“Sniper. Caboose roof,” Nick said calmly. Two clicks came over the mike. Boomer had him. If it came down to shooting, Boomer was carrying a suppressed sniper rifle with a starlight scope. He could drop the man with a whisper, but his fall off the caboose roof would attract attention.
Nick kept scanning. Joe had never met anyone more relaxed in combat than Nick. He didn’t appear to have a stressed bone in his body. Any moment now Joe expected Nick to crack his jaw on a yawn.
Joe saw Nick smile. “Cougar snaked.” It was team shorthand for slipping through stuff you would not want to name later. Joe spotted Cougar now back at his secure perch wiping his hand off on his wet suit, clearly disgusted. Cougar reached to touch his mike. “One, L-T.”
Joe clicked an acknowledgment.
Seven tangos. They had the players; now they needed the best arrangement.
In a matter of minutes, the three men originally by the railcars moved toward the station house. The two that remained looked around briefly and then swung themselves up onto the perch between the cars.
Only three tangos in the open, unheard of odds. “Cougar, quietly jam that front door of the station house closed; then take down the sniper. Eagle and I will take the two by the car. Boomer, anyone interrupts, deal with them.”
Everyone acknowledged.
“Go.” Joe felt the twinge he always did as he issued the single word that put men into battle. The enemy wasn’t showing much foresight, but the element of surprise was always tenuous.
Cougar disappeared. Joe followed Nick around to the back of the railcar. Nick indicated the man on the left, and Joe moved to take the man on the right.
They hit together, bringing the men down. Joe saw a knife coming around and turned it back on his man.
Nick had been able to take his man down alive. At least one of them had been successful. Joe let the annoyance fade away; he had given his man a choice, and that in itself rarely happened. It wasn’t like they were smuggling fireworks. Flexible cuffs came out, duct tape, fast security steps to keep the man quiet and under control.
Joe opened the railcar door and lifted the man inside. A quick glance confirmed that they had what they were after. “Boomer, we’ve got the package and one guest. Signal Wolf to secure the transport area.”
A click acknowledged the request.
Cougar joined them and set to work on the case while Nick took up position at the door.
As expected, the warhead had been disassembled and packed in molded foam. Joe looked at the sleek circuit boards that formed the nerves of the timing mechanism and thought them beautiful like a cobra was beautiful—even apart they looked deadly. The warhead casing had been taken out and sandblasted clean of writing. He rubbed his fingers over the oddly chalky white surface and found his fingers covered with the rough powder. Raider was taking extreme measures to hide his tracks if he was trying to conceal any indication of which device had actually been stolen from even the buyer of the warhead.
In the center of the case, held in foam, was another box. Cougar backed out the screws, ignoring the lock. The department of energy frowned on sending its people onto foreign soil in the middle of the night, so they didn’t have a NEST guy on-site to tell them what shape this warhead core was in. It was just as well. Joe had worked with enough of the Nuclear Energy Search Team guys to know they were too cautious for the time constraints demanded by a live op. Besides, if it was radioactive, they were dead. Broken arrows—these lost, shot down, stolen, and otherwise missing nukes—didn’t tend to be forgiving.
Cougar dismantled the lid and lifted it carefully over the lock.
Joe sucked in a deep breath. No wonder Raider had sandblasted the casing. He’d swiped a K-42, Russia’s most advanced compact warhead, only six known to be deployed. The plutonium core was formed in two layers, like a baseball around a golf ball. Joe had seen pictures, but never in his worst nightmare had he envisioned dealing with one. Certainly not in a railcar in Odessa. “Boomer. Send a flash. We’ve got a K-42.”
“Repeat.” Nothing rattled Boomer—that had just changed.
“K-42. Flash it.”
The Air Force had an AWACS up over Italy so Boomer could get the message off without going to the satellite link. Even if he had to break out the dish, this news had to get out. Every asset in the area would be used to stop this shipment if necessary.
“Pack it, Cougar. Let’s move.”
