by CW Browning
The engine roared to life, almost deafening them in the enclosed space. Michael pressed the throttle forward and the boat began to move out of the garage, water lapping at its sides. The bow had just moved out of the garage when someone ran onto the side deck, a gun in their hand.
Michael aimed and fired as the boat pulled out of the garage, hitting the man in the chest. A bullet whizzed past the bow and he increased the throttle, guiding the speedboat out into the ocean waves as another bullet hit the side of the small craft.
Letting out a curse, he reached into the holster on his leg and pulled out the 1911, turning to locate the threat. There were two, and the one closest to them was on the starboard side of the yacht, holding an automatic rifle. Michael’s first shot went wide when the boat bobbed, but his second was true. The man wavered, then pitched over the side of the deck into the water.
Another bullet hit the leather chair next to Angela and she cried out, ducking.
“Get down!” Michael barked. She dove to the floor as Michael spun the wheel, trying to turn so he could get a better angle on the shooter. Raising his weapon, he aimed, and froze.
Colonel Harry Shore was standing on the upper level, a rifle braced against his shoulder, and his eye to the night scope.
Michael knew exactly who he was aiming for and, from that height advantage, he wouldn’t miss again.
Without thinking, Michael let go of the wheel and threw himself over Angela.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Viper ducked behind a half wall that separated a dining area from a sitting room and ejected the clip from her .22, sliding a new one in. This was the last one and then she was out of ammunition for the .22. Inhaling, she waited a second, then straightened up, firing across the room at the figure reloading his 9mm. The gun dropped out of his hand as he fell back, a bullet hole in his forehead.
She moved out from behind the wall and towards the door at the other end of the room. So far, she had heard Harry yelling orders, but had yet to lay eyes on her quarry. Instead, she was making her way through the ranks of the cartel that crewed the yacht. They were like cockroaches, coming from everywhere as soon as she got close.
Viper wasn’t a fool. She knew what Harry was doing. He was buying time while she used up her ammunition and energy on the cartel thugs protecting him. At least, that was how he would have begun this game. By now, he must have realized that there was more than just her onboard. While she had been doing everything in her power to make sure that Michael had as much time to get Angela off the boat as possible, she had heard gunshots more than once in other parts of the ship. Some of those could have been Hawk, but she knew some were Michael. It was unavoidable.
And now Harry knew someone was going for Angela.
She moved outside on the port side walkway and started to head back towards the stern. When she was there a few minutes ago, there had been no sign of Michael or Angela. The yacht tender garage was still closed.
Viper glanced at her watch and her lips tightened. If they didn’t get there in the next few minutes, they would be in serious trouble. They were running out of time.
A single gunshot rang out from the stern and she broke into a run. As she drew closer, she heard the sound of a speedboat engine and she exhaled silently. Reaching the railing, she watched from the shadows of the port side as the boat pulled away from the back of the yacht, Angela seated in one of the front seats. Relief washed through her at the sight of her friend, alive and moving away to safety. He’d done it. Michael had come through for her.
“The gunny is clear,” she said in a low voice.
It was a moment before Hawk answered in her ear, “And the package?”
“With him.”
“Stand-by.”
Another gunshot rang out then and Michael turned in the boat to fire back at the yacht, hitting a figure standing on the lower deck. Viper frowned as she heard another shot and Angela dove to the floor of the boat.
She swiftly scanned the lower deck. Not seeing anyone, she moved along the walkway, crossing to the starboard side. She was mid-stride when a sudden, low hum vibrated through the yacht followed almost immediately by a loud crack. The yacht trembled as if it had been shocked, and then plunged into total darkness. The engine stopped, the lights went out, and in an instant, they were in pitch blackness with only the light of the moon above. Deathly silence reigned.
“Com check,” Hawk whispered in her ear.
“Received.”
Viper pulled a pair of goggles out of her jacket and pulled them over her head, pressing the button on the side to activate the night-vision. Everything took on a greenish-blue tinge and she moved forward silently until she reached the end of the walkway. Peering around the corner, her heart surged into her throat. There, a few feet away, Harry had a rifle trained on the speedboat.
Fury, instant and fierce, surged through her and propelled her forward. She fired one shot, but not at his head as was her habit. Her bullet tore into the forearm of the hand supporting the long barrel just as he pulled the trigger, sending the deadly shot harmlessly to the left of the speedboat. The rifle flew out of his hands and over the side of the railing as Harry let out a startled cry and grasped his arm, blood pouring through his fingers.
His eyes widened briefly as she advanced toward him, anger making her strides long and deliberate. She slid her gun into her leg holster and, as she reached him, her right hook drove into his jaw. He fell backwards and stumbled, hitting the railing. His eyes closed briefly, then he shook his head and straightened himself up with effort. Releasing his bleeding arm, he pulled a thin, deadly blade from his pocket and lunged toward her.
Viper side-stepped quickly and the blade caught the outer fold of her jacket. She brought her elbow down sharply, slamming it into his wrist, and the blade went skidding across the walkway and over the side. Before she could land another hit with her punishing right, Harry let out a sound like a growl and slammed his bald head forward, hitting her squarely on the forehead. The force of the blow sent starbursts through her eyes and her head snapped back painfully. Stumbling back a step, her vision was just clearing when Harry looked at something directly behind her.
