Swift Strike (SEAL Team 14 Book 2)

by Mathis, Loren

  Taking the package from him, Hawk placed the envelope in a plastic Ziploc bag that he had found in the kitchen.

  “How long does she have to find her father?”

  “They’ve given her a deadline of four days. Supposedly, they have her mother and brother held captive somewhere to make sure that she goes through with her end of things. Is there a way that you can check this out for me?”

  “I’m on it,” Hawk said. “Have you ever heard of anything like this? Why would they need her specifically to deliver something to her father?”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t add up. If AnSawar has got the resources to launch the types of attacks that they’ve been launching all over Africa, then they should have the ability to track down Alfred Westlake. I don’t see why they need Lena to help them with this.”

  “And if they don’t really need Lena for this part of whatever plan they have, then why have they made her a part of it?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s exactly what we have to figure out. We’ve got four days to do it.” Jesse glanced over his shoulder to stare at the closed door to the room where Lena slept. “I’m not just going to let her walk into some trap.”

  It was a struggle to stop himself from walking through that door and wrapping his arms around her. Whatever was going on, he was going to figure it out. He had to figure it out. And until this was all over, he was going to be like her freaking shadow. He would not fail her again.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  Camp Harding

  “Sir, do you have a minute?” Forcing his eyes from the intelligence briefings in front of him, Mark cast an irritated glance at the unwanted distraction. It was the CIA newbie, Sloane Anderson. Mark was not in the mood to engage in mindless chitchat about his previous cases. He’d just gotten in from an express flight from the States, one of his best men was now on a rogue rescue mission to rescue his girlfriend, and they still hadn’t figured out AnSawar’s end game yet. Needless to say, he did not feel up to dealing with Sloane.

  After having held several conversations with her, Mark had pegged her as an all too eager to please, somewhat irritating woman who was out to prove to the world that she could do this job as well as or better than any man. Mark didn’t have a problem with strong-willed women. In fact, they were probably one of his biggest weaknesses. But something about Sloane just rubbed him the wrong way.

  “What is it? This better be good.” Mark barked out. He immediately regretted his tone, but he was knee deep in shit right now and he did not need any interruptions from her.

  Usually when Mark spoke with that sharp edge to his voice, his subordinates quaked in their shoes. But Sloane didn’t even flinch.

  “I think I may have something here about whom AnSawar is obtaining their financing from, sir.”

  Well, that was welcome news, but… “Aren’t you supposed to be reporting to Director Henson?” Chain of command was an integral part of the military apparatus, and breaches were not looked at favorably.

  “Yes, sir. I have already done that. I spoke with Director Henson about an hour ago to discuss my findings. He thought that I should share this information with you right away.”

  Nodding, Mark gestured for Sloane to close the door behind her and have a seat.

  “Well, what do you have?”

  “For the most part, AnSawar has been meticulous in keeping their financial backers and messengers veiled. Neither Faizal Shariff or Mohammed Kareem own banking accounts of any kind in their names.”

  Mark shook his head. “Yeah, we’ve been over everything that we don’t know about the group already.”

  “Right. Well, I was going back over the financial records for all of the hostages in the WG Oil attack as well as the upper management.” This type of investigation sounded peculiar, but in a special case like this one, it was normal operating procedure to check into the background of all of the hostages.

  “There were several wire transfers that were made by Alfred Westlake to an organization in Somalia that has been known to funnel money into the hands of terrorist groups and drug cartels in the region. The payments were made about a month prior to his death.”

  Mark’s eyes snapped up, a deep frown burrowing its way across his forehead. “Are you intimating that Westlake is a radical Islamic convert? Or is there any sign that he was being blackmailed by this group?”

  “So far, Mr. Westlake’s friends and associates have indicated that he isn’t really a man of faith. Blackmail is still on the table as a possibility, especially given the attack on the company that he founded.”

  “No,” Mark said instinctually. Things were still not adding up. “Why in the hell would AnSawar go after Westlake? Yes, he is a very wealthy man, but why target him. There other mineral magnates in the area who are worth two to three times what Westlake is worth.”

  “I know. That bothered me too. Which is why I delved a bit deeper into Mr. Westlake’s business records.”

  “And?”

  “Well, Westlake was a founding partner at both a laboratory and an engineering corporation. Both the laboratory, named Corynx Seven, and the corporation are now owned and operated by one of Westlake’s holding companies up until a few years ago.”

  “Cut to the meat, Anderson. What’s important here?”

  “Mr. Westlake has been hemorrhaging money for the past few years it seems. While he’s still doing well on paper, the assets that he’s holding are on very shaky ground. He had substantial investments in the subprime lending marking that completely imploded and are now worthless. It’s unclear whether or not that may have been a motivating factor for his new…business model.”

  Mark let out a low whistle and leaned forward in his chair. Well, there were a couple of positive things he could now say about Sloane—she was thorough and she certainly knew how to get a man’s attention.

