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

by LS Silverii

  A microburst of weather rocked the chopper. “Whoa, what the hell was that?” Hollywood felt the shudder in his bones. He scrambled for a handhold for balance and activated the intra-cockpit comms button.

  “Sorry, sir. Pushing her at max velocity. Wind hooked us up and almost went vertical.” The dread of almost losing his copter tightened the pilot’s voice.

  “Good recovery, just slow it down a bit,” Hollywood suggested.

  “Negative. No time to lollygag. I need you two back at HQ pronto.” Rose cut into the closed circuit patch. Hollywood smiled at her unrestrained access to even the most insignificant resources. He wondered if she’d been watching his and Voodoo’s antics before placing a strategic call to interrupt their sex.

  “You heard the lady,” Voodoo snipped without trying to hide her displeasure.

  “What we know so far is that your roomie is on that vessel loaded with bio-chemicals. She’s heading up the Mississippi with her Razgravian comrades.” Billy’s anxiety was apparent, though he had never shown that emotion before.

  “Up the Mississippi River?” Hollywood shot in surprise.

  “Yes, it was the only way to transport their product to its final destination,” Billy continued.

  “Which is what and where?” Hollywood craned his neck through the tinted cabin windows. They weren’t anywhere near the river, but he knew that’d soon be his destination.

  “Negative on both,” Rose said. “Do you think it’s possible to contact Dr. Celeste Rayburn at the CDC down in Savannah? If you haven’t burned that bridge too badly, I mean.” Hollywood sighed. Rose wouldn’t let it go. Needling him again about what she thought was a professional indiscretion although he’d never slept with the doctor. Despite Rose’s accusations. He decided to ignore her.

  Billy spoke up. “I think it’s the same weapon of mass destruction concoction they tried to use in Norfolk when the president and first lady commissioned that Navy destroyer. They know their best chance for igniting widespread fear is a chemical or biological WMD. Why stop now?” Billy’s intercept seemed to neutralize the friction between Hollywood and Rose.

  “Shit, then it’s probably close to that same lethal fentanyl mixture. We dealt with it in Russia. The Spetsnaz gassed the Chechen terrorists and the poor hostages in the Moscow theatre.” Hollywood’s voice drifted. His gut knotted at the memory of those bloated bodies. “Exposure did make hunting the perimeter terrorists much easier.”

  “We’ll have more decoded diary by the time you arrive. Voodoo, we’ve already authorized participation with your Sheriff, and made notification to your Task Force commander. You’ll have federal jurisdiction once we get you credentialed at HQ,” Rose assured her.

  “Thanks for the credentials. How’s Lawless feeling?”

  Hollywood watched her body’s response. Tension stiffened her arms and shoulders. She probably had not considered her only real authorization for law enforcement powers was within her home jurisdiction of Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana. Either that, or she wasn’t over her former friend with benefits—Lawless Boudreaux.

  “He’ll heal better than our country if we don’t stop this damn strike. You kids get some shuteye. See you in less than four hours.” Even Billy, the warrior, was also beginning to show the signs of stress-related fatigue. His once strong tone was not weak but lacking. They’d all have to dig deep.

  CHAPTER 3

  A light thump and deceleration of whirling blades signaled they’d arrived. A shadowy figure stood along the far edge of the tarmac. Hollywood was unable to identify who it was, but the person’s signal to keep heads below the spinning blades was clear. He exited the chopper then reached back, grabbed Voodoo by the wrist and led her away from the whining turbines.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Can’t tell, but he’s wearing a full tactical kit.”

  Hollywood squinted against the night, as the figure slowly came into his focus. He noticed the black hawk helicopter wasn’t killing power.

  “I’m guessing our stay here won’t be long,” he yelled to her as the rotors re-engaged. They greeted Billy halfway between the Black Hawk and the office.

  “Y’all made good time. I’ll stow gear kits on board while you grab chow and hit the head. Off in fifteen with airborne briefing.” Billy Price’s expression was deadpan serious.

  “Hi, Billy. Fucking nice to see you again too,” Voodoo’s verbal slap was uncharacteristic. Mouth turned down, Hollywood reconsidered how well he actually knew her.

