Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) (4 page)

The airport hotel’s front lobby was modest, but the effort was sincere. Rose was waiting when Hollywood hurried off the elevator.

“Sorry to interrupt your mini-vacation, but we’ve got a problem,” she said.

“What is it? Is the surgery over, is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s a SEAL isn’t he? It’s about Voodoo.”

His look soured.

“Tech Section back at HQ ran their regular security sweeps for bugs, trackers, tracers and everything high-tech I know nothing about. Seems Voodoo has an app on her smartphone for locating friends.”

“Great, let’s use it to follow Bonny.”

“There lies the problem—friends can also track her. Bonny knows our every location, yet Voodoo never troubled herself to inform us that we’d have the same resource.”

“Maybe she forgot, or Bonny disabled it on her end?” Hollywood said, figuring angles.

“Nope. Look here. Bonny, or at least Bonny’s phone is north of St. Louis.”

“Do you really think she’d be that dumb? To leave a tracking device on her phone?”

“I don’t know. You were the one about to have a
menage a trois
with her. Is she that dumb?”

“Fuck off.” Hollywood sprang from the lobby chair, and stormed out through the automatic doors. The small awning was little use. Lashing winds slanted driving rain across the tops of his loafers. His jeans saturated below the knee, but he stood there—statuesque. And pissed.

“You realize Fats runs his trap, don’t you?” Chase eased up behind him. His bare feet drew lines of water over the dry cement.

“I never said a word to him,” Hollywood swore.

“Don’t doubt it, but think she did?”

“Guess so,” his voice trembled with emotion he’d never displayed.

“You probably owe Rose an apology.” Chase returned inside as silently as he’d come.

Hollywood’s chest tightened—he knew Chase was right, but apologies never came easy or often.

*     *     *

Hollywood rushed back to the hotel bedroom without a word. Rose had decided not to discuss Voodoo’s smartphone app, but made it obvious during the briefing she no longer trusted her. Billy asked Voodoo to surrender her cell for national security reasons. Everyone but her knew what that implied.

Bonny’s diary not only gave STR a glimpse into the Preacher’s master plan, but also hinted Voodoo was aware of it. Although the IT geeks had only revealed the letters “KL” in Bonny’s notes, it was a safe assumption those initials stood for the woman Hollywood had just shoved his dick into. He was disgusted.

“Here’s the room key.”

“Thank you, Krystal.”

“Thank you, Krystal? What’s that shit about?”

Hollywood ignored her question and shouldered the door open. He turned to latch it behind them, but saw her wander away. She looked to be composing her thoughts as her fingers walked across her round jaw. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and her left foot tapped the dingy hallway carpet like a musician keeping time.

“We gotta move. Leave anything you can’t wear. STR will send a cleaner.”

“What’s a cleaner?” She poked her tongue into her cheeks.

“They pick up to make sure nothing’s left or exposed.” He tilted his body toward her—fingers picked at the nails of his other hand. “Cleaner.”

“Like my phone?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t want it left, why’d Billy take it anyway?”

“You really don’t know?”

He went silent, collapsed against the doorway. Air hissed through his teeth as his shoulder met metal. His nose picked up the antiseptic, industrial cleaners used by housecleaning from a roller cart in the hall. Mixed with the musk of the well-trafficked hallway, brought flashes of memory. It was the same concoction of odors in the Waziristan Haveli. His stomach rolled.

“Baby, you okay?” She reached to steady him.

“That smell fucks me up.” His hand slapped against dried lips. “His compound was pretty shitty, guess they tried to keep it sterile for his
jihad
.”

“I’m so sorry you had to experience that. Lets get in the room and take care of you.” She held the door off him with her shoe and guided him through. He pulled back as she advanced to kiss him.

“Still upset about something?

“That smell reminds me of Pakistan, but not about killing bin Laden. It’s about the sacrifices of everyone who made finding him possible. Are you willing to make a sacrifice like that?” His words trembled with emotion. His eyes drilled into her.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Her head swiveled side-to-side—hand against a jutted hip. Shuffle steps brought him closer. He leaned down with lips pulled so hard against his teeth-they looked faded with white speckles.

“Then why the fuck didn’t you tell us about your cell phone?” His whisper was hard, fat with accusation.

Her face flushed red. A sharp tongue darted at arid lips. She cleared her throat but seemed unable to find the words to speak.

His glare sharpened. Tremors quaked across his face the longer it took her to justify it. He snorted a gust of air, threw his hand up and walked off.

*     *     *

Mechanical in his quick change, Hollywood flowed within the small space of his hotel room until he appeared in an olive-drab tactical uniform. His backpack sized go-bag was shoved full of necessary items, and the rest were pushed into a pile. Three extra strength ibuprofen down the hatch, and he stormed out of the room toward the lobby, an LSU Tigers ball cap tugged over his eyes.

“She coming?” Rose asked.

“How the fuck would I know? I was stupid to trust her, or anyone for that matter. Rose, I owe you an apology for earlier, and for bringing her into STR. I let my little head do the thinking, maybe I am the same old Hollywood.”

“Thanks for the
mea culpa
, but you’re not the same guy. You handled the whole damn New Orleans fiasco like a champ. And thanks to you, we’ve got your girlfriend’s phone to use for tracking a potential weapon of mass destruction,” she said. Then she looked down and laughed. “The old Hollywood would’ve never forgotten his boots,”

Hollywood winced. “Gotta clear the attic, and get my head back in the game.” He stamped out to the transport van in his sock feet to grab his still wet SWAT boots.

“Dude,” Billy placed his hand on Hollywood’s shoulder, “don’t jump to judgment, nothing’s confirmed yet. I know it looks suspicious, but it’s always grey in the shadow ops world.” The others sat stunned—they’d never seen this warrior as much as say ouch. Brooding, Hollywood dropped onto the middle row bench seat without a word.

“Wait, wait on me.” Voodoo’s petite frame barreled through the hall. Her tactical one-piece jumpsuit half unzipped, and an armful of boots, cap, holsters and a Glock 17, 9mm dangled from its holster. Hardly the composed agent who’d dropped two idiots fueled by methamphetamine earlier in the day. Tension was palpable.

Once Voodoo had taken her place in the van, Rose twisted around from the front seat to make eye contact. “We now believe Bonny traveled up river to meet another vessel around St. Louis. We can only assume wherever they met, the barrels of bio-chemical weapons were exchanged. I would’ve bet St. Louis was a prime river city target, but no verification she put down in the Gateway Arch area. Source shows north.” The dome lights were disconnected but blasts of lightning illuminated the cargo section. “Not sure how reliable our source is…”

“Just say it. Come out and fucking say it. Your source is my damn phone’s friend tracker app. Excuse the fuck out of me for not being a spy school scholar. I was lucky to get kicked out of high school instead of jailed. She was my roomie and, I thought, my friend. You high and mightys got any idea what it’s like to be a single female in a cesspool like the Big Easy? So excuse me if I felt safe with her knowing where I was on that dumb app.” Her voice crumpled beneath the confession.

KC pushed her closed fist out to knuckle-bump her, “Girl power, I feel ya, Voodoo.”

“Okay, your cell phone it is. If Bonny still has her cell then the vessel has passed St. Louis. We’ve no intel on what might be the next swap site or target location. Choppers are combing the river, but it’s a freaking huge body of water with traffic that’s out of this world.” Rose continued with a less stressed pace. A smile glinted toward Voodoo.

“Once they hit the Great River National Wildlife Refuge around Quincy, Illinois it’ll be impossible to detect. Rose, you’re the best at big picture projects—guesses?” Chase pressed back into the cloth seat and ran his thumb and forefinger over his chin.

“I’ll confess, I’m stumped so far. We’re going to leapfrog them. Assuming they’re where the phone shows and it’s not another teenager playing with a commercial quad-copter.” Rose spun around and looked like an eager teenager getting to ride shotgun for the first time.

“Why can’t we just BOLO every law enforcement agency with jurisdiction along the Mississippi River? Instead of searching for the needle, why not just bust up the hay stack?” The way KC looked at Billy didn’t seem like she expected a reply, and he didn’t.

Drizzle settled into a sprinkle during the personnel and gear exchange. Both pilots were new, but experienced Army vets. Their radar showed another vicious line of storms due west, northwest. Hollywood encouraged the unit to stow and go if time was to be made up in the air.

Rose popped her head into the Black Hawk’s cabin with an unsettling smile. The unit hadn’t seen her smile in quite a while. She waited until everyone had grabbed a seat. Hollywood wanted to interrupt but knew better than to rush Rose Prospero. He nestled in for the flight, no matter where it took him.

“Guys, we got that break—HQ messaged. The diary decoding has progressed. The vessel’s heading for the Quad City area. Moline, Illinois to be precise.”

“Moline? What the fuck is in Moline?” Chase looked as surprised as everyone else by his outburst. Though he was right—what the fuck was in Moline, Illinois?

“You sure it’s Moline?” KC asked.

