Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (14 page)

“Your running lights aren’t on.”

Dylan eyed one of the terrorists in his peripheral vision next to one of the nets where they stored their guns. He was too close for Dylan’s comfort. “They malfunctioned on me about an hour ago. I was trying to keep to the shoreline and out of everyone’s way when you radioed.” Dylan extended his license, which was now forged with a fake name.

The sailor handed it to another one of his men, who ran a check with the local authorities, making sure it was legitimate. “How long have you boys been out here?” The words were directed toward Dylan, but the sailor had his eyes on the deckhands.

“Headed out this morning. Afraid we haven’t had much luck.” Truth was, Dylan had been out here for the better part of a week, but the moment they saw there were no fish in the holds, that alibi would be out the window.

One of the sailors handed Dylan’s license back to the commanding officer and whispered something in his ear. The CO extended the papers to Dylan. “We’ll be taking a look around your vessel and citing you for having the busted lights.”

Before Dylan or Kasaika had time to object, the rest of the sailors piled into their boat and started inspecting the fishing gear, poles, and buoys, slowly and meticulously making their way to the cargo hold. And each moment the sailors moved closer to discovering the bombs, Dylan’s eyes darted back and forth between Kasaika’s men’s hands twitching nervously at their sides and the sailors’ hands searching the boat. Both were dangerous.

Dylan was stuck on a tightrope, with winds gusting from both sides. Any way he fell he was a dead man. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stay balanced.

One of the terrorists inched closer to the net hiding the guns, and Dylan watched his fingers graze the cover of the automatic rifles that lay just underneath. A bead of sweat rolled down Dylan’s temple, and he noticed the commanding officer shoot him a glance then step closer. “Anything you want to tell me, Captain?”

All it would take would be one word. That’s it, nothing more. But even if Dylan did tell the sailor what was happening, and even if he survived the shootout that would follow, he wouldn’t be able to get to his son in time. He wouldn’t be able to stop the lunatics who had kidnaped Sean from killing him. “No.”

“Commander?” The voice was echoed and muffled from below deck. The sailor rushed back onto the main deck and immediately found the CO. Dylan couldn’t hear what the two were saying, and the lights had cast the commander’s face in shadows.

Hands reaching for the guns underneath the nets were all Dylan saw in his peripherals. After that, the deck of the ship and the night air exploded with gunfire. Dylan’s boots skidded across the wet floor as he dashed for cover. He turned quick enough to see the commander fly backward, with three rounds flying into his life vest.

The fifty-caliber on the deck of the Coast Guard cruiser blasted holes into the hull of their vessel. Each shot thundered across the open waters as Dylan scrambled to the stern. He couldn’t tell if Kasaika was still alive or not from the screams as the terrorists barked back and forth at each other between the gunshots.

Dylan went to grab the pistol out of the wheelhouse, but before he made it out, the sailor turned the fifty-caliber in his direction, and Dylan hit the floor, covering the back of his head as fiberglass exploded all around him. With debris raining down on him, Dylan crawled back to the stairs, a few bullets punching holes in the deck just inches from his body.

When Dylan looked down from the wheelhouse, Kasaika was below, using the cabin for cover as he fired back at the sailors. The AK-47 dripped dispensed shell casings on the deck, which rolled back and forth with the motion of the sea. Dylan had a clear line of sight on the man. All he had to do was aim and squeeze the trigger, and the terrorist would be dead.

The fifty-caliber’s thunder boomed again, but this time in Kasaika’s direction. Before Dylan had a chance to aim, the pirate sprinted toward the stern and away from Dylan’s pistol. Dylan swung himself down onto the ladder, and the Coast Guard’s boat revved its engines, jerking Dylan’s ship with the lines still attached.

The sudden jolt caused Dylan’s foot to slip against the wet steps of the ladder as he hurried down, the pistol still clutched in his right hand. He landed next to a cluster of bullet holes and tried listening for the thump of feet or the screams of the men around him, but all he heard was the high pitched whine the gunfire had left in his ears.

One of the sailors rushed around the corner. Dylan collided with him, and the two men crashed to the deck. The sailor immediately went for his rifle, and Dylan smacked it away. “Stop! You don’t understand!” The two men grappled on the floor, sliding on the slick metal surface of the ship’s deck, both pairs of hands struggling to keep hold of the rifle between them.