  “I’ll get your gear,” Billy glared at Hollywood. There wasn’t anything else to say, Hollywood felt the sting of blood rushing up his neck—disrespect wasn’t acceptable among STR members.

  Silent as he made his way through the matrix of offices and cubicles, Hollywood reached for her hand. He wasn’t nearly as touchy in the STR’s sterile environment. His heart pumped part with embarrassment over her comment and part concentration on what cards the deck held.

  “Hi, Jill. This is Krystal Laveau reporting for processing.” Hollywood grinned before he snapped to a salute. Jill looked away.

  Voodoo stared up at him, her eyes steady and vacant at the same time. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Hollywood cocked his head. “You okay?”

  She shook her head, slid a gaze to Jill and came back to him. “Her too?”

  Jill looked away.

  Before he could react, Voodoo was led away to be photographed, fingerprinted, swabbed for DNA and retinal scanned before being handed a template printed commission card. He watched as she drew the template close to her face. “Property of…” her lips parted.

  After the photo was snapped, she headed back to him, her shoulders back, her head high but something in her stride was off. Too slow. And the way her eyes darted around rather than slowly taking in her surroundings. Fear. That’s what he saw here. Would the real Krystal please stand up?

  “Ready?” Hollywood tugged at her triceps. She eased out of his grip. Jill skated out of the room and banged the door shut on her way out. Hollywood was in full operational mode. There’d never been a time or place for personal drama during pre-operational preparedness, only life-saving laser focus. This would be his first.

  Still in the mini-dress from their dinner at the casino’s luxury Pan-Asian restaurant, Voodoo’s arms shook at the elbow. Her fists mashed into hips. The fiery Creole attitude fumed as Hollywood watched her bottom lip shake. Unsure how to handle this situation—he stood back. Soon, he heard boots tapping through the hallways in a rush to board their copters.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we gotta deploy.”

  “You’re not sure? Where you been, hero?”

  “Next to you the entire time. What’d I miss?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why’re you behaving like this? Shit’s hitting the fan and we got a job to do.”

  “Maybe I’m scared. Maybe I ain’t the fucking hero, you, or the rest of your mutant American superheroes are. I’m just some stupid deputy from down in the swamps.”

  “Baby, are you serious? You’re amazing, and STR needs you. Rose wouldn’t have authorized just anyone unless she saw something valuable in you. If you’d rather not come, you’re welcome to wait here until I get back.”

  “If you get back. This shit’s out of control, and I’m not trained to deal with it. Promise me you’ll help me get through.”

  “That’s why we’re involved, because it will get out of control if we don’t make a stand. Your call, but I’ve got to go. Someone has to stop Bonny.”

  Voodoo slumped slightly, then drew herself up. “You’re right. She was my roommate from hell after all. I’m kinda responsible.” She cracked a grin through an otherwise terrified expression. She held the door open for him, but he stopped to first kiss her.

  He saw the fire in her eyes return.

  “Now let’s go kick some ass,” she said.

  * * *

  “Ready to collect more air miles? Heading to the Ho
me of the Blues—Memphis.” Billy said as he scratched his head and looked unsure about that fact.

  “I’m sorry.” Voodoo mouthed, and raised her right foot into the Black Hawk’s cabin. She grabbed Billy’s extended arm as rotor wash jostled her. With mutual tugs she leveraged herself in and patted his black-clad bicep. “I’m just a little nervous.”

  “You’ll be fine. This is a team, and you’re part of it.”

  Voodoo immediately felt a sense of relief. She strapped the harness and pointed for Hollywood to sit next to her. The cabin was dim, but pre-flight green and red lights showed her smile had become less frigid. She’d changed into a SWAT one-piece coverall, and brand new tactical boots. She tugged the zippered collar up over her neck as if chilled—her body jerked with adrenaline.

  Billy instructed the pilots to head west once the team loaded. Both cargo doors were secured, and interior lights flashed before they flickered off. Chase Westin reached up to toggle overheads on as Billy leaned forward with his briefing book.

