Deep Cover--A Love Over Duty Novel

by Scarlett Cole

  After the first hour, they switched from blackjack to tournament-style poker.

  “Gentlemen,” Sokolov said, clinking the side of his glass with a pearl-handled caviar spoon when the table was down to the last three players. He placed it down on the table and removed a handgun from his inside pocket before nodding at the man who had searched her when she boarded the boat.

  Amy heart raced. She considered her exits, even overboard. How long could she last in open water? In the dark? Would her beacon even work in water? Then she remembered Cabe telling her it was waterproof.

  “Our handover is a little premature,” he said, continuing in English and looking straight at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the man who’d searched her making his way over.

  Shit. “Handover”? Of what? How long had they been sailing? Definitely under two hours. How far out had Cabe said the contiguous zone was, the boundary to international waters? Twenty-four nautical miles. The boat had a top speed of thirty knots, but it hadn’t been cruising that fast. She’d have felt it. They must be closing in on the meet-up.

  “We have some preparation to do, so we need to pause for a moment.” Sokolov walked toward her and smiled. “You have done well tonight, Ms. Reynard. I believe you’ll bring a good price.” He lifted her shirt roughly and ripped off the patch that held the sensor to her side. She gasped as his fingers dug into her bicep.

  Her heart beat so quickly that she began to see stars in her peripheral vision. “A good price?” she asked, attempting to remain in character while her mouth completely dried up.

  Sokolov laughed, handing her GPS to one of his henchmen. She watched as he walked outside and tossed it over the stern. “You can cut the crap, Agent Murray.”

  Any control she had over her pulse evaporated at his words, and her ability to form sentences disappeared. The threats she wanted to yell wouldn’t come.

  Sonya screamed, and Amy turned to see her dragged away and carried down the stairs, still attempting to kick and punch.

  A click by her ear gained her full attention. She’d been around guns enough to know the sound. Cool metal pressed against her temple. All she could hope was that while she stalled Sokolov, Cabe and the team would somehow realize she was in distress.

  Woods reached into the bag that had held the money. He pulled out the Casino Management magazine she’d seen on his desk. It was open to page four. There was a candid photo, one she hadn’t realized was being taken, of her father grinning at her after his last tour win.

  “Take her downstairs,” Sokolov said as the boat began to speed up. Her gut told her they were making their break for international water.

  The man who’d disappeared with Sonya reappeared with another man who was armed with a small rifle. While part of her was ready to fight in panic, her brain kicked in long enough to know that was a bad idea. She was unarmed, and outmanned.

  Bastards.

  They led her down the stairs onto the lower level. Dim lighting revealed a long corridor flanked by cabin doors. A man stood guard by the third door on the port side. He offered the thug behind her a cable tie, which he used to secure her hands in front of her.

  Finally, a break. Cable ties were a rookie mistake, and easy to get out of. She made a token gesture of resistance while they checked that the tie was tight. The door was yanked open, and she was thrown inside, the impact reverberating through her spine as her knees hit the floor. The door closed behind her, thrusting her into darkness.

  “Hello?” she whispered as she blinked rapidly, hoping her eyes would adjust to the darkness quickly. “Sonya?”

  “Amy,” she sobbed. “What are they going to do to us?”

  “They’re going to kill us,” a second voice said.

  “Or sell us,” a third said quietly.

  More women.

  Not while I’m still breathing.

  She processed where they were. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a bed with dark linens. Climbing to her feet, Amy made sure the locking feature of the cable tie was in the middle of her two hands and, using her teeth, tightened it. It was counterintuitive, but the tighter the clasp, the easier it was to snap. She raised her hands into the air, remembering what her instructor had told her. It’s like making a chicken wing, Murray. She yanked her hands down, pulling them to either side of her waist, snapping the cable tie. Escape 101 that so few people knew about. And given Sokolov’s propensity for surrounding himself with thugs, they probably had no clue they could be broken so easily. Now they needed light, but not enough to alert the man in the corridor.