The sailor lifted his knee into Dylan’s stomach, repeatedly slamming into his gut. Dylan smacked his forehead into the sailor’s nose and felt the sailor loosen his grip around the rifle’s stock. Dylan ripped it away and scrambled to his feet. The sailor put his hands in the air.

“Call them off!” Dylan held his finger on the trigger, but the sailor said nothing. Dylan edged to the corner of the wheelhouse, keeping the rifle aimed at his defenseless captive. “I have one of your men! Drop your weapons!”

“Cease fire!” The orders were barked down the chain of command, and the firing stopped, along with the throaty hum of the boat’s engines. All Dylan heard was the lap of the waves against the hull and the fading ringing in his ears.

“You won’t win,” the sailor said.

Dylan watched the sailor’s eyes, the mix of anger and fear staring back at him. These soldiers thought that he was a part of the attacks. In the sailor’s mind, Dylan was just as low as the scum around him. “I didn’t ask for this. You hear me? I DIDN’T ASK FOR TH—”

The bullets cut into the sailor and disfigured him to nothing more than a bloody stump, meat bathed in crimson. Similar shots echoed through the night air, but Dylan couldn’t peel his gaze away from the mutilated piece of flesh in front of him until Kasaika’s boots stepped over the piece of dead meat and snatched the rifle from Dylan’s hands.

The bow of the ship was filled with the dead bodies of the sailors, along with two of the terrorists. Dylan held what was left of the wheelhouse for support as they started throwing the bodies overboard and untied the ropes holding the two vessels together. Kasaika shoved Dylan, making sure he saw the rifle in his hands. “Start the boat, Captain.”

“They threw down their weapons,” Dylan said. “They were going to surrender!”

“And they dropped their weapons because of you.” The words escaped Kasaika like a snarl. “Now, start the boat.”

Spittle flew onto Dylan’s cheek from the last syllable Kasaika uttered. He wiped the saliva from his skin and felt the burn of heat flush through his body. He tackled Kasaika to the deck, and the two men toppled over one another, sliding across the blood and saltwater. Dylan squeezed Kasaika’s throat until he felt Kasaika’s pulse beat against the palm of his hand.

A blow to Dylan’s temple knocked him to the floor. He stumbled on his hands and knees, the floor wavering like the ship in the middle of a storm, the ringing in his ears reaching a fever pitch. He looked to his left and saw Kasaika hovering above him.

Kasaika slammed the tip of his boot into Dylan’s ribs, sending him flat onto his back. Dylan straightened and felt the sharp pain from his side radiate through the rest of his body. Kasaika picked him up by the collar and slammed him against the side of the wheelhouse then jammed the pistol into his temple. “When we get back to the mainland, we’ll pay a little visit to your son. How does that sound? You can sit there and watch us beat your boy for every time you struck one of us.”

“You touch him and—”

“You’ll
what
? There’s nothing you can do but what we tell you to. And after we kill your son, we’ll go after your daughter and chop down every single member of your family until you’re the only branch left on your family tree. Then, after you’ve watched them all die, we’ll kill you.”

The pressure from the barrel’s pistol against Dylan’s temple drilled into his skull. Just before Dylan thought the barrel would punch a hole in his head, Kasaika lowered the gun, and Dylan slid to the floor, his head still ringing.

“We need to get out of here before more show up,” Kasaika said.

With the rest of the bodies stripped of their life vests and dumped into the ocean, Dylan climbed the shambled steps of the ladder to what was left of the wheelhouse. The windows were shattered and splintered with bullet holes.

Dylan’s hands started the engine and found the throttle absentmindedly. His mind was drowning along with the sailors facedown in the ocean. He reached into his pocket for the picture and looked down at his son. That was his life raft. And he’d hold onto it for as long as he could.

Chapter 2

The plans were spread out on the table, and Richard Perry squinted at the drawing in the dim lighting the warehouse provided. The generators were already running low on fuel, and he wouldn’t be able to risk another shipment until next week, not with the amount of heat Kasaika and his men were pulling. Each day there was a new report about an incident with one of the operations. He couldn’t afford another slipup, not with what was coming.