Joe joined Nick at the door, watching the rail station house. These guys didn’t know what they were smuggling—not the details. Raider was compartmentalizing, and that was his greatest strength but also his greatest weakness. Joe smiled grimly. This little gem would create enough heat in intelligence services around the globe to make Raider’s life unpleasant in the upcoming months, to say the least. Get enough people comparing notes and something would click. They would find the guy. You couldn’t arrange to swipe and sell one of these without leaving some serious footprints.
“Transport area is secure.”
Joe looked at Cougar and got a nod. “We’re moving, Wolf.”
The case was lead and weighed more than the warhead itself. A forklift would be great but would give away their presence. Nick and Cougar took the case out while Joe escorted their guest, and Boomer took up the rear guard.
Wolf and the three SEALs with him had secured berth three. Nick and Cougar carried the case to the crane being rigged to lower it down to the water.
The eight-man squad was back together. It relieved the pressure Joe felt upon discovering what they had. He had options now. He handed off their guest and moved to join Wolf. “Transport?”
“On the way in.”
“We’ve got four tangos who don’t know we stopped by.”
Wolf grinned. “They’ve got about three minutes to wake up before we’re cruising.”
Gunfire sounded, shattering the night. “They just woke up,” Joe replied. “Let me know when that crane is ready.”
He moved forward to join Cougar. Four tangos were not a problem. It was the others the gunfire would attract that created the problem. Joe touched his mike. “Take them down.”
A series of single shots sounded from where Boomer and Nick had taken up positions, and the night went quiet again.
“L-T, come take a look.” At Nick’s quiet words, Joe moved to join him.
Trouble. There was no other way to define it. Two police cars had just entered the gate by the rail line. “Wolf, we need to move.”
“The cargo is on its way down now.”
The two cars stopped by the station house. Five men got out. It would only be a matter of moments before the first casualties were found.
The crane moving behind them was like a bullhorn advertising their presence. Joe didn’t like this kind of close encounter. Shouts arose as the first casualty was discovered.
“It’s going to get busy,” Nick commented, tracking the policemen.
“Very.” It was definitely time to get out of Dodge. His team would get very creative before they would fire on a civilian cop. Movement was their preferred way to deal with such a situation, and they were pinned by their cargo to remain at this location. “Feel like making a diversion?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
Joe nodded. It was the best option they had. If they could get the police focused into the heart of the cargo area, they would be able to disengage and slip away unseen. But if they were going to do it, they had to move now. “Boomer, Cougar, we’re going to try to divert them east into the cargo area. Come up and take the front door.”
They had an unfair advantage with the night vision goggles. They could watch the five very nervous cops now coming their way and easily skirt around them.
Nick led the way through the cargo containers, weaving them deep into the terminal. They were three hundred meters into the maze in a matter of moments. Joe had his waterproof pouches already open. “A line of charge with a couple smoke grenades?”
“Sounds like a good
diversion to me.” Nick slung his weapon on his shoulder and leaped up onto one of the stacked containers. Joe handed up the moldable plastic explosive strip. It was a cutting charge, easy to handle, able to cut through steel, fast burning. Boomer did most of their explosives work, but this task didn’t require neatness. Nick slapped it in place and used the duct tape that went everywhere with them to pin down the two smokers. A loop of fishing twine went around the pins. “Set.” He dropped back down to the pavement. “Care to do the honors?”
Joe grinned. “Do it.”
Nick pulled the pins. They were around the end of the cargo aisle when the diversion went off. The strip exploded bright, white-hot, and the smoke roiled into the air, visible even in the night.
“That got their attention, L-T.” Cougar’s voice sounded muffled; Joe’s ears were still ringing.
“Are they all moving this way?”
“Confirm five coming your way.”
The sounds of more police sirens were heard over the fading noise of falling metal. “You’ve got another eight cops coming into the area,” Cougar warned.
“Are you still clear?”
“They are all coming your way.”
