Seized (Hostage Rescue Team Series, #7) (23 page)

With Sawyer covering the other side, he eased the door open with the toe of his boot. Sawyer moved with him, covering all the angles as the doorway opened up to reveal...

Dead bodies. A pile of at least ten people lying in a heap in the center of the small room, a pool of blood staining the carpet beneath them. All crewmembers, all shot through the torso or head at close range. But no gunmen.

After ensuring the room was clear, they stepped back out and communicated with Tuck and the others via hand signals. Bauer once again took the lead and headed down the darkened corridor. Male voices floated toward them, speaking a language Sawyer didn’t recognize but guessed was Malay.

Then the voices grew louder and footsteps sounded at the far end of the hallway, near some of the crew quarters. The team froze in position once again and waited. No doubt about it, the men were coming their way. And when they passed the mirror up to Bauer, he verified the two men were armed.

Sawyer and the others were now trapped between the men and their original target. Unable to move, likely going to have to engage and lose the element of surprise completely.

Which put them and everyone else on board at risk if the bastards detonated the failsafe.

Sawyer bit down hard as he waited, butt of his M4 tight against his shoulder, his finger curved around the trigger. Ready to take these assholes out in a heartbeat.

He silently ordered the two men to turn at the last second, take the access stairwell up to the next deck.

It didn’t happen.

With no choice but to engage, they waited until the men rounded the corner. The first one saw them, froze for an instant then Bauer hit him with two shots to center mass. He not only didn’t go down, he started to raise his weapon, confirming he wore body armor.

Bauer fired again, this time hitting him in the center of the forehead. The second man appeared and Sawyer fired once, dropping him where he stood.

But the shots gave them away.

A split second after Sawyer dropped the second man, shouts came from behind them and in front of them. Tuck spoke over the comm, his voice calm but terse. “We take the engine room,
now
.”

Sawyer silently cursed and began walking backward, guarding their six along with Bauer as the team moved back toward the engine room. Running footsteps reached them, then Tuck and maybe Evers started firing. At the same time shots rang out from the hallway behind them and Bauer returned fire.

Another man wheeled around the corner. Sawyer hit him in the side of the neck, dropping him like a puppet with its strings cut. But he could hear more coming, men moving toward them from either side.

Holy shit.

They were in the middle of a hornet’s nest and cut off from the nearest exit. No matter which way they moved, they were going to have to fight their way out.

––––––––

T
he radio on Wira’s belt squawked. Studying their position on the GPS display up in the bridge, he keyed it and answered in terse Malay. “Go.”

“There’s a team near the engine room and they’re firing at us,” one of his men blurted, sounding out of breath.

What
? “You told me you had that deck locked down, and that all the crewmembers there were dead.”

“We did, and they are. But these men aren’t from the crew, they’re professionals.”

Wira scowled. Impossible. There was no way a team could have boarded the ship. Not without showing up on radar or one of his men picking up on it, and there’d been nothing. He’d just verified that with the man responsible for watching the displays here on the bridge, moments before the radio call. “How do you know that?”

“They’re in dive suits, heavily armed and they not only infiltrated the ship without detection, they’ve killed three of our men so far without taking casualties. They’re well trained, must be military.” His voice was high-pitched with stress, the sound grating over Wira’s nerves.

Had the Navy deployed a team of SEALs to come after them? He’d known they would likely be the ones deployed in this situation, but he’d hoped to have a few more hours lead time before they showed up. He automatically reached down to grab his rifle, slung across his chest. “Is the failsafe still intact?”

“Yes. They haven’t breached the holding area yet, but they will soon if you don’t send reinforcements.”

“Make sure they don’t reach it.” He glanced at the GPS again, measuring the distance they had to travel.

No.
They were so close now. Only another twenty nautical miles from the pickup point. He couldn’t be killed or captured now, when he was on the verge of being extracted. He was literally less than twelve hours away from hopefully finding Leo in Lithuania.

He switched channels on the radio to reach all the remaining team members. “An unknown team is attacking our men down by the engine room. Those of you not guarding passengers and crew, get there immediately and attack. Ali, I’m coming down to the theater now. Keep your men there and wait for me.”

The failsafe could wait. He still had some time yet before he became desperate enough to use it. They had a contingency plan in place; they would see this operation through to the end.

Before leaving he quickly turned to the three men responsible for monitoring and guarding the bridge, needing to ensure they understood his orders—and the consequences should they disobey.

“You will all stay at your posts and fight to the last man no matter what,” he warned them with a severe scowl.

They’d all been paid handsomely up front when they’d agreed to be part of this op. Every man had sworn his loyalty to the
Mawla
. They all hated the injustices that had befallen their fellow Muslims at the hands of the Americans, wanted the chance to strike back and help free their brothers-in-arms being tortured in secret, illegal holding facilities throughout Europe.

And if they died tonight... If they died carrying out this mission, they knew they would have the glory of becoming martyrs for Allah. A reward beyond compare for any devout soldier of Islam. The
Mawla
would grieve him, but would love him even more for his sacrifice.

But a little extra motivation might make the difference at this point. “If not, you will die by my hand when this is over.”

With that he whirled and raced from the bridge. His bodyguards covered him while they ran down the several flights of stairs to the promenade deck, then to the theater.

Thankfully they met with no resistance. Wira kept a solid grip on his weapon as one of his men yanked the door open for him. The SEALs’ arrival changed everything and sealed the fate of the hostages.

It was time to start killing the passengers.

****

T
he waiting was excruciating.

Carmela took a surreptitious glance around, straining to see in the dimness. The side of her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat but thankfully the bleeding from her scalp seemed to have stopped. Even so, movement hurt, a piercing headache adding to her misery.