Perry leaned against the edge of the table for support. His spine seemed to twist and curve like a deformed sapling, even when he stood upright. He flipped through one of the schematics, and Sefkh burst through the door, panting and out of breath and bringing a burst of heat that filled the rest of the warehouse. “Kasaika was just boarded by the Coast Guard.”

But Perry had already known what happened before the words left his tongue. “And now the Coast Guard is dead, along with two of your brother-in-law’s men, for his stupidity.” Perry gave the table a shove, which more pushed him off it than shook the table itself. “Tell them to finish the deliveries. I won’t be able to get him another ship until I get the captain a new set of papers. The ones handed over to the Coast Guard were recorded and compromised.”

“Sir, the—”

Perry took a quick step toward the door, and Sefkh backed away. “Need I remind you of what we’re trying to accomplish? Of what you and your men are risking their lives for? Of what I’m risking
mine
?” Drops of saliva flew from his mouth, his cheeks flushed red, and he shoved Sefkh out of reach.

“Yes, sir.” Sefkh turned on his heel and headed back through the warehouse, his head lowered. Perry walked back to the map on his desk and planted his finger over Washington, DC, then dragged it west across the rest of the country until it landed in San Francisco. “Sea to shining sea.” He muttered the words mockingly and then rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Scars and disfigurements covered what remained of his skin. Perry ran his hands along the grooves and misshapen patterns and grimaced. He rolled the sleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs. He marched out of the office and through the warehouse.

Tanned Egyptians worked alongside a small group of Americans that Perry recruited, all dripping the same sweat, all bleeding the same blood. Perry knew almost all of it would be spilt, and he’d gladly spill as much as necessary. “Sefkh!”

The Egyptian turned around sheepishly and met Perry in the middle of the floor, the rest of the warehouse casting a watchful eye over their commanders. “Have you been in contact with the West Coast?”

“The missions in Los Angeles and Seattle were successful, but we had an issue with San Francisco. We’re still waiting on the rest,” Sefkh answered.

The terrorists working on their rifles and projects slowly stepped away as Perry glowered at Sefkh. “What happened?”

“One of our men tripped an alarm at the factory. We didn’t have time to grab all of the supplies.”

“Who?”

Sefkh shifted his eyes to a young Egyptian, deconstructing and cleaning his rifle, then nodded.

With the number of issues the operation had been running into, they were already behind schedule. While his position at Homeland afforded him high-level security clearance, all of it was rendered useless by incompetent hands. “Shift half of our men from the Midwest to California,” Perry said. “Funnel whatever weapons and resources we have left there. I do not want to lose our chance for this. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Perry walked over to the young Egyptian, who was oblivious to Perry until he hovered right on top of him. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen, the spots still not fully faded from his hide. “Do you speak English?” The boy shook his head. Sefkh walked up behind the boy and rested his hands on his shoulders. “What is his name?” Perry asked.

“Amarah,” Sefkh answered.

Perry knelt down to one knee, so he and the young man were eye to eye. Amarah scooted back on the crate he sat on once the two were close. “Do you know your mission?”

Amarah looked up to Sefkh, who translated in Arabic, then nodded. Only two pieces of the rifle remained unconnected. Perry picked both of them up and locked them into place. He pushed himself off his knee and aimed the rifle at the young man’s head. The rest of the warehouse fell silent, and Sefkh tried to step between them, but Perry ordered him back.

Amarah held his hands in the air, his head on a swivel, looking between Sefkh and Perry. He mumbled in Arabic, the panic in his eyes growing. Perry took a step forward until the metal tip grazed the skin on Amarah’s forehead. “Are you willing to die for us, Amarah?”

Sefkh translated, and Amarah nodded, but the shivers running through his body told Perry another story. Perry tilted his head to the side, his eyes paralyzing the boy. “Then would you care to tell me why our men didn’t get the necessary equipment needed to complete our mission? The mission that failed due to your stupidity?”

Amarah screamed, waved his arms, and shouted to both Perry and Sefkh, who translated as fast as he could. “Enough!” Perry jammed the end of the barrel into Amarah’s head, putting an end to the rambling. “Get up.”