INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1) (40 page)

Patty muttered something under her breath and sat down. She looked at the food again and shook her head. “I can’t believe the two of you can eat all of this.”

“Three, my love, three. You, me, and unfortunately, Scarface.” Cam looked at Steve and then at the door to his bedroom meaningfully.

Steve sighed inwardly. That was all he needed, these two playing lovey-dovey while he paced up and down the floor.

“Well, eat, then.” Patty surprised them both as she carefully unfolded one of the fan-shaped napkins and delicately arranged it on her lap, pulling the corners here and there, as if the napkin needed to be centered just so, or the food would taste bad.

Cam was on his feet within seconds. Food and his woman, Steve thought with wry amusement. The man was indeed in heaven. He watched him sit next to Patty, and watched her blush at the heated look in his friend’s eyes. Oh man. Did he really need to see this?

He coughed. “I think I’ll eat in my room. I have stuff to look through.”

Cam’s face brightened at the suggestion. “Yes, um...I’ll stay out here, out of your way.”

Patty frowned, laying down her fork. “Are you sure?” When Steve nodded, she picked up the vinyl folio she had brought and handed it to him. “Okay. I’ve got what you asked for here. I pulled it out manually so there wouldn’t be any electronic records.”

“Thanks, Patty.” Steve took the folio and a plate of food Cam had helpfully piled on for him. “Enjoy the meal,” he added, tongue-in-cheek.

He went into his room, shutting out the sight of Cam leaning toward Patty, and rolling his eyes when he caught the words, “You look good enough to eat...”

Steve shook his head. That woman didn’t stand a chance. He sat down where he’d been all day, among the files and sheaves of papers, and started reading what Patty had put together. He picked up the black marker and chewed the cap off it. With the other hand he groped for and picked up something from the plate he’d brought in. Patty had a point. He did need to eat.

After a while he was surprised that his plate was empty when he reached out and found nothing. He hadn’t even tasted anything while reading and diagramming. Damn it, why hadn’t T called yet? As if on cue, the cell phone by his side started ringing.

Steve grabbed it, knocking the folders over. “Yeah? What took you so long?”

“She’s being moved away from here. We couldn’t pinpoint the exact location till the motion stopped.”

“Where is she?”

“Got a pen?”

“Yeah.”

He asked several terse questions for the next minute or two. Tess for once didn’t mess around with his mind. She was, he discovered, very knowledgeable about tactical coordination, as if she’d run a team before. Which brought up a problem.

“You’re in New York,” he said. “It’s going to take too long for you to get down here and gather men for me.”

“I called you immediately, Steve; give me more time.”

He couldn’t. Not with Marlena’s life at stake. “T, you come after me, okay? I’m going to get her now.”

“How are you getting to the ocean by yourself?” Tess paused, then answered herself, “A sea mammal will find a way, I suppose. Okay, do what you have to do, but make sure they are still on international waters when you strike.”

“Why?”

“Fewer questions, darling.”

“Okay.”

“Good luck. And bring M back safely, hmm?”

When she rang off, Steve punched the buttons and dialed another number. A sleepy, raspy voice answered on the fifth ring, “This better be worth your life.”

“Hawk. It’s Steve.”

“I repeat, this better be worth your life.”

“I need you here with some gear and a few men you can trust.”

“I see.” Hawk sounded more alert now. “Is this kosher stuff?”

“No, it’s on international waters.”

“Tell me what you need.”

When Steve finished, he jumped up from his seat and strode to the door. Cam better not be having Patty for dinner, because he didn’t have time to wait. He knocked and yelled, I’m coming in now,” and counting to three, he opened the door.

Cam was adjusting his tie. Patty was nowhere to be seen. He had the most satisfied look on his face, though. “Um, Patty is in the master bathroom,” he told Steve, his eyes overly bright. “Was that who I think it was?”

Steve nodded. “I’m ready to kick some ass. My way.” Boy, did it feel good to finally say those words.

––––––––

T
he ocean breeze was wet and cold. Marlena zipped up the light jacket she’d found in her cabin, wishing for her own leather one. They had been standing out on deck for ten minutes, and already her hair was damp from the sea spray. The first crack of dawn streaked the horizon, and soon there should be noise signaling the arrival of a boat with Maximilian Shoggi, known in the arms dealing world as Mad Max, on board. Dawn on international waters, Pierre had whispered to her earlier. She never did like conducting business off land. Less control.

It was just she and Pierre on deck, guarded by two of the bodyguards. She had found out they worked for Gorman, not Pierre, which told her how much the TIARA director had infiltrated Pierre’s network. That reinforced the fact that the director was a very dangerous enemy.

Gorman was keeping out of sight, standing somewhere above with his captain at the helm, where he could view the proceedings. A bright spotlight shone on them, blinding those in its glare to the observers. Very smart, she thought. No one during this meeting could turn and shoot at Gorman.

In every operation there was an apex, in which the goal of the mission was achieved. Hands in pockets, collar turned up, Marlena peered stoically toward the east, pondering this operation that had brought her here. In her job they always said the end justified the means. Her cancellation. The loss of a valuable contact like Pierre. Nameless lives affected by a traitor. Operation Foxhole would be considered a failure if the apex wasn’t fulfilled, and in the eyes of those who ran covert wars, her death would have been a waste of an asset. She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t think she wanted to be footnoted as a waste, which was possible since her capture. Yet here she was, unexpectedly at the apex of her mission.

It’d taken many twists and turns to steal back a laptop holding a devastating formula that could change the weaponry of the world, only to discover the man behind the sale was one supposedly working on her side. She’d used her smokescreen to deceive all her opponents, to make them believe the laptop hadn’t been exchanged, and in so doing she’d gambled the people to whom she needed to pass the laptop would come after her. She thought she’d lost that gamble when she ended up back in the hands of the very man from whom she’d retrieved the computer.

All seemed quite lost, until now. Wasn’t fate an odd thing. She was being coerced to “sell” the laptop to her target from the very beginning, Mad Max Shoggi, arms dealer to a few of the shadier international leaders. She had Pierre to thank for those functions that secured bids. It’d taken a long time to work her way into the inner circle, gaining the trust of men who dealt and bought influence and information as if they were business stocks.

So, after over two years, here was the apex of her operation, and success was very near. After that, with the laptop out of her hands, she would deal with a very personal mission—Mr. Gorman himself. Taking a deep breath, she gazed expectantly into the darkness, listening for the arrival.

***

S
mall swells bobbed the black rubber craft hovering in the darkness. The swells came in timed intervals, and Steve hunched in silence, one hand up. Like the anchored boat ahead, they, too, were waiting, drifting slowly, so as not to disturb the telltale surge of the waves. He could tell by the different wakes and directions of the waves that another boat was coming this way, and would be there not too long from now. He didn’t want to strike before he could see who was on the second craft. If they moved in too fast, the ocean’s movement would also betray them. Steve didn’t want to strike too soon.

It was imperative not to get too close until the other boat arrived. He was very aware that timing would play a crucial role in this operation. He turned to look behind at the men who had come with him. Hawk had brought three men—what they called a fire team—each hauling his own cache of weaponry. One of them was left in charge of the boat they had rented, while he and the others approached the target in their smaller and less conspicuous inflatable.

Earlier he had his pick of heat from Hawk’s backpack, whistling at some of the toys his cousin had brought along. It felt good now to have the familiar weight in his hands. They were the kinds of things a soldier’s life depended on. Of course it helped, too, that Hawk and his men were his backup; they were all SEALs and they understood what it took. On the other hand, sitting in the rear, his baby-sitter, Cam, crouched quietly—face blackened, betraying his position every time his teeth glimmered as he chewed his gum. For a brief instant Steve wondered who would be babysitting whom, since Cam admitted to never having been on an amphibious assault reconnaissance mission before.

“Relax, man,” Cam had assured with his usual cocky confidence while Hawk and his men looked on dubiously. Steve didn’t blame their hesitancy, since Cam’s fashionable attire at that time didn’t really add any measure of assurance. “I’ll stay out of your way and set up target practice.”