  “Most people would be pissed off if that happened to them. But the financial crisis was in 2009, surely the devaluation of his stocks would have happened during that time. So why would he just start looking to sell his products at a higher price on the black market?”

  “Hard to say. Maybe he still felt some sense of loyalty to the company he helped to found or to United States? A loyalty that eroded over the years as he thought about how much he’d lost by investing American. Maybe he decided that now was the time to recoup some of his losses by cooperating with terrorist organizations.”

  A light bulb flipped on inside of Mark’s head. “So you think that Alfred Westlake may have been in on the attack on WG Oil?”

  It would be a severe move for Alfred Westlake to join leagues with a terrorist group just to make a quick buck.

  “Possibly.”

  “I don’t know. Westlake seems like a resourceful man, there are a number of ways that he could have regained his fortune. A number of legal options that he had available to him. What did Morgan say about your theory?”

  “He said it’s pretty thin. He thinks that if Westlake wanted to increase his cash flow there were less convoluted ways to do it.

  “Exactly.”

  “But,” Sloane continued, “we’re talking about potentially billions of dollars at stake here. Yeah, Westlake could have opened up another company or invested in better stocks, but he couldn’t be sure that either of those options would work out. And the immediate possibility of obtaining millions if not billions of dollars would be a pretty big temptation for pretty much anyone.”

  “Still, it’s a weak premise, Anderson. What about Abbas? Is he talking yet?”

  “Yes, sir. Apparently, AnSawar has been soliciting funding to acquire a dirty bomb. Abbas is one of the couriers that they have been using to connect with prospective financiers.”

  “Has he been dropping any names?”

  “No names that we are not familiar with. So far, the potential financiers are well known to some of our operatives in the area. We’re checking out now whether the group has been successful in obtaining payments from these men.”<
br />
  Mark considered it all for a moment. “You do know there’s one glaring hole in your theory, right?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lena Westlake, the man’s daughter, was terrorized in the first attack and taken again by AnSawar. Why would Westlake put his own daughter through such pain?”

  “Wait, what? When did the second kidnapping occur?”

  “A few days ago.”

  Sloane was silent for a moment, Mark could tell that her brain was working in overdrive as she processed this new development. “Maybe there was a disagreement between AnSawar and Westlake. Maybe somehow their agreement fell apart and now the group is retaliating against him. And you know what they say: there’s no honor among thieves.”

  “Hmm.” Mark was not completely buying it. But it was an angle that they had to look into and just could not ignore. “Getting back to AnSawar, have you and the rest of your team determined why they are all of a sudden orchestrating attacks in Bayla and against our embassies?”

  “Puffing, sir. Or at least that’s what Abbas is telling us. It looks like AnSawar is trying to make a power move here and they need to show force. They want to prove that they are a key terrorist organization that should be feared. Plus, they are still trying to find financial backers so they have to have a convincing showing.”

  “Is he saying anything else?”

  “He is a lower level operative, sir. He wasn’t exactly huddling up with Shariff and Kareem when the two men were masterminding the whole scheme.”

  Mark raised his eyebrow and tried not to smirk at her tone. Apparently, he had managed to grate on her nerves. “All right, let me know what else you find out. And Anderson, we need all of this information ASAP.”

  “Right, sir,” she said, leaving the room.

  Was it possible that Alfred Westlake had colluded with AnSawar just to make a weapons sale? Mark had been doing this job long enough to admit that anything was possible. And given the information that Westlake had deposited some money into AnSawar’s coffers, it seemed all that more likely that Westlake was working with the group.

  Regardless of what deal had been struck, Mark now knew for sure that AnSawar was in the market for a weapon of mass destruction and had to be stopped. And stopped soon.

  His telephone rang, blasting him from his thoughts.

  “Dewitt here,” he barked into the phone, bringing a hand up to the corner of his eye.

  “It’s Denison, sir.”

  It wasn’t every day that Mark Dewitt just let one of his men walk off on a revenge mission. But it also wasn’t every day when one of his men had a woman he cared about—dare Mark say loved—ripped away from him.

  “Denison, where the hell are you?”

  “I’m in Baidoa, Somalia.”

  “No shit,” Mark said dryly. “Who do you think told Russo to pass that lead along to you? I meant where exactly in Baidoa are you?”

  “The safe house, sir. With Hawk.”

  “I take it that you’ve found Ms. Westlake?”

  “Yes, sir. I found Lena.”

  “When are you bringing her in?”

  “That is why I am calling, sir. I can’t bring her in just yet. We have something of a situation here. Something that I’m going to need some extra assistance on from the team.”

  “Well, why the hell can’t you bring her in, Denison?”

  “AnSawar wants her to meet her father four days from now. They’ve snatched both her mother and brother. Hawk has confirmed. As you are aware, her father is suspected of creating a sonic missile. We have good reason to believe that AnSawar are setting up a trap for her father, and that they are intent on killing him and confiscating the weapons technology.”

