by Gennita Low
In every operation there was an apex, in which the goal of the mission was achieved. Hands in pockets, collar turned up, Marlena peered stoically toward the east, pondering this operation that had brought her here. In her job they always said the end justified the means. Her cancellation. The loss of a valuable contact like Pierre. Nameless lives affected by a traitor. Operation Foxhole would be considered a failure if the apex wasn’t fulfilled, and in the eyes of those who ran covert wars, her death would have been a waste of an asset. She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t think she wanted to be footnoted as a waste, which was possible since her capture. Yet here she was, unexpectedly at the apex of her mission.
It’d taken many twists and turns to steal back a laptop holding a devastating formula that could change the weaponry of the world, only to discover the man behind the sale was one supposedly working on her side. She’d used her smokescreen to deceive all her opponents, to make them believe the laptop hadn’t been exchanged, and in so doing she’d gambled the people to whom she needed to pass the laptop would come after her. She thought she’d lost that gamble when she ended up back in the hands of the very man from whom she’d retrieved the computer.
All seemed quite lost, until now. Wasn’t fate an odd thing. She was being coerced to “sell” the laptop to her target from the very beginning, Mad Max Shoggi, arms dealer to a few of the shadier international leaders. She had Pierre to thank for those functions that secured bids. It’d taken a long time to work her way into the inner circle, gaining the trust of men who dealt and bought influence and information as if they were business stocks.
So, after over two years, here was the apex of her operation, and success was very near. After that, with the laptop out of her hands, she would deal with a very personal mission—Mr. Gorman himself. Taking a deep breath, she gazed expectantly into the darkness, listening for the arrival.
***
Small swells bobbed the black rubber craft hovering in the darkness. The swells came in timed intervals, and Steve hunched in silence, one hand up. Like the anchored boat ahead, they, too, were waiting, drifting slowly, so as not to disturb the telltale surge of the waves. He could tell by the different wakes and directions of the waves that another boat was coming this way, and would be there not too long from now. He didn’t want to strike before he could see who was on the second craft. If they moved in too fast, the ocean’s movement would also betray them. Steve didn’t want to strike too soon.
It was imperative not to get too close until the other boat arrived. He was very aware that timing would play a crucial role in this operation. He turned to look behind at the men who had come with him. Hawk had brought three men—what they called a fire team—each hauling his own cache of weaponry. One of them was left in charge of the boat they had rented, while he and the others approached the target in their smaller and less conspicuous inflatable.
Earlier he had his pick of heat from Hawk’s backpack, whistling at some of the toys his cousin had brought along. It felt good now to have the familiar weight in his hands. They were the kinds of things a soldier’s life depended on. Of course it helped, too, that Hawk and his men were his backup; they were all SEALs and they understood what it took. On the other hand, sitting in the rear, his baby-sitter, Cam, crouched quietly—face blackened, betraying his position every time his teeth glimmered as he chewed his gum. For a brief instant Steve wondered who would be babysitting whom, since Cam admitted to never having been on an amphibious assault reconnaissance mission before.
“Relax, man,” Cam had assured with his usual cocky confidence while Hawk and his men looked on dubiously. Steve didn’t blame their hesitancy, since Cam’s fashionable attire at that time didn’t really add any measure of assurance. “I’ll stay out of your way and set up target practice.”
“Target practice?” Hawk wasn’t the kind who liked to joke around when it came to a mission. His brooding eyes took Cam in from head to toe—the ponytail, the silk necktie, the tailor-made suit and pants. “This isn’t the time to practice your aim. We are mounting a direct strike. To storm a room, we have barely ten seconds to conduct business with our enemies. Ten seconds to sort out the good from the bad guys, to execute the rescue, and take down the bad guys. In this one we’re going in at night, in unfamiliar territory. Steve, you better tell him what he has to do or I’ll shoot him before he gets us shot.”
Before Steve could reply, Cam had picked up the Mossberg twelve-gauge Cruiser, a non-civilian issue lying on top of the table. He disengaged the silencer and took the weapon apart in record time. There was silence as he put it back together just as efficiently and snapped on the heavy cartridge. Steve smiled in the dark at the memory. Cam did what he knew would convince Hawk and his men. Privately, that had surprised the hell out of him. Cam had never seemed the tough and silent type.
Hawk had given Steve’s TIARA teammate a close look, then turned back to the maps in front of him. “He’ll do,” was all he said.
After that, they spent an hour preparing. A basic hostage rescue drill had four components. Rapid insertion. Extraction. Close-quarters target identification. Precision shooting. Steve had done similar operations countless times, but this was different. This time there were emotions involved—worry and anger, two things that could get in the way. Hawk had already questioned whether it was wise for him to be part of the rescue team. Steve understood his cousin was trying to make sure the operation would go smoothly. He didn’t bother to answer, though. An exchange of looks was enough.
The sound of an engine becoming louder cut off his thoughts. Dim lights became brighter. The shadowy waves reflected the meeting boats. The engine cut off.
Steve dropped his hand, signaling the others. When the inflatable was close enough, he gave the hand signals to stop. He put on his night vision glasses and looked across the dark expanse at the target point, the first boat. With the infrared thermal imager, they counted the number of humans, memorizing their locations. One of them, he told himself, was Marlena. Then he turned his attention to the second craft.
Hawk passed him a waterproof bag, and both of them readied themselves in silence. They had earlier decided that they would be the go-ahead swim pair, while Hawk’s other two men, Dirk and the one they called Cucumber—Cumber for short—were to stay put until the first part of the operation was completed. Once that was accomplished, Steve and Hawk would climb up the side of the target, the signal for the others on the inflatable to get closer.
There wasn’t going to be anything subtle about this mission. The first part of the operation was surgical. While the attention of target point was diverted, they planned to secure C-4 explosives to blow the propellers off the boat for effective immobilization. Then they would sneak on board.
His main goal was to get Marlena off the boat before all hell broke loose. He hoped T and her men would be there for clean-up service not too long afterward. Easier outlined than done. He didn’t like the spotlight that had been turned on. He especially didn’t like the knowledge that he had caught thermal images of people on deck within that spotlight. That made it very difficult for a covert extraction, more so than close combat in the confined space of a boat’s cabin. When he found out from T that Marlena was at sea, he had already concluded that the missing laptop would be on the same ship. Marlena. Sale item. International waters. Oncoming craft. That could only mean she was needed to broker a deal.
He had called T back just before they left on their mission to check on coordinates. T confirmed his theory, adding that Marlena was definitely still alive because she had signaled a second time, with an added coded communication that was their indicator of Operation Foxhole under way. T had told him not to interfere if he saw any kind of business transactions going on, that this was Marlena’s assignment. Steve didn’t care about any brokering. What would happen to Marlena after that was of more importance to him right now than who was on the second boat, so he opted to give a chance for the latter to leave. Less risk to Marlena’s life.
They double-checked everything silently. They weren’t swimming too deep, so they were using Draeger rebreathing systems that recycled expelled air, thus no betraying bubbles would reach the surface. