by CW Browning
He glanced at his watch before sliding his hands into his pockets, staring down at the glittering lights below. Both Viper and Hawk had gone offline over forty minutes ago. Now all he could do was wait. Charlie’s face was impassive as the scenario Viper had outlined played in his mind once more. There were so many ways the operation could fail, and yet he recognized that this was the only way Viper could do it. He shook his head slowly.
If she succeeded, there would be one hell of a mess for him to clean up. Yet, if she failed, the Organization would be finished, and Harry would be free.
Harry.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed into a wintry glare as his lips tightened. His old friend and closest partner over the years, the one who helped him build the Organization and train the elite assets who worked for it, had betrayed not only Charlie, but his country and his oaths. Over the past months, as it became more and more apparent that the traitor was still right here in Washington, Harry was the glaringly obvious candidate. Charlie exhausted all other avenues before reluctantly accepting that it had to be him. Every road he followed led to the Department of Homeland Security, and to Harry.
The final nail in Harry’s coffin came when one of Charlie’s cyber spies intercepted classified names of assets being sent from inside the DHS firewall. Less than twenty-four hours later they traced the leak back to Harry’s department. Armed with the knowledge that his best friend was most likely a traitor, Charlie had met with Harry and told him to turn his agency upside down and inside out until he found the source of the leak. Under pressure, Harry had no problem serving up two of his own men as scapegoats. When the two directors from DHS were found on the side of the mountain in Shenandoah, Charlie knew he was running out of time. Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew his cover was close to being blown. He was going to run and disappear, and he’d amassed a large enough fortune to be able to do it.
The only things standing in his way were Viper and Hawk: the specialized weapons Harry had helped create.
Charlie turned from the window as the phone on his desk chirped. Crossing to the desk, he picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“I have Commander Frampton of the Coast Guard on the line, sir.”
“Thank you.”
He waited for his assistant to hang up. Before he could say anything, a deep, gruff voice barked into his ear.
“Charlie? Is that you?”
He grimaced faintly and put some distance between the phone and his ear.
“Hi Steve. Thanks for calling back. I know it’s late.”
There was a sound suspiciously like a harrumph on the line.
“You also know I play poker on Tuesday nights,” Steve said. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”
“If you haven’t already, you’re going to get a call from a Rob Thornton with the FBI. He’ll try to convince you to work with two of their agents.”
“Already had the conversation,” Steve told him. “They’re on their way to the base. The Casa Reinos Cartel is hanging offshore. Since when are you interested in a domestic issue?”
“Since it ran headfirst into my operation,” Charlie said calmly. “Steve, I have to tell you something and it stays between us for now. Do you understand?”
There was a short silence on the line, then a soft sigh.
“You’ve known me long enough to know I can keep my trap closed. What’s going on?”
“It’s not just the cartel on that boat. Colonel Harry Shore is aboard.”
“Harry?” Steve repeated, surprised. “What’s he doing on a yacht with the cartel? Are you two up to one of your tricks?”
“Not exactly,” Charlie said dryly. “Let’s just say that your crews are at a disadvantage.”
“What are you saying? For us to stand down?”
“Not precisely. I’m asking you to keep your distance.”
There was another short silence, then a heavy sigh.
“Charlie, you’re going to have to be blunt. I don’t speak spook. Thornton wants us to send a boarding crew along with his two agents out to the yacht.”
“You absolutely cannot do that. The only thing you’re authorized to send in is a single chopper with the two agents onboard.”
“On whose authority?”
“The President of the United States.”
Steve blew out a gust of air and grunted.
“I should have known,” he muttered. “You really like to pull out the big guns, don’t you?”
“Only when absolutely necessary.”
“And that’s now?”
“Unfortunately.”
“A single helicopter, huh?” Steve was quiet for a long moment. “What’s Harry doing on that yacht, Charlie?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Can the agents board the Sea Queen from the helicopter?”
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Then why the hell am I sending them out on a chopper?!”
Charlie couldn’t stop the amused smile that crossed his lips.
“Because if you don’t, I wouldn’t put it past Agent Walker to commandeer a boat herself and go out the Sea Queen, putting herself, her partner, and a civilian at risk. Trust me. You don’t want that shit-show on your hands.”
“Somehow, I have the feeling I’m still going to end up with a shit-show on my hands,” Steve muttered.
“I’ll be the one cleaning it up,” Charlie promised. “You just keep the area clear.”
“I suppose you have a plan for me to do so?”
“Of course.”
“How complicated is it?”
“The only thing complicated will be convincing the agents that everything the Coast Guard does for them is a result of their own design,” Charlie replied. “Your people need to make them believe that they’re the ones in control. Can they do that?”
Steve was quiet for a moment, then he grunted.