Joe touched Nick’s shoulder. “Dump the silencer and lay down gunfire into the top of that far container wall. Let’s give the guys a reason to stay cautious.”
Nick nodded, and soon the sound of the Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun came in short bursts.
The police began returning fire randomly, wildly, into the cargo area. If they weren’t careful, they were going to hit one of their own men.
“The cargo is secure, L-T. Come on home.”
Joe glanced at Nick and got a swift negative reply. Joe concurred. No use risking the cargo. “Go. We’ll take to the water and meet you at pickup point Bravo.”
“Roger, L-T.”
Nick disengaged and they began silently working their way back through the maze of cargo containers, leaving the firefight between the police and the “ghosts” behind.
At the edge of the cargo area, Joe paused and looked across the walkway to the edge of berth three. Fifteen feet to freedom. Get down the ladder and into the water and it would be a nice, easy swim to the pickup point. They both scanned the area.
“Clear.”
Joe nodded. “Go.”
Nick cut across the walkway and disappeared from sight around a forklift. A single click, and Joe scanned the area one last time, then moved to join him. There was a shout from somewhere to his left.
Joe felt the bullet tear into the back of his left shoulder. He stumbled forward but instinctively didn’t go down. Nick returned fire, dealing with the threat, then ran back to meet him. Joe had been hit worse in the past, but he didn’t feel like remembering it. “Let’s get in the water.”
“Definitely.”
Joe moved down the ladder with one hand. It took focus, but he didn’t let himself wonder if they would get clear. The water was in sight; that was all he needed to know. Getting shot when the mission was essentially over was a fluke he was going to have to spend months living down. SEALs had a simple perspective. As soon as they knew he would survive, the humor would begin, and they had long memories. They might not be able to tell the story beyond Team Nine, but it would still be part of their history.
Joe dropped the last five feet into the water, clearing the way for Nick, who slid down the ladder rather than climb down, dropping into the water beside him. Within seconds they were away from the concrete wall of the berth.
Swimming with one arm was possible but slow, and they needed speed. Joe also needed to pause as soon as possible to get a pressure bandage in place to stop the bleeding. One of the first casualties of a mission gone wrong was time.
The shouts above them were loud and becoming clear. “Company,” Nick warned.
Joe secured his rebreather and Nick took them below the surface.
The bullets entering the water slowed immediately, but their presence made it clear they were still definitely in the threat arena. Joe and Nick put power into their kicks, heading down and away, Nick guiding them both.
Joe felt Nick get hit, felt him jerk backward and stop moving.
Joe clamped his good hand on Nick’s rebreather and kept it secure as he did his best to power them forward. This had just become the worst of all missions. Joe forced himself to keep them down until they were far enough out they would be lost in the darkness of the sea.
Once on the surface, Joe activated the emergency beacon, willing to risk that help could arrive long before the harbor patrol could identify the military frequency being used.
Nick had been hit in the back and the bullet had come through; he was bleeding profusely from the chest. Joe had to use his knife to get the wet suit cut free so he could get a pressure bandage in place. “Hanging in there, buddy?”
Nick gave a painful smile. “What a pair we are.”
Joe was not losing his best friend in some overseas place, worthwhile mission or not. He couldn’t see the injury as much as he could see Nick’s struggle to stay conscious. “Someone needs to pay Raider a visit.”
“Soon,” Nick choked.
Nick was struggling to breathe as the sound of a speeding boat reached them.
Joe broke out the light stick and waved it; the boat immediately turned toward them. It was one of the Special Boats Unit’s black-as-night workhorses, held in reserve for just this need. Several Golf Platoon members were on board, guns ready for battle.
Cougar and Boomer both sliced into the water beside him to help.
“Keep him steady.” Joe watched as Nick was lifted carefully aboard. With the help of Boomer, Joe was pulled aboard after Nick. “Is the nuke secure?”
“Yes.”