Viper spun around just as a man slightly taller than herself swung a metal pipe at her head. Throwing her hands up, she grabbed the end of the pipe with both hands, stopping it. With a heave, she used his forward momentum to rip the pipe out of his hands. Feeling Harry behind her, she rammed it backwards, burying it solidly into his gut as she swept her leg out to catch the man off balance. A painful grunt told her that her aim had been true, but she didn’t have time to feel any satisfaction. Raising the pipe swiftly, she cracked it against the temple of her attacker as he stumbled sideways.
As he sank to the floor, Viper swung around to face Harry again. He was just straightening up from the blow she’d dealt him below his sternum and, as she came around, he pulled one hand out of his pocket. She caught sight of the gun even as the pipe flashed and slammed into the wrist holding it. The gun fell from his fingers, but before she could take advantage of his disarmament, a streak of awareness went down her spine.
Viper didn’t think, she just moved. Diving to the side, she hit the wall as searing pain went through her side. Her jaw tightened as Harry backed up, then turned to disappear through a door a few feet away. Ignoring the pain, she spun around to face the new threat and found herself confronting a face she knew from surveillance photos only.
Roberto, La Cabeza’s new Second-in-Command, stood before her, and the long, deadly blade he held in his hand was stained with blood.
Michael killed the engine and grabbed the line, moving to the side to secure the small craft to the cleat on the dock. He had pulled the speed boat to the end of the farthest dock, where it was dark and quiet. He tied it up and glanced at Angela. At some point on the way here, she’d passed out on the back seat. Obviously, the morphine was still strong in her system. He didn’t know how else she could go to sleep after the hair-raising esca
pe from the Sea Queen.
Michael still didn’t know quite how they managed to make it off the yacht alive. By all odds, they shouldn’t have, especially when the colonel had a perfect shot. When he lifted his head to try to take a shot himself, knowing that it was near impossible at that distance even with the range of the 1911, he hadn’t had to fire after all. Viper had beat him to it. As he watched, she shot Harry Shore and saved both his and Angela’s lives. Without wasting any more time, he had jumped up and turned the boat toward the coast.
Looking back, his last sight of Alina was of her fighting both Harry and another figure on the upper deck of the yacht. He had almost turned the boat around and gone back, but one look at Angela had reminded him what Lina was counting on him to do. And so he had opened the throttle and left the yacht behind.
Now, all he could do was pray she survived.
Glancing toward the dark marina, he took off the leg holster and removed the 1911. Setting it on one of the seats, he removed the dry suit that covered his clothes and carefully folded it before strapping the holster around it, creating a neat and tight package to return to Viper. He tucked the 1911 into his jacket pocket, glanced at his watch and looked at Angela again. It was time to get her moving. They were on time, but they wouldn’t be if they waited any longer.
Michael moved to the back of the boat and crouched down beside the sleeping woman. Careful not to jar her shoulder this time, he gently shook her leg.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Wake up. It’s time to move.”
Angela stirred and opened her eyes, peering at him groggily.
“Huh?” she murmured sleepily. Then she gasped as she came fully awake and struggled to sit up. “Oh my God, are we safe? Where are we?”
Michael put an arm behind her and helped her to sit up.
“We’re at a marina on St. Simons Island in Georgia,” he told her. “We’re not out of it yet. Transportation is waiting, but we have to get to it.”
Angela nodded and tried to stand. She grimaced and tears of pain filled her eyes.
“Oh God it hurts,” she moaned.
Michael helped her up and glanced at the dock. The dock wasn’t high, but there was a gap between the boat and wooden planks and Angela had no way to steady herself.
“I’ll get out and then lift you onto the dock,” he said. “It will hurt, but I don’t see any other way. If you slip climbing out, you can’t catch yourself.”
She looked at the space between the boat and the pier and nodded.
“It wouldn’t be a problem except I’m not feeling right,” she muttered. “I’m having a problem just standing. I feel like I’ve been drugged.”
“You have.” Michael jumped out of the boat and turned around to face her. “Get as close as you can.”
She moved to the edge of boat and tried to balance herself as it bobbed with her shifting weight. When it settled down again, he reached out and put his hands under her arms. He looked into her face.
“Ready?”
She nodded and he lifted her out of the boat and onto the pier, remorse washing over him as she let out an involuntary cry. He dropped his hands quickly and watched as she cradled her arm against her body. The makeshift sling he had made on the yacht was holding up surprisingly well, but it was starting to sag.
“Let try to tie these a little tighter,” he said, reaching for the knot over her shoulder. “It might give a little relief.”
Angela nodded and stood still while he retied the knot on her shoulder and then the one around her neck. When he was finished and stepped back, she caught sight of his arm and let out a gasp.
“You’re bleeding!”
Michael glanced down. The sleeve of his jacket was soaked with blood and he could see the hole where the bullet had gone through.
“Yes,” he agreed, glancing around the deserted pier. He turned toward the marina and took her hand. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”
“That’s more than a scratch. What happened?”