“Target practice?” Hawk wasn’t the kind who liked to joke around when it came to a mission. His brooding eyes took Cam in from head to toe—the ponytail, the silk necktie, the tailor-made suit and pants. “This isn’t the time to practice your aim. We are mounting a direct strike. To storm a room, we have barely ten seconds to conduct business with our enemies. Ten seconds to sort out the good from the bad guys, to execute the rescue, and take down the bad guys. In this one we’re going in at night, in unfamiliar territory. Steve, you better tell him what he has to do or I’ll shoot him before he gets us shot.”

Before Steve could reply, Cam had picked up the Mossberg twelve-gauge Cruiser, a non-civilian issue lying on top of the table. He disengaged the silencer and took the weapon apart in record time. There was silence as he put it back together just as efficiently and snapped on the heavy cartridge. Steve smiled in the dark at the memory. Cam did what he knew would convince Hawk and his men. Privately, that had surprised the hell out of him. Cam had never seemed the tough and silent type.

Hawk had given Steve’s TIARA teammate a close look, then turned back to the maps in front of him. “He’ll do,” was all he said.

After that, they spent an hour preparing. A basic hostage rescue drill had four components. Rapid insertion. Extraction. Close-quarters target identification. Precision shooting. Steve had done similar operations countless times, but this was different. This time there were emotions involved—worry and anger, two things that could get in the way. Hawk had already questioned whether it was wise for him to be part of the rescue team. Steve understood his cousin was trying to make sure the operation would go smoothly. He didn’t bother to answer, though. An exchange of looks was enough.

The sound of an engine becoming louder cut off his thoughts. Dim lights became brighter. The shadowy waves reflected the meeting boats. The engine cut off.

Steve dropped his hand, signaling the others. When the inflatable was close enough, he gave the hand signals to stop. He put on his night vision glasses and looked across the dark expanse at the target point, the first boat. With the infrared thermal imager, they counted the number of humans, memorizing their locations. One of them, he told himself, was Marlena. Then he turned his attention to the second craft.

Hawk passed him a waterproof bag, and both of them readied themselves in silence. They had earlier decided that they would be the go-ahead swim pair, while Hawk’s other two men, Dirk and the one they called Cucumber—Cumber for short—were to stay put until the first part of the operation was completed. Once that was accomplished, Steve and Hawk would climb up the side of the target, the signal for the others on the inflatable to get closer.

There wasn’t going to be anything subtle about this mission. The first part of the operation was surgical. While the attention of target point was diverted, they planned to secure C-4 explosives to blow the propellers off the boat for effective immobilization. Then they would sneak on board.

His main goal was to get Marlena off the boat before all hell broke loose. He hoped T and her men would be there for clean-up service not too long afterward. Easier outlined than done. He didn’t like the spotlight that had been turned on. He especially didn’t like the knowledge that he had caught thermal images of people on deck within that spotlight. That made it very difficult for a covert extraction, more so than close combat in the confined space of a boat’s cabin. When he found out from T that Marlena was at sea, he had already concluded that the missing laptop would be on the same ship. Marlena. Sale item. International waters. Oncoming craft. That could only mean she was needed to broker a deal.

He had called T back just before they left on their mission to check on coordinates. T confirmed his theory, adding that Marlena was definitely still alive because she had signaled a second time, with an added coded communication that was their indicator of Operation Foxhole under way. T had told him not to interfere if he saw any kind of business transactions going on, that this was Marlena’s assignment. Steve didn’t care about any brokering. What would happen to Marlena after that was of more importance to him right now than who was on the second boat, so he opted to give a chance for the latter to leave. Less risk to Marlena’s life.

They double-checked everything silently. They weren’t swimming too deep, so they were using Draeger rebreathing systems that recycled expelled air, thus no betraying bubbles would reach the surface. Water-resistant explosives zipped in their haversack. Luminous compasses. They were going to measure distance the old-fashioned way, by the number of kicks. They nodded to each other.

Cam leaned forward, thumped Steve on the shoulder, and gave him a thumbs-up. Hawk just shook his head and climbed overboard. Steve did the same, dropping without a splash into the white-crested sea.