  “Shit,” Mark muttered. Things kept going from bad to worse, but at least there was some good news. “I’ve spoken to Central Command and we’ve finally received an order to move in for a direct action strike against one of AnSawar’s strongholds in Somalia. I’m also going to send a team of six or seven men—whoever else I can spare—down there to your location. I’ll coordinate with Morgan and see if we can get some more intel into Ms. Westlake’s situation. We have to be careful about how we handle this.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Denison,” Mark said before hanging up, “watch your back.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  “Lena! Wake up!”

  Lena’s eyes snapped open. The room was completely dark and her legs were tangled up in bed sheets. In a bed that she didn’t remember climbing into. She shrank back when she realized that a man was standing in the doorway, stalking toward her.

  “It’s okay, Lena. It’s me. You’re safe.”

  Instantly, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was Jesse. God, she was a nervous wreck, even when she was asleep apparently.

  “You were screaming.” Turning on a bedside lamp, he sat on the bed alongside her as she sat up her back against the headboard. For the first time, she noticed the handgun that he carried in his hand. He clicked the safety back on and placed it on the nightstand adjacent to the bed. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me, babe.” Jesse squeezed her knee gently. A shiver ran up Lena’s spine at the warm touch against her cool, exposed legs. Apparently, sometime last night, he’d undressed her before putting her into bed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, bending over she pulled her legs up against her chest as her back rested against the headboard. “What time is it?”

  “0600.” The blank stare on her face must have clued him in on her inability to translate military speak because he clarified, “Six o’clock in the morning.”

  Judging by the blackness that engulfed the room, it looked like it was still nighttime. However, the small room was outfitted in floor-to-ceiling blackout curtains that prevented any light from seeping in. The blinds served a dual purpose, not only could light not enter into the room when it wasn’t wanted, but they also prevented anyone from seeing the occupants of the room.

  “Have you been up all night?” He didn’t even need to answer that question. His eyes were bloodshot, his facial expression haggard to say the least, and more like a twelve o’clock shadow darkened his face. He needed to rest, he’d probably been up for days.

  “I’m good. I’ve been up for longer,” he said.

  “You should rest.”

  He threw a weak smile her way at the suggestion. “Can you tell me what happened? Starting from when you were abducted from your house?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. Exhaling a deep breath, she described how she’d been chased down, beaten, and ultimately stun gunned in her own home by some maniac. What little emotion that was left in her voice drained when she reiterated about how Hazel Eyes had taunted her with threats to harm both her and her family.

  All the while, she saw Jesse clenching and unclenching his fists, his green eyes as dark and stormy as she had ever seen.

  “Did any of them touch you? I mean, did they—”

  “No, no, they didn’t rape me,” she interrupted him, knowing what he was asking her before he had finished his sentence. “He threatened to…to rape me if I didn’t follow through with meeting with my father.”

  Reaching out to her, he hauled her into his arms. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on top of her head.

  “What am I going to do, Jesse? If I meet my father at the location they’ve listed, they will execute him. I’m sure of it.” She hesitated a moment before putting voice to one of his unspoken thoughts. “I think that this whole thing is about stealing the MX-R09. But if I don’t go, they will kill the rest of my family.”

  Shivering she rubbed her hands up and down for warmth. Moving away from him, she stood up and started pacing back and forth across the room. “How could my father be involved in something like this? How could he do this to our family?”

  “I don’t know, Lena. But we can’t rule anything out, your father obviously isn’t very discerning abo
ut who he chooses to do business with.”

  “It’s just that never in a million years did I think that my father would be the type to consort with terrorists. Just the very thought of it makes me want to throw up.”

  “Yeah, well, people change.”

  “Sure, I know that people change,” she said. “But this much? God, I just wish I knew what to do.”

  “Yeah, well. Don’t worry. We’re going to deal with this situation together.”

  “I know that you say things are going to be okay,” she whispered, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. “I know that you believe that. But how can things ever be okay again? My family will never be the same after this. If what Faizal said is true, my father is going to prison—that is if he isn’t killed outright. And my mother and brother—” she said, her voice finally breaking.

  He stared at her, his eyes had tracked her uneasy movements across the room. Standing, he moved until he was standing only mere inches away from her.

  “Look at me, Lena.”

  Reluctantly lifting her gaze to meet his eyes, she was amazed at what she saw. Compassion, kindness, strength, and confidence all stared back at him from the deepest depths of those shining green pools.

  “Everything is going to be okay. I’ve spoken with my commanding officer, he’s aware of what’s going on here. He’s going to be sending down some of my teammates to help out on this. We’re going to figure this out. I will protect you and we will save your mother and brother. You have my word.”

  ****

  “Jesse, are you still awake?”

  Lena’s eyes strained in the darkness as she tried to make out the contours of Jesse’s face. She was supposed to meet her father in the next two days. Despite the progress they’d made in formulating a plan of action, she was practically jumping out of her skin and could not manage to drift off to sleep. At this point, she longed for some of those anti-anxiety tablets that Claire had forced down her gullet for weeks after the terrorist attack.