“I got caught with a bullet.”
“When?!”
“On the yacht, before we got to the boat.”
“You didn’t make a sound!”
He glanced at her, amused. “I was a little busy.”
“Am I the only one who hasn’t been shot in this whole mess?” Angela demanded after a moment of silence. “Is this seriously everyone’s life except mine?”
“It’s not a bad thing. You say it like there’s something wrong with you.”
“Well, I’m starting to feel left out!” she exclaimed.
He looked at her incredulously. “Says the woman walking around with a jacked up shoulder that will need surgery to repair it.”
“Yeah, but there’s nothing sexy about that. At least you have war stories.”
Michael saw a shadow move ahead on the main walkway and slid his hand into his pocket to close it around the 1911.
“Honey, you’ve got some war stories of your own now,” he said, shifting closer to her so that he could shove her behind him if needed. “How did your shoulder get dislocated, anyway?”
Angela started to shrug then let out a groan of agony. “Ugh. I tried to escape.”
The shadow ahead moved again and Michael’s eyes narrowed. He scanned the rest of the area but couldn’t see anymore. Was it friend? Or foe? Alina hadn’t told him how many people would waiting, or even what the transportation was. All she said was that someone would be there.
“How?” he asked, trying to keep her talking. The less she noticed right now, the better. If she panicked, he would have another issue on his hands.
“I woke up in the back of a truck at a rest stop. I was alone. The bastard stopped to eat. Can you believe it?”
“And he left you in the truck?” Michael glanced at her. “Really?”
She nodded, completely unaware that he had moved even closer to her.
“My hands were zip-tied behind me. I think he drugged me and thought I was out for the count.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No. I got out of the truck and ran. It was dark and there were a lot of tractor-trailers and I couldn’t see very well. I tripped and fell and landed on my shoulder. It hurt, but I was so scared I got up and kept going. I didn’t know it was dislocated.”
The shadow moved again and moonlight glinted off something in its hands. Michael eased the gun out of his pocket, keeping it close to his side.
“And he caught up with you?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. “When I woke up again, I was on the bed in the room where you found me.”
“No wonder your shoulder is so messed up,” he muttered, his eyes on the shadow. “You popped it out with your hands behind you, and then it stayed that way.”
“Can we not talk about it? I’m trying to ignore the pain. Talking about it makes it worse.”
The shadow shifted again, moving out from behind a moored boat as they drew closer and Michael saw that it was a man dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. He raised his hands and the moonlight illuminated the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun swinging towards them.
Releasing Angela’s hand, Michael shoved her behind him and raised the gun, steadying it with both hands. He fired three quick shots as Angela let out a startled cry behind him, gripping the back of his jacket with her hand. The shadow lurched and then fell, the shotgun skidding out of his hand toward the edge of the pier.
“Stay behind me!” Michael commanded, moving forward quickly, the gun trained on the prone figure a few yards away.
He wasn’t moving and Michael scanned the shadows for more as he drew closer. Not seeing anyone, he continued until he reached the shotgun laying near the edge of the planks. He kicked it off the pier and it splashed into the bay. Bending down, he felt for a pulse on the would-be attacker. There was none.
“Is he...” Angela’s voice trailed off.
“It was us or him,” Michael said grimly, straightening up and taking her hand again. “Come on. Stay close to me a
nd, for God’s sake, if you see something, tell me.”
She nodded and stumbled as he started across the wide pier. His fingers tightened on hers and she gained her balance again, moving closer to him. The main pier ran for about fifty yards until it met the marina proper. Buildings lined the shore, and Michael knew they were exposed on the pier. There was no way around it, though. Angela couldn’t swim and there was no other way to the marina.
He moved her quickly past boats moored along the dock, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. His eyes never stopped moving, and it was only because of that that he saw the shadow in the distance suddenly lurch out from behind a bench and fall to the ground. Michael’s hand tightened on Angela’s and he frowned, straining to see in the dim light. There was no other movement. Yet someone was there. Men didn’t just go down on their own. He checked his stride, briefly wondering if he should continue, then kept going. Aside from going back to the boat and breaking the plan, there was no other choice.
They had just reached the marina when a stifled cry echoed from one building over, then silence. Michael’s brows drew together sharply. What the hell?
“Michael!” Angela hissed, her fingers gripping his in a death clench. “Look! Up there!”
Michael followed her nod and his blood ran cold. A shadow was on top of the building to the right of them and he could see the rifle in the moonlight. He let go of her hand and pushed her behind him again, lifting the gun. While the 1911 had surprised him twice with its exceptional range, he knew this was a hail Mary shot.
He never had to pull the trigger. Before he could, the shadow suddenly lurched and a bullet went wide, hitting a trash can about five feet away from them. Angela let out a cry and grabbed his jacket, pressing against his back, but he was staring at the rooftop, dumbfounded. The shadow had turned and, as he watched, a second shadow appeared. They struggled for a moment, then the second one wrenched the rifle out of the first one’s hands and slammed him over the head with it. For a sickening moment, the first shadow swayed on the edge of the rooftop. Almost in slow motion, he froze, suspended in the air, before tipping backwards over the edge.