  She ripped the dark pillowcase off the pillow and threw it over the lamp before she turned it on, dimming the brightness. Sonya sat at the foot of the bed. There were two women sitting on the floor, their backs to the wall opposite the doorway. Eve Canallis and Alison Berry.

  “I’m Agent Murray with the FBI,” Amy whispered. “Everybody up.” Once they were on their feet, she proceeded to show them how she had snapped the cable ties and waited for them to execute the move. She curled her finger at Sonya, gesturing for her to take the spot next to the lamp. “Can you do this? Can you use the lamp to make an SOS that can be seen outside the ship?” she whispered as she used the switch to turn the lamp on and off three times quickly, three times slowly, then three times quickly. Dot, dot, dot … dash, dash, dash … dot, dot, dot.

  The Morse code SOS. Totally old school. It felt like something Cabe would understand.

  She could only hope Cabe was watching.

  But in case he wasn’t, she needed to find a way to get the women out herself.

  * * *

  “What do you mean one of her trackers stopped moving?” Cabe shouted through his comms unit as the rigid inflatable raced through the water. The ice-cold spray stung his face like a thousand bees as they chased the yacht that had suddenly sped up after eighty-two minutes of lingering on anchor. There was a swell, and the G-force had him holding on for dear life as they smashed through the waves.

  “Exactly what I said,” Buddha shouted, though it was almost impossible to hear him over the racing engines on the back of the boat. “One of her GPS trackers is stationary; the other two are still moving.”

  “I want the fucking Coast Guard airborne now to check the stationary GPS.”

  For the first time in his life, he felt nauseated on a boat. Truth be told, he’d felt ill since the car had gone north instead of south, leading them to an unnamed vessel in an unnamed dock, but when he’d realized what was happening, he’d locked his feelings down tight. They were gaining on the boat. Thanks to Amy’s GPS, they’d known exactly where it was heading.

  “On it.” Buddha would make sure it happened. Cabe knew that.

  He hoped the fact that the other two beacons were on the boat meant Amy was on there too, and not dead. The idea caused a wave of panic like he’d never experienced. If they had, on the other hand, thrown her overboard alive, there was still time to save her. The water wasn’t cold enough to kill her, though swimming alone in the dark was as terrifying as it could be liberating. Plus shit, even though it was rare, great white sharks had been sighted off San Onofre State Beach, which they were closing in on.

  “Bearing adjusted,” Buddha said through the comms unit. “Target heading straight for international water.”

  Gaz, an expert at steering the inflatable, turned the boat to a bearing of three-fifteen degrees. “We’ll cut it off.”

  Now it was simple math. The yacht had to travel the shorter distance at a slower speed. And they had to power through the longer distance to intercept it, but at the faster speed. And he didn’t actually have the patience to do the math. He just had to pray that the team had it covered, which for a man who hated being out of control at the best of times was a new level of agony with Amy’s life on the line.

  “Three miles to international waters,” Buddha said.

  The boat hit the top of a wave, Gaz knowing to come off the throttle before hammering it again as they hit
the water. Cabe tightened his abs, bending slightly forward, knowing from years of experience that the landings would hurt but ignoring the discomfort. His thoughts centered on Amy.

  I’m coming for you, Ames.

  He repeated the words over and over as they closed in on the vessel. Nobody would ever see them. The boat was black, and they were dressed in black. The yacht’s engines would make enough noise to hide the sound of their approach. And when they got close enough, Gaz would bring the boat in behind the yacht. One thing about civilian sailors, they rarely looked behind. The captain would have his attention forward, as would the majority of the crew. The passengers might be looking port or starboard. But rarely did anyone look back into the wake of the yacht at night, a cool night at that.

  “Two miles to international water,” Buddha announced. “With an incoming boat just over one nautical out and closing, bearing ninety.”

  That must be the rendezvous boat. In their black inflatable, dressed in all black, they blended into the darkness, but he wanted to be on the back of Sokolov’s boat moments before the two boats met. He, Six, and Jackson were going to take control of the boat Amy was on, and then Gaz would circle the boat around to get Mac, Harley, and Lite onto the rendezvous boat while using the inflatable to block any exit attempt.