She wasn’t sure where the shard of glass was at this point or if anyone was even still using it, but by now there had to be over a dozen people who’d cut their hands free. The guards hadn’t yet noticed what they were doing, but something was going on with them because she’d heard Wira’s voice come over the radio a minute ago and now the gunmen were clearly agitated, pacing back and forth, their weapons trained on the crowd once again.

Was Wira coming back? He’d said he might use her later, and based on what he’d done to her already, she knew she’d likely die at his hands if he returned. Whatever was happening, it couldn’t mean good news for her and the other hostages, and she wanted the hell out of there.

Carmela nudged her mom and the man next to her with the little girl. When she had their attention she sent a subtle but pointed glance toward the exit sign over the closest doorway to them, a dozen feet or so to the right. They’d likely locked it but it was the only way they were getting out of this room so she had to try. She had a bad feeling about the sudden change in energy in the guards and planned to make a break for it at the first sign that things were about to escalate.

Because her gut told her that’s exactly what was going to happen.

She thought back to some of the things she’d learned from Ethan over the years about what to do if facing an active shooter. A sad but unfortunately all too common event in today’s world—one she’d never imagined being caught up in until now.

She knew that hitting a moving target was harder than hitting a stationary one, and she clearly remembered Ethan saying you had a better chance of surviving if you ran rather than just staying in place. Playing dead amongst a group of wounded sometimes worked too, but Wira would be looking for her so she wasn’t going to chance it unless she got trapped again.

She was damn well going to run for it if it came down to that.

With an eye on the second-in-command, who stood about sixty feet away from her in one of the aisles, she eased her way toward that exit. She slid her butt inches at a time across the carpet as the man and his little girl led the way.

Back here at the rear of the crowd at least they had some cover to conceal their movements, as long as they took things slow. Still, with each sideways shift her heart pounded because she was afraid they’d be spotted at any moment.

A few other people must have noticed what they were doing because they began to creep toward the exit as well, but the majority just sat there, too scared to move. Carmela understood their fear but wished she could have urged them to at least try to get away.

Strength in numbers, just as with a herd of antelope when a lion attacked. The more people who made a break for it with her, the higher the chance of survival in the group if the guards began shooting. And they would, she had no doubt. Her skin crawled at the thought.

The second-in-command suddenly shifted his stance and glanced over her way. She stilled instantly but not soon enough. The way his eyes locked on her told her he at least suspected what she’d been up to. Her heart crawled into her throat as she waited, poised to spring up and bolt for the exit if he came at her.

Before she could react, all the lights flashed on, flooding the theater with illumination. As she ducked her head and squinted against the sudden brightness the main doors flung open and Wira stormed in, surrounded by four bodyguards. Carmela pressed her spine hard against the wall and ducked down trying to shrink out of sight.

He scanned the room for a second, then stalked right up the center aisle, grabbed a middle-aged man who was clinging to his wife and dragged him into a clearing in the center of the room while the man begged to be let go and his wife sobbed pitifully.

Carmela’s gut clenched. Her mother reached out and caught her hand, squeezed tight.

“Where is she?” Wira snarled at his second-in-command.

The gunman blinked. “Who?”

“The American whore who brought this attack on us all.”

At his angry words Carmela held her breath, sheer terror streaking through her. There was no question he meant her and the rage that vibrated in his voice told her he was going to kill her when he found her.

Then a man’s voice came through the ship’s PA system. “To the American team on board. You have just signed the death warrant for the people you are here to save.
Allahu-akbar
!”

“
Allahu-akbar
!” Wira and the gunmen around the room all roared in unison, rifles raised over their heads.

Despite the news that some kind of team was here to try and rescue them, ice slid through her veins. She didn’t speak Arabic but knew enough to recognize that phrase—
God is great
—and that it likely signaled imminent bloodshed.

Instinctively she grabbed her mother’s sleeve and started to haul her upward, but then Wira’s gaze locked on hers from the center aisle. The sheer hatred in his eyes made her shiver from clear across the room.

“Do you see him? This is
your
doing by contacting the American authorities,” he shouted to her over the frightened murmurs of the crowd, that deadly black rifle rising as he spoke. “This and what follows is on
your
conscience.”

Without pause he shot the male prisoner in the head at point blank range. The wife started screaming as blood and brain matter sprayed the stunned crowd close to the victim.

The entire room erupted in panic.

Stricken with horror, Carmela watched in slow motion as Wira started to swing the barrel of his weapon toward her. Almost as if the male prisoner’s death had been an unspoken signal to the others, the gunmen posted around the room began firing into the crowd.

Run!

It was her only chance.

Without even being conscious of moving, Carmela was on her feet and dragging her mother after her as she lunged for the exit. Everything stayed in slow motion, each slam of her heart echoing in her ears.

Three running steps and her right hand slammed the release bar while the terrible roar of gunfire erupted behind her, a hail of death and destruction tearing through human flesh.

The prickling in her nape told her he had her in his sights. A scream built in her throat, stuck there as the door gave way under the force of her shove and surprisingly flew open. She tumbled out into the darkened hallway and fell to the floor, taking her mom down with her, just as a spray of bullets peppered the wooden wall above their heads.

Hunted. We’re being hunted.

Raw terror drove her forward. She stayed low, knowing better than to get back up and run, that it would only make her an easier target.

She made a desperate crawl on her forearms until she could scoot around the first corner of the wall. As soon as she cleared it she shoved to her feet and grabbed her mom’s hand, then tore forward into the darkness, wanting to get as far away from the theater as possible.

Her shoes thudded over the carpet as she ran, thigh muscles straining. Out the port side windows the moon hung in the sky, bathing everything in silver.