It was the last thought Joe gave to the mission. He grabbed Nick’s hand as the medic went to work. Joe watched his face, his eyes. The entire team was silent, faces grim. The pallor in Nick’s face broadcasted the fact he was losing the fight. Tears burned Joe’s eyes. “Hang tough, Nick. Kelly is expecting you home.”
“Take care of her.”
“You’ll be there.”
Nick’s grip nearly broke bones in Joe’s hand. “Promise.”
“My word.”
* * *
Joe forced himself to put aside the memory as the helicopter flared to set down at Sharp Hospital. Nick had not made it home, and Raider had slipped into the shadows, still out there somewhere, inactive but free. Joe had been waiting three years to settle the score, for the day to come when Raider reappeared.
He’d been forced to face Kelly, unable to tell her the truth . . . and for that reason alone, he prayed nightly for a chance to settle the score once and for all. He needed Raider to be found, stopped, and brought to justice.
The door slid open and wind rushed in. Craig Scott was waiting with a trauma team. Wanting to help and knowing there was so little he could do, Joe stayed out of the way as Kelly was moved.
He hadn’t been in time. . . .
Four
* * *
She was so cold.
Kelly had never known anything like it before. She cried as something was draped over her legs, for it was burning her. She couldn’t move to escape.
The heat was flowing into her bloodstream as well, and she could feel her heart pounding as if it would explode. She couldn’t swallow against the tube in her throat, and the taste of blood and Vaseline on her cracked lips made her nauseous. If only she could stop these bone-racking shivers! Her hand cramped in a powerful spasm around the hand holding hers.
“Easy, Kelly.”
Joe was here. She forced her eyes open and he wavered in and out of focus in her teary gaze. Stop them, Joe. It hurts.
He couldn’t hear her silent plea. He wiped at her tears, his own face showing his sympathy. “Just hang in there; you’ll be warm again soon.”
It was a promise she wanted desperately to believe in, and yet that reality seemed an eternity away.
H
er brow furrowed. Joe had found them. Ryan? She had no way to ask. The commotion going on in the emergency room frightened her, and she clung to Joe’s hand with what strength she had.
The lights were bright and increased the headache that stabbed behind her eyes. The conversations of the doctors and nurses layered on top of each other in an assault of sound. She knew they were there to help her, but she just wanted them to go away so she could cry in peace.
How long had she been here? Where was Ryan?
Cramps in her left leg hit so viciously they choked off her breath. She tried to reach for her leg but found herself hampered by IVs and heavy blankets. Her toes curled up and the calf muscle tightened and began to spasm. The cramp was spreading up her leg, twisting it beneath the covers. She tried to draw a breath against the pain but couldn’t. The machine was breathing against her.
She gagged against the breathing tube and began to struggle in earnest to get free. Joe grabbed her hands. “Don’t, Kelly.”
Her struggle turned to desperation. She couldn’t breathe! Three nurses and two doctors swarmed around her. She saw the sheer agony in Joe’s eyes as he helped pin her down. She couldn’t move against his weight, she couldn’t breathe, and she wept as her spirit broke.
Whatever the doctor put into her IV, it eventually eased the cramp in her leg. As soon as she stopped fighting, the machine took over and her lungs filled. She closed her eyes, tears streaming from them as she greedily breathed again.
“Okay. You’re okay.” She felt Joe’s calloused hands tremble as they cupped her face, his thumbs stroking across her jawline. He sounded scared, and Joe was never scared. She cried because it hurt and she was so tired and she just wanted it all to go away. If only Joe wasn’t seeing this weepy side of her. The fact she couldn’t stop the tears only made her cry all the harder. She had jealously guarded her tears from him for the last three years, and now, when she couldn’t even wipe her own nose, he was seeing them flow unchecked.
Her hair was brushed back, a tissue wiped her nose, and a handkerchief carefully dried her eyes. She opened them and blinked at the hand blocking her vision. A tough hand with long fingers, calloused, the palm covered in fine scars from years of climbing ropes. Powerful. Joe’s hand. The white handkerchief looked out of place.
True Devotion Page 5