Operation: Departed Angel (Shepherd Security Book 5)

by Margaret Kay

  The local started the engine. Mother helped him cast off his lines. Sloan helped Daniela get comfortable in the center of the boat, resting against their packs. He sat beside her, checking both her and the sleeping baby’s vital signs. Daniela’s pulse was weak. He wondered how much blood she lost. As soon as they got her on the sub, he and the ship’s doctor could take a look at both her and the baby.

  The small boat motored out of the harbor. “We are in a boat, navigating into the channel. I need eyes on all traffic.”

  “Roger that,” Captain White replied. “Your team is just coming onboard now. As soon as they’re in, we’ll plot an intercept course and head towards it. I’m bringing your Ops Center online now.”

  “I’ve got you on satellite,” Yvette’s voice came through. Yvette was one of the lead analysts who manned Ops at the Shepherd Security Building. Both Sloan and Mother were relieved to hear her familiar voice.

  “Roger that, Control,” Mother replied. “I need your eyes for other traffic in the channel. We’re not running with any lights and don’t want to get hit. I see one tanker to my two o’clock but can’t tell speed or direction.”

  “I’ve got you, Mother,” Yvette said. “There isn’t too much traffic in your path. Besides the tanker at your two o’clock, there’s a freighter at your nine o’clock that is two miles out and moving fast. It should cross your path a good half-mile before you reach it, but I’ll keep tabs on it and any other traffic. As far as that tanker at your two o’clock, it’s heading away from your direction.”

  “Thank you, Control.” Mother looked at the boat captain to find his gaze darting between him and Sloan and Daniela. “You don’t want to know who we are, trust me on that.”

  The man pushed the throttle up, increasing the boat’s speed.

  Sloan turned so his gaze was on Mother and the boat captain. He stayed seated beside the mother and child though. If the boat were to hit any choppiness, or another boat’s wake, he’d be there to keep the two of them safe.

  “Mother, weather reports show fifteen to twenty knot winds. That should give you about three to five-foot seas,” Yvette added.

  Mother and Sloan both knew the boat they were in could handle it. Sloan could see Mother’s face well enough in the moonlight to see that he too was calculating that in seas of that height, the boat should be able to maintain twenty-five knots. Sloan smiled and nodded at Mother.

  “Roger that, Control,” Mother acknowledged. Then his eyes met the local’s. He could see the questions all over the man’s face. “We’re the people who are going to pay you handsomely when we reach our destination. That’s all you need to know.”

  The man nodded again. He wouldn’t ask and he certainly didn’t want to be killed by these people. They could toss him overboard easy. He suspected the tall man who stood beside him could easily pilot this boat himself. They hadn’t killed him yet, so he was optimistic they wouldn’t.

  After forty-five minutes, Captain White’s voice came through the men’s comms. “We’ll be surfacing at your one o’clock. The RIB will be launched as soon as we’re up.”

  Both Sloan and Mother had done that maneuver hundreds of times, literally. It would take but seconds to get the rigid inflatable boat underway once the submarine surfaced. “Roger, Captain, we’ll be ready to move onto the RIB the second we see your hull break the water.”

  “Roger that,” the captain acknowledged.

  “Captain,” Sloan broadcast. “When we board your vessel, I’ll have one to be brought immediately to sick bay.”

  “We’ll be standing by and ready,” the captain replied.

  Under the luminous full moon, all four sets of eyes watched the sub surface gracefully from the murky waves, the lights of the island in the distance behind it. To Sloan, it was always a magnificent sight, even if the cover of a dark night sky was preferable during an operation. The local piloting their boat didn’t seem to appreciate it as much as Sloan and Mother did. Sloan chuckled at his startled reaction.

  In seconds, the surface of the exposed hull bustled with activity. The black RIB was launched with four men aboard. The local was even more nervous now as it sped towards them.

  Mother reached into his pocket. He had over a hundred dollars in it. He pulled it all out. “We’ll be getting off here, after all,” he spoke in Spanish.

  The man took the money. “I need you to navigate.”

  The corners of Mother’s lips tipped into a grin. “I’ll get you a report now. Are you heading to Curaçao or back to Venezuela?”

  The man considered it thoughtfully. He recounted his money. “Curaçao.”

  Mother and Sloan both laughed. They knew that the man may damn well never return to Venezuela.

  “Control, can you give me a traffic report from this location to Curaçao?”

  Yvette replied it was clear. He relayed that to the man as the RIB arrived, coming alongside their boat, its occupants fully armed. One of those men, jumped aboard their boat, line in hand to hold the two boats together.

  Sloan helped Daniela stand. The baby had just woken up. He and Mother handed their packs to the men in the RIB. Sloan reached his hands to Daniela. “Give me Maria. I’ll carry her over and hold her until we are on the sub.

  Instinctively, Daniela clasped her more tightly to herself. The baby began to cry, a welcome sound to Sloan’s ears. Even though her vitals were fine, he was worried about her health and a crying baby signaled health.