  “Sun’ll be up soon, so lets get the details square and then relax. It’s over five hours and weather ain’t pleasant.” Billy palmed something to Voodoo. The white plastic package held two pills inside. She stuffed it under her thigh until after the briefing. Her stomach was already knotted from the casino restaurant’s progressive cuisine—probably not the best menu selection.

  “A few teenagers were daring each other to fly their UAVs out over the Mississippi River. One got caught in heavy winds and pushed off course a bit. These commercial drones are incredibly hi-tech for civilian use. It returned home once it lost GPS signal with the kid’s handheld. Kid downloaded the HD video to watch their aerial dogfights and he saw it.”

  “Saw what?” Chase asked.

  “The zombie ship.”

  “Oh no, I ain’t fucking with no spooks.” Voodoo’s eyes popped open as she waved her hands wildly. “I got no gris-gris to protect us.” She laughed nervously as the others stared in bewilderment.

  “We got PPE suits for protection, Voodoo. Seems the kid had no idea where the video was shot along the river other than outside Memphis. He’d uploaded it to YouTube with tag lines—ship, wreck, voodoo, zombie, MS River, wolf and sickle. See where I’m going?” Billy asked. “It shows great video of the flight and the blue hull with bright yellow stacks. It looked moored at a legitimate dock along the river. No reports of mass casualties in the port area,” Billy added.

  “Shit, more bio-chem to deal with? You think the zombies are bodies from contamination?” KC Westin asked. She looked at Voodoo as the only other female in the copter. “You got a spell to keep us safe, honey?”

  “Not sure, Rose took off on a Lear as soon as our techs trolled the video online. She’s going to find the kid and the original footage. There’s an app that shows windage, elevation and exact location. She’ll also head up the HAZMAT response if needed and have the location identified before we hit it,” Billy continued without referring to his notes. The guy was a machine when it came to details.

  “Us, hit it? Doesn’t the Coast Guard or locals handle their jurisdiction?” Voodoo asked.

  Hollywood tapped her on the thigh. “Word’s gotta stay close to the vest—our vests. Every piece of info is so critical, that one leak might jeopardize the mission. We handle as much of the detail as superhumanly possible.”

  “Honestly, you’d be lucky to get others to help. Most ain’t too happy to have us roll into town barking orders. You know how damn territorial cops get. It’s better left to us—easy in and easy out,” Chase added. Voodoo nodded, and then checked the wrapped package that Billy slipped her—Dramamine.

  “Why we thinking this vessel’s connected to the Preacher anyway?” KC asked. The Black Hawk pitched into a half roll—a series of green lights turned to flashing yellow and a warning buzzer wailed three shrill blasts. KC chuckled at the wild ride—Voodoo downed the pills.

  “Sorry, sir,” a pilot said.

  “Son, you’re handling this beast the best you can. Weather’s falling apart out West.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Okay, Intel Section has most of the diary translated. Decoding it won’t take as long since the encryption is similar to that used by the Preacher’s crew. What we knew was suspected by Hollywood last week about the Rex Mardi Gras parade being a distraction. Well, the assassination of Rex more than the parade, but that’s distracting also.” Billy high-fived Hollywood and bopped Voodoo on the knee. She rolled her eyes.

  “The meat of their mission was the cargo ship that entered the mouth of the Mississippi River undetected. It was flying under another nation’s flag, so the Coasties failed to pick it up. It was scheduled to insert deep enough up river to avoid detection. The mother ship is back in the ocean, and a cutter loaded with a lethal chemical is sailing right through the heart of the United States.” The helicopter pitched again and rolled with an overcorrection. Billy snatched a rescue strap and allowed his body to sway with the motion. His grin uneasy.

  “Where’s it’s final destination?” Voodoo’s words slurred—her head rolled sideways. She tried to relax and felt the effects of the pills. She wanted to absorb each detail, but exhaustion, compounded by the dimenhydrinate was almost too much to fight.

  “At this point, we don’t have enough of the diary decoded to determine where. But lets say somewhere between New Orleans and Lake Itasca, Minnesota to be safe.”