“I have a pilot who was a Marine,” he said. “He’ll follow orders to the letter. Tell me what the script is and we’ll see it done.”
Viper climbed out of the SUV and looked across the rocky sand to where Michael was standing near the water. She circled around to open the back, pulling out two large, black duffel bags. Setting them on the ground, she reached for a smaller bag and closed the back quietly.
The tiny beach was deserted this time of night, the waves lapping against it quietly as the moon shone brightly overhead. A stiff, balmy wind blew off the water and ruffled her short hair as she picked up the two larger bags and turned toward Michael. It was a perfectly calm night, with a clear forecast. She couldn’t have asked for better weather.
“How’re we doing?” she asked, walking up to Michael. He was dressed in black neoprene pants and dive jacket. “I see Damon got you outfitted ok.”
“I have to admit that I didn’t take you seriously when you said I’d need special gear,” he told her. “I stand corrected.”
She grinned and dropped the large bags on the ground at his feet.
“You’re the one who wanted to do more,” she said, crouching down and unzipping one of the bags. “Be careful what you wish for, gunny.”
She pulled out a black tactical drysuit and handed it to him.
“What’s this?”
“A drysuit. Put it on over your clothes. It keeps the water out. It also helps protect from hypothermia, but you don’t need to worry about that tonight. These waters are pretty warm.”
She turned to the other bag and unzipped it, glancing at the motorboat tied to a dock a few feet away.
“I’ll get the boat ready,” she said, picking up the bag and turning toward the short, private dock.
“Who owns this place?” Michael asked, shooting a quick look behind them at the large, dark and silent house that fronted the small beach.
“No idea.”
His mouth dropped open and he stared after her. “What? You mean, they could come home any minute?”
Viper glanced over her shoulder with a grin.<
br />
“Now gunny, do you really think I’d take that risk? The house is closed up for the season. The dock is all ours for as long as we need it.”
She walked along the weather-worn wooden boards to the boat bobbing in the waves next to the dock. She tossed the bag in and then followed it, dropping into the boat easily. The small craft shifted with her weight and the familiar sway of the water welcomed her as she bent to pull a package out of the bag. Breathing deeply, Viper felt a rush of contentment roll through her with the salt air. She loved the water, always had, and if tonight was going to be her last night on this earth, Viper couldn’t think of anywhere better for her to go out.
With that thought flitting through her mind, she turned toward the back of the boat, seating herself on the bench seat. Pulling a thin Maglight from her jacket pocket, she bent over and shone it under the seat. After a cursory look, Viper put the flashlight down on the floor and set the square package on the bench beside her. She was just reaching into the bag again when her phone vibrated briefly against her thigh.
Frowning, she pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was an incoming text message from a number she didn’t recognize. Swiping the screen, she read the message quickly.
Marina is quiet. There’s no one here. What’s the plan?
The frown faded and she typed a quick reply back.
They’re there. They’re staying hidden. Hold your positions.
Setting the phone down, Viper went back to the bag. She didn’t like using outside crews, but tonight she had no choice. She and Hawk had to secure the yacht, and that left Michael and Angela exposed when they returned to shore. She needed helping hands and, unfortunately, that meant using a crew she hadn’t worked with before.
Shaking her head, she pulled some wiring out of the bag and picked up the package again. Five minutes later, it was secured under the seat against the back side near the outboard motor. Her phone vibrated again and she picked it up, glancing at the screen.
We’re on schedule?
She glanced at her watch. Yes. Passengers will arrive in less than 2 hours, as arranged.
Setting the phone down again, Viper turned back to the bag and used both hands to extract a large, rubber inflatable. She was just connecting a battery-powered pump to it when her phone went off again.
And if they don’t?
She stifled an impatient sigh and glanced back at the shore where Michael was just finishing pulling on his drysuit.
They’ll be there. But if not, wait for another half hour, then abort.
Viper slid the phone back into her pocket and connected the pump to the inflatable, then carefully laid it out on the boat bottom between the front and back seats. Then, picking up the empty duffel bag, she stood and climbed back onto the dock.
She turned to stride down the short pier, her boots making no sound on the wooden planks as she moved swiftly and silently.
“Need any help?” Michael asked as she joined him on the beach again.
“It’s all done. Quick and clean.” Viper dropped the empty bag to the ground and picked up the smaller one. Opening it, she motioned him closer. “It’s very straight-forward. Everything’s in here. Detonator, GPS, breathing mask and tank. The tank only has thirty minutes of air, so don’t waste it. This is a homing beacon. Before you go in the drink, attach it to your suit. If things go sideways, that will transmit your location to the Coast Guard. You activate it by twisting the outer dial.”
“How long does that last?” he asked, glancing at the small, round disc.
“Longer than you’d need it to,” she assured him. Closing the bag, she handed it to him. “The inflatable is hooked up to the pump and ready to go. It takes about thirty seconds to fully inflate. Do you need a crash course on the boat?”