  “Trust me with your daughter. I’m stronger than you are to carry her right now,” Sloan told the frightened mother. He understood her reluctance to let her baby out of her arms. But after a few seconds to rationally think it over, she relinquished the child to him, knowing that he was right. “As soon as we’re on board, we’ll get you and your daughter to sick bay.”

  Daniela nodded and allowed Mother to help her board the RIB behind Sloan, which was no easy feat with the two boats bobbing beside each other and threatening to pull apart. After they were all aboard, the RIB sped off, bouncing over each wave. It reached the hull of the sub just minutes later. Mother kept hold of the frightened woman the entire time. Sloan snuggled the still crying infant in close to his chest.

  The local boat captain watched as his former passengers climbed onto the exposed hull of the submarine by means of a rope ladder. Sloan easily mounted it, cradling the infant in his arms. Mother helped steady Daniela between the RIB and the hull of the sub. He pushed her upward and onto the sub into the arms of a sailor who stood, ready to assist. The woman’s own strength was drained. Mother looped his arm back around her once he had easily scaled the ladder, and then they disappeared into the open hatch behind the conning tower following Sloan and the baby.

  Once inside the submarine, a sailor escorted Sloan, still cradling the infant, and Daniela to sick bay. Maria’s cries blasted the interior of the sub, bringing the eyes of every sailor they passed to the tiny baby. Mother broke from the group to return to the wardroom, where he assumed Lambchop and the Birdman waited.

  As they made their way through the narrow corridors, Daniela glanced around nervously.

  Sloan beamed a reassuring grin at her. “This vessel is completely safe. You’ll get used to the confined quarters.”

  Daniela nodded. “We are out of Venezuela and safe. I am fine.”

  Sloan didn’t think she was. In addition to showing signs of claustrophobia, she was pale and looked exhausted. He suspected she’d lost a lot of blood. He knew Sherman was blood type O Negative. If she needed a transfusion, he could take some from him. Submarines normally did not carry blood; many didn’t even have a ship’s doctor or a sick bay. Because of the many missions this boat went on that included SpecOps personnel, this one did.

  Julian and the ship’s doctor waited for them when they reached the tiny one-bed sick bay. Little Maria still cried insistently. She needed a diaper change and to be fed. Sloan changed her diaper and handed her right over to her mother. The ship’s doctor began his exam of Daniela whi
le she nursed. Sloan stood by, off to the side of the tiny room, in case he was needed. He wasn’t. The doctor, though not a specialist in obstetrics or gynecology, didn’t think it was overly serious, nothing that bedrest, and hydration wouldn’t fix. She wasn’t hemorrhaging.

  Sloan assisted by starting an IV to get the dehydrated woman fluids and then he leaned over Daniela’s face. “You’ll be fine from here out. Just rest and enjoy your baby girl.” Sloan pressed a kiss to Maria’s head.

  “Thank you,” Daniela said. “You saved our lives. I will never forget you.”

  Sloan smiled. Then he turned to her husband, Julian. He presented his hand, which the CIA Operative took. “Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you,” Julian said. “I understand your group is getting off this boat soon. The General and my family will remain aboard until we reach Norfolk. Please tell the others how much we appreciate what you did to get us out.”

  “I’ll do that,” Sloan said. Then he dismissed himself and returned to the wardroom where the remainder of his team was busy packing up their gear.

  Mother handed him his bag. “Are the mother and baby okay?”

  “Yeah, Daniela just needs some bedrest and hydration, the little one seems fine. Where’s the General?”

  “In the Captain’s cabin,” Lambchop answered. “First step on board, the General demands a secure line to the U.S. State Department to be put in touch with his wife, who it turns out was a secretary to the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China in New York until she defected yesterday. Once he talked with her, he turned to Captain White and says he is officially seeking asylum in the United States of America and that he has intel on the Chinese Military he will share.”

  “So, the bastards that sent us on this mission knew it was to get the General out in addition to Julian Aguilarte and his wife and newborn?” Sloan asked.

  “Yep,” Lambchop replied. “Would have been nice to know that going in so we had an appropriate evacuation plan before we met them.” He pointed to Sloan’s dive gear. “We’re exiting through the lockout trunk at periscope depth.”

  Sloan gathered that as both Lambchop and Sherman were already changed into dive shorts and the short-sleeved dive shirt for shallower depths. “Julian said they’re staying on board till the Washington docks in Norfolk.”

  “Yeah, DC wants the General to stay hidden until he can be delivered right into the hands of officials in a covered dock. He’s got some big secrets to share. He’s got ties to the top echelon of the PRC’s ruling party,” Lambchop said.

  Bravo

  The Shepherd Security Team swam out of the lockout trunk and surfaced in the predawn light, right beside the RIB that waited for them. It shuttled them back to the same base they’d left from just as the sun broke over the water in a spectacular yellow fireball that rose slowly into the cloudless, dark blue sky.