Rose didn’t seem amused by the doubt. They all knew the value of STR’s Intelligence Section busting their assets back at HQ.

“Okay smart butts, in addition, the FBI has been monitoring NOPD Detective Alphonse ‘Fats’ Hebert since the Rex parade. That lovesick pup has burned Bonny’s cell off the line with text messages and voicemails.”

The war machine’s turbine whined and the pilot motioned for Rose to clear the running board area. A series of interior LED lights flashed and converted to an eerie green hue once the matrix of panel switches were activated for lift off.

“Is her cell still active?” Chase yelled over the intense wash of the wide chord rotor blades.

“Yep,” Billy said. “Must be why she hasn’t flipped to using burner phones. She likes Fats. We snatched a communication earlier when she dialed in to check his voice message.” Billy swayed as the bird rocked and bounced on its wheel landing gear—nothing rattled the guy.

Hollywood crunched forward and belched into his hand. His gut burned. Fats had been a trusted friend in the Navy. Both served overseas together and only parted career paths when Hollywood was accepted to BUD/S School. Much as he hated the thought, Rose’s decision to let his friend walk after the assassination attempt was brilliant. His time would come, friend or no friend.

“What did his message say?” Hollywood felt shame in asking. It had been his friend, after all, that put the screws to Voodoo and him at the Sheraton Hotel the night of the tableau.

“Basic mobster wanna-be bullshit, but he did say Lawless had recovered. Mentioned something about going after him but knew better. Some crap about the reign of savage souls if anyone touched him.” The corner of Billy’s mouth curled up like it did when he wanted a suspect to know he either really didn’t believe him, or he didn’t give a shit what he said.

Hollywood cut his eyes over, watching Voodoo’s reaction to the mention of Lawless. It was an old intel gathering trick—listening to what the speaker said, but watching how others reacted. Her body language morphed rigid, arms folded close to her chest. There was a hint of a sinister grin when Billy said the words ‘savage souls’.

Hollywood wondered what that look was for.

Rotor wash from the stationary Black Hawk smashed wind toward the ground thirty-five feet below. The weather had turned to shit and rain threatened their fast rope insertion. Rose braced herself to the left of the open cabin door. Rope dangled at her feet—she served as the mission’s jump master.

“Go.” Rose yelled across crashes of thunder, feeding the operatives out one by one.

“Stop, Voodoo.” Rose yelled as Voodoo reached for the rope. “This ain’t my cup of tea either. You come with me on ground support from the LZ.”

“Let’s move Westin,” Rose admonished Chase as he angled around Voodoo. “The weather’s about to ground us. Go”

“Next. Hollywood, Ready. Go.”

Hollywood was next. He reached with his right hand for the thick, hawser-type rope. Pain shot through his shoulder. Hard pain. He almost blacked out. He clawed frantically with his left hand to slow the zip of cord as his body hurled toward the surface.

Rain lashed beneath his NVG. Slick rope made for fast descends. Thighs squeezed against the two-inch surface to control his speed, but the winds thrashed and he lost sight of where he was until he smashed onto a knee. He rolled against his hip, falling on his right shoulder.

Quick shots of air gunned out of his nostrils. He groaned through teeth clenched so tight from pain, he thought they’d snap. The tactical vest was jerked back in position and he glanced to see the braided cord fall into the mud before the Black Hawk quietly disappeared. Hollywood adjusted his night vision binoculars and spotted his tactical partner, Billy Price.

“Half mile out, let’s move,” Billy ordered.

Billy was team leader on this mission. That meant clockwork precision, watching each others’ 6, and no bitching. Their raid targeted a vessel identified through HQ’s Intel Section and the Port of Moline. The cutter-sized ship had arrived without authorization, but there was no information about cargo or passengers.

The abandoned section of the port where the vessel was stashed had been left generally in disrepair. The hull had been wedged in between half-submerged derelicts and hulking ships dying a rust-covered death.

Hollywood limped to keep pace with his five teammates. Each time he pounded on the good leg, his shoulder throbbed. They were all in as big a hurry to get out of the tsunami. Time to suck it up.

“Quarter mile out. Eyes up, fan out into elements,” Billy snapped. The rain flooded his speech with each microphone click. Lightning crashes illuminated their movements, so they tried to coordinate advances between thunder claps.

“Team 1, cover down,” Billy’s command sent Chase and KC ahead to provide cover at the gangway that led from a patched rock and asphalt hard top to the port side.

“Team 2, take point.”

That order signaled Cobra, and his fellow SEAL, Falcon, to lead Billy and Hollywood up the rickety walkway and onto the vessel. Team 1 would fall in behind Hollywood as they passed their position.

