Her Special Forces

by Sophia Roslyn

  She kicked her legs out from under the bedclothes, swung her feet over the edge of the mattress. There was no real reason for it, but she always thought better when she sat upright. The warm hand relocated, rested on her hip. Nathan, now is so not the time.

  “Jack, you know I have your six. Tell me.”

  “You heard about the Mansfield kidnapping?”

  She nodded, realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah. Who hasn’t.”

  “I caught the case. We had a good lead, a solid lead. The bad boys got sloppy. Left us a loophole, an opening in the plans for the ransom drop. I sent a team in.”

  She heard him pull in a deep breath, knew she wouldn’t like whatever came next. “But?”

  “Yeah. But. The plan wasn’t sloppy. It was a setup. A fucking trap.”

  “Oh, Jack, no.”

  “Oh, Jack, yes. Kace, someone ratted us out.”

  “How bad?” Her gut twisted in anticipation.

  “As bad as it gets. My team. Six of my best. Gone.”

  Her body froze, her lungs seized. No words were possible. Nathan must have felt the change. He sat up behind her, his heavy thighs framed her bottom, arms wrapped around her, his chest warm against her back. He rested his chin against her shoulder. She grabbed his forearm, anchored herself. Forced her lungs to function, tried to slow her racing heartbeats.

  It took several tries before she could clear her throat enough to respond. “Jack, what do you need?”

  “This is a total Charlie Foxtrot. I can’t go through channels. We have a leak, and I can’t even begin to guess who or where. We don’t have time to sort it out, not with the senator’s daughter at risk.”

  “Tell me what I can do.” As her body caught up and actually woke, she began to tremble. Nathan held her closer.

  “Kace, this is my gut talking. I think the kidnappers gave us enough solid data to make the story believable, then pounced.”

  “Keep going.”

  “I’m hoping they gave us more than they intended. Best guess, using what we know to be true, I believe she’s being held at the Boston seaport. But not for long.”

  “Shit, Jack, that’s a damned huge area to cover.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I don’t think we need to. Combined with all the other chatter we monitor, I have a theory. And a possible location.”

  Jack Cannon’s ideas were always worth listening to. As was his intuition. He’d risen fast and far in the FBI, based on the successful end results of his theories and gut feelings.

  She took a deep breath, her fingernails pressing into Nathan’s arm. “Go.”

  “I’ll spare you the bullshit and cut to the chase. I think the girl is going to be moved onto a loaded container vessel which will then head for a South American port. I have data from a harbor master who’s helped us before, which jives with the other bits of intel I’ve collected.”

  That surprised her. “What about the ransom?”

  “Forget the ransom, forget the agreement. They have ten million in hand and they still have the girl. I’m thinking she’s history. Not dead, just gone like smoke in the wind. They have no intention of returning her.”

  “Ten million? Shit. Is that sorta money available so quickly, even to a senator?”

  “Apparently. Turns out that the girl—Gemma—has a huge trust fund from her deceased mother through the mother’s family, the principle of which she normally wouldn’t be able to access until she’s twenty-four. However, there’s a kidnapping clause. As her sole guardian, her father was able to access the funds.”

  “Damn. A kidnapping clause? Really?”

  “Yep. As sick as it seems, those with high profiles who are worth tons of bucks often have special insurance riders. Shit, kiddo, you might even have one.”

  “Possible, but no one’s tried to kidnap me. So the ransom’s been paid? The bad guys have the money?”

  “Yeah.”

  Any feeling of hope deep-sixed quicker than Davy Jones. “Fuck. No leverage.”

  “Fuck, indeed.”

  “But you think she’s still alive.”

  “Honestly? Yeah, I do. Track with me for a moment. Gemma Mansfield is a very pretty eleven-year-old Caucasian girl. I hate to be crass, but, at her age, under everyone’s watchful eye, let’s assume she’s still a virgin. There are any number of wealthy pedophiles, especially among the top-shelf international corporate community, who would pay handsomely for such a package, and who have the funds to do it.”