  “Only two thousand three hundred and twenty miles to cover, no problem,” Voodoo laughed that she recalled the river’s length from junior high school’s geography class. She dozed off.

  CHAPTER 4

  About twelve miles outside of the Memphis city limits, the Black Hawk’s rubber wheels finally reunited with rain-soaked earth. The abandoned shipyard, filled with rusted metal and half-sunken hulls, looked worse than obsolete. Strange place for world destruction—perfect place for world destruction.

  Voodoo stretched and felt more alert than she had in days. Billy’s head was still stuck in the briefing book, and he told STR to wait in the craft. In the distance, a trail of water sprayed high into the early morning haze. It was Rose driving an armored vehicle. Once it rolled to a stop, she and Billy conferred, then he returned to the craft.

  “Into the MRAP. Move.” Billy had on his game face.

  “Good morning, team,” Rose said one they were assembled. “This isn’t optimal, but in light of limited time, I think it’s the best way to proceed. Billy’s briefed you all, so zip up the Tyveks. I’ve secured SCBAs for each of you.”

  Voodoo rubbed the rain from the back of her neck as she lifted and then set back down the pile of plastic and the harnessed air tank. She shook out her hands in the cramped quarters and accidently hit Chase on the ass. She looked apologetically at him.

  The carrier made Voodoo feel like she was inside a soup can. The red LED lights created a sinister effect that unsettled her spirit. Plopping onto the narrow bench seat, she remained quiet while nausea roiled in the empty pit of her gut. Unsure what equipment was required or how to wear it, she felt separated from the others—mostly Hollywood.

  “Little help here.” Her pasted-on smile matched the unnatural stillness.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Thanks, Dwight. Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

  “Never, baby. Absolutely never.” He pretended to kiss her before he pulled the self-contained breathing apparatus’ mask over her face. His hand pressed against the mask’s filter, he told her to suck in—perfect seal—and she was ready to roll.

  “We don’t expect to encounter anyone on the vessel, but can’t take chances. CDC tells us that the suspected bio-chem should be dormant by now, though I’d rather sweat it out than foam up. Either way, your tact gear should carry the atropine combined with Narcan.” Rose briefed the team as the ship’s chipped blue hull loomed through the driving rain. Lightning cracks distorted the shape. High winds made it appear adrift.

  “Isn’t this kind of a wide open approach? Wh
at happened to stealth?” Chase asked through the bubbled facemask. Voodoo nodded—her eyes widening with concern the closer Rose powered the armored personnel carrier to the docked ship.

  Hollywood pressed his palm against the thick plastic decontamination coverall to get her attention. Voodoo jumped, a slight sound of surprise escaped her hood before it was replaced with a sincere smile. Sounds of plastic crinkles echoed in the small area as their arms interlocked.

  “Sorry, no invisible blankets, but we’re operating out here on our own. Congress is still pissed and unsure if they’ll fund STR any longer.” Billy’s voice lowered as his mission focus amped up. Thunder clapped to blanket the last of his words.

  “Damn, we stick out like a boner in a speedo,” Chase laughed.

  Voodoo wrapped her arm tighter around Hollywood’s. She smiled behind the thick rubber mask. “I love you,” she mouthed. He nodded with a thumbs-up—she punched him in the arm.

  “You know the drill. Lots of ground with limited talent. We’re running in two-man elements. Teams 1 and 2 go straight to the wheelhouse. Secure the engine and radio controls.” Billy’s speech was sharp and invigorating.

  Voodoo began to feel more comfortable—she was back in her SWAT element. She worried less about world destruction and focused more on protecting her partner and team while they cleared this ship.

  Hollywood and Chase nodded.

  “Teams 3 and 4 cover the open deck space and then find secure over-watch positions,” Billy continued. “Sorry, that’s Rose and me—we got each team covered.”

  Voodoo looked at the other two STR Agents accompanying Billy and Rose but hadn’t met them before.

  “Finally, Team 5 and 6 dive straight for the bowels and make sure to disable the engine room.” Billy looked around the jammed carry area and smiled. “Cake.”