The storm served to concealed their stumble and clatter. Hollywood’s injuries caused him to fail at maintaining balance across a hatch. Other than that mishap, all three elements cleared the one hundred and twenty-three foot vessel in under three minutes—bow to stern.

“Shit, missed ’em again.” Chase’s agitation reflected everyone’s disappointment.

“Let’s get ready for processing. There’s got to be a clue about what’s next.” Billy left his tactical gear on, even after the target was cleared of threats—including his ballistic helmet. It was a Delta Force thing. He walked onto the deck and waved for Rose and Voodoo to come aboard.

Dim lights in the mess hall allowed everyone to decompress as much as they could. Strain loomed heavy in the small space. Coming away empty handed was more difficult than fighting a battle with meth heads or terrorists. At least you knew where you stood in the process of reloading.

Hollywood plopped down onto a metal bench, tugging at his soaked bulletproof vest, submachine gun set between his knees. His face drained cold. The aluminum tabletop reflected the blanched stare of someone on edge.

Exhales to release the circulatory system’s chemical flood of adrenaline helped him finally stop the cold shivers. His gaze rounded the room until he found Voodoo. He’d been so wrapped up in the breakneck speed of the op that he’d not fully thought of her. She leaned against the bulkhead to make space for the tactical team operators still winded from the raid. Their eyes met, his heart warmed. Hollywood felt chills race across his skin until it almost burned.

“I miss you,” he mouthed without checking for the others.

Still a hint of doubt remained about the cell phone app, but his heart wanted to trust her completely. She sneered and shot him the middle finger beneath the palm of her other hand. His eyes dropped and he planted his forehead against both forearm. She should’ve been his warmth on this otherwise cold, shitty night. He understood her vehemence, but still, he couldn’t break his gaze—he missed her, their closeness.

“They had to transfer to ground courier, there’s no place to ship swap and running out of river. And, despite the rain and your approach boot prints, I saw footprints in our headlights that were heading away from the boat. I doubt shoe print casting is possible, but best bet is this op’s gone to a ground game. Moline isn’t their target, but it’s secluded enough to launch next phase. Whatever that is.” Like an encaged panther, Rose paced. Hollywood picked up his chin to feign attention, but his eyes dashed back to Voodoo.

“What about my friend tracker app,” Voodoo asked.

“She’s deactivated it—this location was the last transmit,” Rose replied while she handed Voodoo her cell back.

“Split up and scour this thing. Too much time spent aboard to not leave a clue. Hollywood, set this room up as the command center,” Billy said as he left to search.

“You mean set up an infirmary?” Hollywood didn’t lift his head to speak.

Her hair swept across the back of his bent neck. Voodoo’s soft, full lips pressed against Hollywood’s salty skin. Her open mouth hovered there with a slight suction, and flit of her tongue until he rolled his forehead side-to-side on the table and moaned.

“I love you Dwight, but I’m still pissed you doubted me. I am on your side.”

“I know,” his voice was low and muffled against the table. “But you’ve got to trust me too, Krystal.”

The bad weather affected this boat more than it had the ship in Memphis. Shallow waters in the channel made the severe wave action more intense. Hollywood’s already unsettled gut knotted into a strangulation hold. Burying his warm face in sweat-covered palms only made it worse. His elbows were tucked against drawn up, quivering knees. Sickness overcame him. Hollywood stumbled through the narrow passageway.

Feet tangled as he gripped the moist dog handle to yank open a hatch. Finally, he spotted the head. Torso bent at the waist, he stumbled with palm smashed against his mouth. Sweat exploded across his head and upper lip. Mouth ajar, what little he’d eaten over the last two days surrendered itself to the river.

“Hollywood, you okay?” KC asked.

“Fine,” he spit through coughed up blood and bile.

“Rally back in mess hall—nothing here.” She exhaled to show frustration. Hollywood didn’t exactly share her same concerns at the moment. His mouth refilled with blood—he suspected the fall from fast roping might’ve caused internal bleeding.

Shit, I’ve gotta get to a hospital.

He hugged the stainless steel commode while the last mouthful chucked between chapped lips. His breath came hard and labored. Hollywood mustered the strength to push away and stand or crawl back to the mess hall.

He swiped sticky blood-stained sweat from across his eyes, and blinked. He didn’t have the ability to straighten his back. Both hands pressed against the stainless steel while he rested. It was cold to the touch and soothed his forearms and palms. He blinked again before debating to yell for help. And there it was. His thoughts vortexed. He knew where Bonny was headed.

Maybe she is that stupid?