  He took a moment to clear his throat. “I’m banking on the fact that she’s too valuable a commodity to return, or to waste by killing her. I think she’ll be on the next freighter headed to Brazil, or even the far East. Traveling by ship takes longer, but may be easier than going by air, through customs. Or, they can pick her up at sea after they leave the U.S. coastal waters. Endless ways to move her.”

  As Kacey’s brain quickly processed the sparse data, she realized she agreed with his assessment. “I’m good with it. How’s the senator holding up?” Kacey never cared for the man, but no parent deserved to go through a child being taken. He’d already lost his wife, and not that long ago.

  “First, he refused to cooperate until he got access to the money. Now he’s threatening to sue everyone for everything because the deal went south.”

  “Can he?”

  “No, but as a senator, he can produce an unholy bushel load of bad PR for the agency. You know how the media love to beat us up. The Secret Service recently got hammered publically, so we’re in line for a nut-busting.”

  Kacey already knew the answer, but she needed to ask. “Back up?”

  “None. This plan is so off the radar that Navy-trained dolphins wouldn’t be able to pick up a trace. Kace, this was more than a leak—this was a dam burst. Someone handed over detailed plans to the kidnappers, and it was done quickly. Six of my best CARD agents were taken out within minutes. Six, Kacey. All gone.”

  The hair stood up on her neck and arms. She’d met Cannon’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment agents. Five men and a woman. They’d been the best of the best, and she mourned their loss.

  “Kacey, do you know where I can find Nate Weatherly?”

  Her gut dropped out from under like she’d gone airborne in the first seat of a monster roller coaster. How the fuck should she respond to that? She wiggled between Nathan’s legs, but he wouldn’t free her. Shit. Well, Jack didn’t need to know the particulars.

  “Why Weatherly?”

  “Reliable scuttlebutt says he cut loose from the Navy and is on the East Coast with some of his boys. He—rather, they—have the skill sets I need.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath, exhaled. “Yes.”

  “Look, I’m out of options. I haven’t met Weatherly, but word is that you worked with the guy in Afghanistan. Gossip says several of his squad opted out at the same time, that Tactical And Surveillance Group based in Boston was sniffing around him and his boys. I don’t know how that turned out. We’ve been losing good FBI candidates to the civilian paramilitary community lately, and I’d hoped to entice him over to our side.

  “If Nate is on the eastern seaboard, and if you can contact him, do you think you can persuade him to pull his guys together? Without the ability to use government assets, I need to go slick, fast, and underground. No one can know.”

  “Jack, I’m going to put you on hold for a second. Please don’t ask any questions, and don’t go anywhere.”

  “Got it.”

  Kacey pushed the hold button, drew in a really deep breath, let it out. “Nathan, I don’t have time to answer loads of questions at the moment, but I need to ask. Did your boys sign on with TASG? If not, can you pull them together? How many, and how fast can they get to the Boston seaport?”

  His body tensed up behind her, even his cock stirred against her bottom.

  “Mansfield kidnapping?”

  Damn, how did he do that? Then again, he’d been listening to her end of the conversation, and he wasn’t stupid. “Yes
.”

  “FBI?”

  “Ambushed. CARD team taken out.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  He spoke close to her ear, but it wasn’t intended as a sexy whisper. “Five of my guys, minus Jonah, are already in Woburn, right outside of Boston, meeting with a TASG rep. No one has signed anything. Give me a few hours to work out the logistics, pull them together. Quietly.”

  She nodded. “Jack, you still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll have Weatherly plus a crew of five in Woburn, probably by dinner. Will six newly retired SEALs work for you? Plus, one slightly used Marine Viper pilot, also newly retired?”

  Even over the phone, she heard the air rush from Jack’s lungs.

  “Kace, I can’t begin to tell you—”

  “Intel?” Her interruption prevented any further waste of time.

  “Only what I can give you here, but Glennon Garrett from GMG Security and Surveillance is working with me. It won’t take him long to catch up and take over. There’s no one better at reconnaissance. No one. The plan is simple. You fly in, Weatherly’s crew snatch the girl, you fly out with her. All I need is a yay or nay after the fact. We’ll rendezvous later.”