  Salt and wind burned the small part of his face that was exposed as he hung on, like the rest of them, for dear life. Approaching through the wake of the yacht made for an even bumpier arrival. As he squinted into the wind, Cabe noticed a subdued burst of light from one of the lower cabins. At first glance, it looked like a light bulb on the fritz. But none of the other lights were on. Nor was the flashing consistent. It was …

  Holy shit!

  “There’s an SOS from the port side lower deck,” he said, finding the place of calm he needed before he set foot on the boat. Torn between love and duty, Cabe wanted to blow off the plan and head straight for whichever cabin the light came from, even though he knew taking out their assailants first meant a better chance of success.

  Gaz was able to bring the inflatable alongside the rear deck as the boat began to slow for the meet. Cabe was the first to climb between the two boats, landing with a thud against his ribs. He rolled out of the way, aiming his weapon at the stairs and then the upper deck. So far, nobody had noticed, but it wouldn’t be long. Six followed, as did Jackson. Once situated, they proceeded to work their way along the boat.

  A member of Sokolov’s security team was looking toward the front of the boat, and with stealth that came with years of training, Jackson grabbed him and gagged him while Six continued to push forward. The mission statement was clear. Apprehend Sokolov and his business partners. Extract the hostages. Minimum force. And he’d adhere to that … for now. Because as soon as it became clear Amy was in mortal danger, all bets were off.

  “One mile to international water,” Buddha said through his earpiece.

  Jesus Christ, they needed to stop the frigging boat before it hit the boundary. Jackson caught up with them, signaling that the man was now tied up on the lower deck. Cabe signaled in the direction of the bridge. On a yacht this size, there was likely a captain and a first mate, and probably a chief and a second engineer. Four people to secure, but their priority was the men in the main salon.

  He glanced over the bow and saw Gaz line the boat up to the rear of the incoming vessel.

  Cabe, Jackson, and Six rounded the salon, where two more men stood with weapons. With his fingers, he signed. Three, two, one. He burst forward from his crouched position and took down his target, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the crunch that occurred when the guy’s nose collided with the deck floor. He let out a grunt.

  Six’s target yelled out a shout of warning, but Cabe couldn’t worry about that now. Disarm, disable, move on. That was his focus. He tied the man’s hands behind his back.

  “Coast Guard has checked location of beacon. No sign of Amy. Nothing on thermal imaging,” Buddha said.

  Relief raged through him, a torrent of it. So much of his mental energy had been tied up with that single concern.

  Another man rushed out of the double doors of the upper saloon and tried to fire his weapon down onto them, a bullet splintering the deck not an arm’s length away. Cabe scrambled back, making the angle too difficult, but it was only a matter of time before he and his men were surrounded.

  Cabe and Six kept their backs to the wall as they approached the main salon from the port side, Jackson from starboard. He’d take their three trained guns against any number of thugs any day of the week. Plus, it was Six. The guy had one of the longest confirmed kills in history, and had had his back since kindergarten. And Jackson could beat anybody down at the gun range.

  Six crouched beneath the window line of the main salon. The fiberglass walls of the boat wouldn’t stop a bullet, but they provided enough cover so Cabe could lean forward and pull the door open.

  “Mac, position?”

  “On board. Ready to press forward.”

  “On three. One, two, three.”

  They charged the room, Six yelling loudly for everyone to put their weapons on the ground. Shots were fired. One hit Cabe’s bulletproof vest, winding him as he pushed forward, his eyes scanning for danger. And for Amy.

  Sokolov was behind the bar. Cabe had seen him dive there—happy to hide behind the thick mahogany and the bodies of his men—when the second set of shots were fired. With his weapon raised, Cabe ran through the room, relying on Six and Jackson to cover his tracks. Take out the leader, and the lower levels of the organization would crumble. And there was no doubt in his mind that Sokolov was the top.