  Sloan soaked it in, sitting on the edge of the RIB. The sun’s reflection on the water glistened against each ripple, against each little white cap. He enjoyed the moment like it would be his last on Earth, a mindfulness he had learned years before when he’d been in hell, in the Sandbox. No matter what, there was always something to be thankful for, a beautiful sight in nature to admire, or a person that God, himself had to have sent your way to make a moment better for you. He only hoped that he had been that person for someone else more often than not.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lambchop said.

  “Yeah. It’s a beautiful morning. Do you think we could have a half day to enjoy this before we have to head back?”

  “I can make a case for that,” Lambchop replied. “You got a good swim left in you?”

  Sloan laughed. He knew Lambchop always had one left in him. The man was a dynamo. “I’d say a leisurely swim, but I’d sure like to lie back and just bob in the sea for a good hour or two.”

  The big man clasped him on the shoulder and laughed. He contacted Shepherd as soon as they reached land. Shepherd did approve a six hour leave for the men to bob in the surf or lie on the beach, which they all did both. Lambchop staked his claim to a beach chair under a palm tree where he took a nap followed by a refreshing swim. For over two hours, Sloan and Sherman bobbed in the surf, reclined on floatation devices, and Mother sat at the water’s edge talking with a female corpsman stationed at FOLs, a cute little Hispanic woman who filled her bikini out nicely.

  At noon, the men returned to the hangar where they changed into flight suits, repacked their gear, and then walked down the flight line to their awaiting plane. When they landed in Chicago, they quickly stowed their gear at HQ and were dismissed until zero-nine hundred the following morning, when all four of them had back-to-back appointments with Dr. Joe Lassiter, the team shrink, for the post-mission check-in.

  “All I’m saying is the increased check-ins with Lassiter are bullshit,” Sloan said. “Nothing went down on this mission that anyone needed to talk with him about. It was a waste of his time and ours.”

  “What’s the problem, Sloan?” Mother asked. “You’ve never minded the post-mission check-ins.”

  “No, I haven’t, and I don’t. I’m just saying the supposed reason is bullshit.”

  “I guess it’s not always apparent when something that would cause an issue happens from just our mission reports,” Lambchop replied.

  “I talked with Doc. It wasn’t just the mission that fucked with his head. He lost a wife and kid long before he joined Shepherd Security. Marrying Elizabeth is what caused a lot of his problems, not that he should have married her. That’s not what I’m saying either.”

  “The name of the agency is Shepherd Security, not Sloan Security,” Lambchop reminded him. “Shepherd can enact whatever protocols he decides.”

  Sloan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the display. It was his brother, Allen. He almost ignored it and let it go to voicemail, but something nagged in his gut that he should answer this call. He held his phone up to the team. “I’ve got to take this.” He stepped from Lambchop’s office. Once in the hallway, he answered. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”

  “Hey, Gary, I, uh, man, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  Sloan listened to his brother stammering through whatever it was he was trying to tell him. “Just say it.”

  “Kennedy, she’s dead, here on the prep table.”

  Sloan was speechless. A deluge of thoughts and emotions slammed into his heart and head.

  “Are you there?” Allen asked after several quiet beats. Sloan heard the worry and tension in his words.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” He paused, still processing what Allen said. He didn’t even know she was back in the Cleveland area. Last he heard she was still in L.A. “How did it happen?”

  “Man, she was shot, execution style. Half her head is blown off. It’s going to be a closed casket service, that’s for sure.”

  Sloan couldn’t even drag a breath in. There was a long pause as he ran Allen’s words back through his thoughts. “Have you started to prep her yet?”

  “No. I just picked her up from the morgue.”

  “Don’t touch her till I get there. I’m leaving here now.”

  Allen Sloan didn’t even know where, here, was. Gary could be anywhere in the world. The last time he’d called his brother, he was in the Middle East or what Gary always referred to as the Sandbox. “Okay.”

  Sloan disconnected the call and went back into Lambchop’s office. Upon seeing his face, the others silenced their conversation midsentence about the cute little nurse Mother cozied up to in Aruba. “What is it?” Mother asked.

  “I have to take emergency leave, right now,” Sloan said, knowing he was technically no longer active duty military, so it really wasn’t considered that any longer.

  Lambchop nodded. “What happened, Gary?”

  “I just got a call from my brother. My ex-fiancé was murdered. She’s on the prep table at the funeral home. I have to go. I have to see her and find out what happened.”


  Lambchop nodded to Sherman. “Go with him.”

  “I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” Sloan groused.

  Brian Sherman laid his hand on Sloan’s shoulder. “Are you driving or flying?”

  Sloan shook his head, still stunned. “It’s only a six-and-a-half-hour drive.”

  “Then let me ride out with you and I’ll fly back.”

  Sloan nodded. He gazed at Lambchop. “You’ll handle it with Shepherd, won’t you? I want to leave right away.”

  Lambchop shook his head at the door. “Take off. I’ve got you covered.”

  “Thanks, man,” Sloan said. He left, not even looking to see if Sherman was behind him.