  “Equipment?”

  “An SUV will be packed and waiting at a rendezvous point as soon as you tell me where to send it. Intel, maps, all the surveillance gear and weaponry they’ll need will be in the truck, including burn phones. Key under the passenger rear fender. Interior lights disabled.”

  “Okay, got it. One problem—the Timberwyck bird is down for maintenance. Do you have something available?”

  “Damn and double damn. Let me put you on hold for a moment.”

  It took longer than a moment, but Jack finally got back to her, the stress level in his voice high. “A helo will be waiting for you at the airpark in Pease. I have the promise of a Robinson 44 Raven, which shouldn’t attract undue attention.”

  “Jack, is there any way to deliver the Raven to Timberwyck’s private airstrip? We can land a freakin’ jet here.”

  “No, sorry. The pilot is only borrowed, and his window of opportunity is too narrow. He’s doing a last minute swap and drop for us.”

  It only took a nanosecond to respond. “No problem, chief, we’ll work it out.”

  Chapter Six

  The pair showered, dressed, and packed in thirty minutes, flat. Kacey remembered to leave a note for the staffers who would begin to arrive on Monday morning, just in case. She also left a text message for the sheriff so he could make other arrangements for his morning coffee. “Don’t need anyone to worry or start being nosey.”

  Remembering his note to Big Bob, Nate winced. “Good luck with that. I think nosey is the sheriff’s middle name.”

  As she locked up behind them, Kacey turned on the front steps and stared at the prime muscle car in the parking area. “Yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nice.” She got down to business. “We shouldn’t leave it out in the open.”

  Kacey directed him to the nearest carriage house, opened one of the doors, backed her little forest green Jeep Wrangler out of a bay. She pointed. “Park in there. It’ll be safe.”

  The pair hopped north to the regional airport, then lifted off in the trim Raven. Nothing to be done about the bright red paint scheme with the silver stripes. However, it carried normal FAA ID numbers, no logo or other identifying features. It would fit in with the Boston air traffic without attracting any undue attention.

  Conversation was minimal during the short flight to rendezvous with his team. For Kacey, hugs from the guys all the way around. For Nate, his Spidey senses were shooting off flares and fireworks, and not in a good way. An operation lacking complete intel and adequate prep time was perilous—in Nate’s mind, possibly fatal. In addition to its members’ inherent talent and endless training, SEAL ops were successful largely due to their extraordinary intelligence gathering, and comprehensive, exhaustive preparations.

  He had no idea how the FBI CARD team had been compromised, which concerned him a great deal. His men trusted him, therefore they agreed to the hastily cobbled together mission. Plus, a child was at risk. But if the rescue op swirled down the crapper, responsibility for the disaster would be entirely on his head.

  The crew checked out the gear in the delivered SUV, then hung out in Aye-Aye’s room at the Courtyard, about eleven miles from Hanscom Air Force base. Special Agent Cannon called. Nate put him on speaker phone.

  “Your destination is a posh landmark hotel nearest the seaport helipad—I’ll bet my left nut that’s where the girl is stashed. I don’t know why they didn’t choose some cheap, cheesy dive, but I’m sure that’s where she is. Enough heavy landscaping for your crew to work from the back of the vehicle and still stay out of sight.

  “Guys, you’re a go, but you need to wait for full dark or you won’t be covered. If I’m right, pray they don’t move her before you get there. Kacey, you’ll be landing at the Boston Heliport, less than a thousand yards from a handful of high-end hotels, so you won’t be conspicuous. Weatherly will fly with you, scout out the area from the air, then meet the guys on the ground.

  “Nathan’s crew needs to snatch Gemma Mansfield before she’s moved to the docks. Kacey takes off with the girl, flight plan for the rendezvous point is in the cockpit. The crew departs in the SUV, Garrett will supply coordinates directly to that GPS unit. I’ll take care of any cleanup after you go, but do your best not to leave corpses in public view. Oh, Kace, sweetheart, try not to send the Raven back to my compadre in pieces.”

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, she chuckled. “O, ye of little faith.”