Michael looked at her in exasperation. “I have driven a boat before.”
She grinned. “Hey, just checking.”
“Are you sure the Sea Queen has a tender onboard?” he asked, watching as she bent down to open the bag she’d pulled his drysuit from.
“Yes. It’s inside, at the stern.” Viper pulled out a waterproof leg holster and handed it to him. “It’s a drive-in garage. Once you open it, you can pull right out into the water. Here. Put that on. It will keep the gun dry.”
“I already have my piece in here,” Michael said, patting a pocket at his waist.
She looked up and smiled at him as she pulled a Ruger SR1911 out of the bag.
“The holster is for this,” she said, handing him the weapon along with extra ammunition and a suppressor. “The accuracy is far better than what you carry. The night scope is already attached, and its mods give it an outstanding range. Use that when you absolutely have to hit your target.”
“If I’m pulling the trigger, I already absolutely have to hit my target,” he retorted, taking the gun from her. He pulled out the clip, familiarizing himself with the pistol. “You really do have the fun toys, don’t you?”
Viper zipped the bag closed and stood up, her lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile.
“Not sure I would call them toys,” she replied, glancing at her watch. “Any questions?”
Michael glanced up from the gun, his eyes meeting hers.
“Do you think this will work?”
“Which part?”
“The part where I get Angela off that boat and to shore.”
“Yes.”
Michael slid the gun into the holster and secured it, then strapped the holster around his thigh.
“And the part where you get the colonel?”
Viper’s impenetrable mask slid into place. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”
Michael looked at her, his face grim.
“You might need help. Once I get Angela away, I can go back,” he began, but she was already shaking her head.
“Your job is to take care of Angie,” she said, cutting him off. “Get her to the marina. There’ll be transport waiting. Take it and get her somewhere safe, and keep her safe. That’s what I need from you.”
“How will I know when it’s all clear?”
“You’ll know.” She looked at her watch. “Transport will wait for half an hour in case you get held up, but then it leaves. Whatever happens, make sure you and Angie get there in time and are on it.”
“I know. Timing is everything. What is our transport?”
“A car with a driver.”
She hesitated for a brief a second and Michael raised his eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Michael, when you get to the marina, you’re not a Federal agent. Do you understand?” she asked softly. “As far as anyone knows, you’re simply a business associate trying to get an innocent woman to safety. You’re not law enforcement. You’re not the good guy. Got it?”
Michael stared at her for a long moment, his brows pulled together in a frown, before he finally nodded reluctantly.
“No mention of who I am. Got it.”
Viper nodded and looked at the boat, bobbing in the water next to the dock.
“Time to go, gunny,” she said, looking back at his face. “You ready?”
“Oorah!”
She grinned and held out her hand. “I can’t ask for more than that.”
Michael gripped her hand and pulled her close to wrap his arms around her in a hug.
“You take care of yourself, Lina,” he said softly, squeezing her gently.
Viper pulled away and her lips twisted faintly.
“I’ll see you on the other side, gunny.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Viper draped a bag across her body and reached for the last black duffel in the back of the SUV. She had already wiped down the entire vehicle for any stray prints and the black gloves on her hands ensured that it remained clean. Hawk had taken care of the surveillance cameras in the small parking lot before she arrived, and she turned to walk away, confident in the knowledge that she was leaving no trace behind.
By tomorro
w all this effort would be a moot point. They were extra steps that both she and Hawk were used to taking, but when this was over, they wouldn’t really matter. Harry would be dealt with, and Charlie would clean up the rest. Their work would be done, and it would be as if they were never here. They would fade into the darkness and disappear.
Just as they always did.
For once, the prospect didn’t sit well with her, and Viper felt an unfamiliar sense of disquiet. As many times as she’d walked away in the past, this time was different. She wasn’t just leaving a town she had called home for a few weeks. She was leaving a life behind; one that she hadn’t wanted to return to last year when she was forced back into the game.
The disquiet was pushed away by a rush of anger. Harry had been responsible for it all. She had been content on her mountain in South America, learning to accept herself again despite the things she had done, when he dragged her back into the world she had walked away from. Like a puppet, she had danced along on his string, not realizing that she was playing a part in an elaborate production.
The anger remained, simmering inside her as she strode across the small airport parking lot towards the single, large rectangular building. Not only had she been drawn back into the game, but she’d inadvertently dragged the only family she had left along with her. It had cost John his life, and nearly cost Stephanie and Angela theirs.
Reaching the doors to the airport, she went inside and glanced around. Her eyes lit on Hawk, sitting on the far side near a wall of windows overlooking the dark landing strip, and the anger intensified. The only reason he was still alive was because a random helicopter flew in front of an inexperienced shooter in Singapore.