  A bullet skimmed Cabe’s hip as Sokolov attempted to take a shot, but Cabe returned fire, three quick taps on the trigger to ensure Sokolov was crouched low and off-balance by the time Cabe reached him. When they were within a foot of each other, Cabe threw his weapon over his shoulder and crashed down on top of Sokolov.

  “I’ll kill you,” Sokolov yelled as he attempted to push Cabe off his chest.

  Space was limited behind the bar as the two of them grappled on the floor, but Cabe managed to get the upper hand just as an array of bullets hit the glass bottles on the bar above them, showering them both in shards.

  “You think you can get away from me? You think you can do this to me and not get what is coming to you?” Sokolov raged.

  With all his gear on, Cabe was well protected, and he knew there was no way Sokolov could tell who he was. The temptation was strong to rip off his headgear and let the fucker know exactly who had him flat on his back, but he resisted it.

  Ignoring the injury the broken glass would cause to Sokolov’s face, Cabe flipped him onto his front and tied his wrists. For good measure, Cabe also tied his ankles.

  Keeping low, Cabe crawled to the edge of the bar. Six was providing cover for Jackson to move forward, tying up people as he went. Three men were down, notably Ivan Popov, who was lying painfully contorted by Six’s feet.

  Faulkner Woods was hiding beneath the poker table. Relying on Six and Jackson to lock everyone down in the main salon, Cabe ran to the other side of the room. He fell to the ground and put a knee into Faulkner’s back.

  “I’m innocent. I’m a victim too,” he whimpered.

  Cabe ignored his pleas and used the ties to bind Woods’s arms behind his back. “Where are the women?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Woods stammered.

  “You don’t want to mess with me right now,” he grounded out through clenched teeth. “Where. The fuck. Are they?”

  The man had gone gray, as if he was about to pass out, but right now, Cabe didn’t give a shit. He needed to know Amy was safe. He heard footsteps run along the deck but couldn’t look up. His teammates had everybody covered. Cabe pressed the nozzle of his gun to Woods’s temple. “One last chance, Woods,” he said. “Where are they?”

  “They’re down in one of the staff bedrooms.” The smell of urine filled the air. Cabe stood
and raced for the staircase, weapon at the ready. “They’re on the lower floor. Six?”

  “Right behind you.”

  While Cabe wasn’t sure exactly where those rooms were, he knew they were down. With the sounds of Six’s footsteps following him down the stairs, he skipped the first deck he came to, assuming those rooms would be the more luxurious suites. Woods had said “staff rooms.”

  When he reached the next floor, he heard voices. The nervous ramblings of a scared man. “We need to get out of here.”

  “And do what? Go where?” a voice replied.

  “The jet skis. Man, we could cut through the storage area and—”

  “Fucking jet skis? And how far do you think we’ll get on those. Sokolov will kill us himself if we let her—”

  “Down on the ground,” Cabe shouted as he turned the corner. What Sokolov would do to them was nothing compared to the icy fury that ran through his veins.

  If they’d hurt Amy, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to them.

  * * *

  Amy could hear the earth-shattering gunfire on the floors above. Her heart pounded with fear and with frustration over not being able to think through a way out of this.

  They were unarmed and up against an unknown number of assailants. A part of her thought it might be best to barricade themselves in until help arrived, but she couldn’t be certain that the shots fired above were from Cabe’s team. She was certain their weapons would have silencers.

  Though she was relatively sure it was Cabe and his team, she needed to remain cautious on the off chance that something had gone wrong in the meet-up and that the gunfire was, in fact, between Sokolov’s men and whomever they were meeting.

  “Start looking for anything we could use as weapons,” Amy said to the others, a little louder now. With the commotion on the upper level, she was less concerned about being heard. She checked the door. It was still locked from the outside. “Anything you can use. What are your names?” she asked, yanking open the wardrobe in the small cabin bedroom. She knew who the women were, but she needed them active and alert. Thinking even. Names were innocuous, but having the women identify themselves would bring them into the here and now. There was nothing inside the closet except a couple of wooden coat hangers. She grabbed them. Anything was better than nothing.