  A snort came from his end. “Faith I have. It would be great if you proved me wrong, just this once.”

  …

  Kacey landed at the far edge of the designated helipad at the Boston seaport, swung the bird so the passenger door faced away from the control building’s oversized observation window and bright vapor lights. Nathan was out of the bird before it touched down, black equipment bag in hand. He crouched low in the helo’s shadow, moved quickly into the full dark. Kacey would turn the helo, set it down, keep the rotors turning in ready mode.

  So far, Cannon’s surveillance expert had done his homework. Nathan was able to skirt the outside perimeter of the hotel and meet up with his men in the tall, heavy bush cover behind their black Suburban SUV with its darkened windows. The high-fives were silent.

  The crew quickly split into their assignments. Nathan took sniper James “Jimmy Ray” Rogers and Jeffrey Geerling, scout. Communications expert Allen “Aye-Aye” Ayleward led the second half of the team, which included Marcus “Barracuda” Welland, demolitions, and William Boyd “Billy Boy” Smith, logistics. Their medic, Jonah Taylor, newly ensconced as a family physician in Winterpine, had a maternity patient hanging on by her fingernails, and was forced to decline his part in the assignment. Nathan knew Jonah wasn’t happy about it, plus his loss left them short a man.

  Working on such minimal intel went against everything the former SEALs had been taught, but with a little girl’s life at stake, it was either go time or no time. They chose to go.

  Dressed in black-on-black T-shirts, vests, fatigue pants, and camo paint, the men melted into the shadows. Upon his arrival, Nathan quickly filled them in on the latest, per Jack Cannon’s gut, plus all the up-to-the-minute satellite surveillance he’d begged from compatriot Garrett and his GMG wonder boys enclaved somewhere along the tough streets of New Jersey.

  Able to hook up to GMG by satellite, Billy Boy followed the heat images on his satcom screen. Two big men could be seen inside the ground floor corner room, facing the rear of the property. A third person, smaller, slighter, sat in the middle of the bed in the next room.

  The superior technical wizardry impressed everyone, especially Nathan. “Boys, we have our targets.”

  The corner room’s curtains and drapes were tightly closed. Open corridors forme
d a cross within the seven-storey building from side to side, front to back, meeting in the central lobby. The security lamp over the back entrance of the hotel had been taken out. Thankfully, heavy landscaping abounded.

  In the parking lot outside the suspects’ room sat a dark gray Suburban, with blacked out windows and rental agency tag frames.

  The heat signature showed one of the men opening the bedroom door, then he spoke English with a heavy Slavic accent. Using a high-tech amplifier, Ayleward easily picked up every word, every noise.

  “You all prettied up now, little girl?”

  Nathan tapped his com specialist on the shoulder. “Russian, definitely.”

  The girl responded, in the whatever tone of voice that only adolescent females could manage. “Yes. I don’t see why, though. It’s not like anyone can see me.”

  “Important guest to be here later. You must look your best, and act like lady. No being, how you say, smart mouth.”

  The girl muttered something that wasn’t picked up on the mic.

  “So, we wait. What you want for supper, little girl?”

  Aye-Aye picked up what sounded like a heavy sigh, then the girl responded. “My name is Gemma, not little girl, remember? Pizza. Pepperoni, black olives, extra cheese.”

  Aye-Aye quietly shared the news. “Bingo. Target confirmed. Repeat: target confirmed.”

  The Russian continued. “Okay, little miss Gemma. That is only thing you ever want. You will get fat on eating all the time pizza with the pepperonis and the olives.”

  “I wouldn’t get fat if you’d let me out of this room for some exercise.”

  “Funny girl. You will be out of room soon enough, then you will miss us. Okay, we get pizza one more time, special, for you.”

  Geerling grinned. “Excellent. Pizza delivery. How lucky are we?” The increased level of excitement was palpable.

  Nathan shook his head. “Cool your jets. Maybe luckier than we know. He said soon enough and one more time. That means she’s going to be moved. What worries me is the arrival of a visitor. That can’t be a good thing. I’m thinking Cannon’s instincts were right on the money, and there’s a buyer waiting in the wings.”