could hear gunfire over the chopping of the helo's blades. With his back pressed against the bridge, he inched toward the rear of the ship.

He grinned as he caught sight of Westy diving and rolling and returning fire all at the same time. The CT SEAL took cover behind a rope keel, his broad shoulders barely protected by the narrow projection. Gabe's grin faded as he realized his men lacked the protection that the bridge afforded to Lovitt's men. They were at a dangerous disadvantage.

He could hear someone above him now, shooting toward the aft portion of the boat, threatening his squad's safety. Gabe tucked his second weapon in his belt to free a hand. Ascending a ladder, he peeked onto the second
deck.
The cop that had tried to run him over, the one that had disappeared off the front stoop of the information office, was emptying his ammunition clip at an alarming rate, while taking cover behind a radar box.

With a grim smile, Gabe aimed his Glock at the man's right buttock and fired.
Take that, bastard.
The renegade leapt in astonishment, spun around, and returned fire.
Ping.
The bullet ricocheted off the deck, narrowly missing Gabe's ear.

Gabe fired a second time, this time knocking the pistol from his opponent's hand. It flew out of sight to splash into the ocean on the far side of the vessel. With a growl of frustration, the man tried to retreat, but Gabe shot him again, in the left butt cheek this time. The man collapsed, arching in a heap of misery.

That one's for my daughter, you son of a bitch.

Feeling better, Gabe pulled himself onto the second deck. With a bird's-eye view of the ship beneath him, he spotted another renegade hobbling toward the deck rail, leaving a trail of blood behind him. To Gabe's amazement, the man never slowed down. He flipped abruptly over the rail of the boat and into the water. It was obvious he'd been given orders not to be taken. Vinny, who'd shot him, gaped in astonishment.

Gabe pivoted, wondering about the man he'd just debilitated. The deck behind him stood deserted. That man, too, had disappeared, using his last ounce of strength to slip into the ocean where he preferred to drown than to account for his transgressions.

A rapid, burst ,of gunfire jerked Gabe's attention to the front of the boat. Someone had positioned himself at the PC's most powerful weapon, the MK 38 225-millimeter chain gun, and was taking aim at the chopper as it scuttled off to a safe distance.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Gabe slipped down a ladder and rounded the bridge to the forecastle. The figure hefting the mounted gun was nothing but a gray blur, but as Gabe ran at him, his gun raised to shoot, he realized it was Lovitt. The CO must have regained consciousness, and even with an injured forearm, he handled the unwieldy gun with lethal accuracy.

"Hey!" Gabe shouted, distracting him from firing.

Startled, Lovitt peered over his shoulder. His gray eyes flashed with determination, and he turned back, swiveling the machine gun toward the Osprey and firing.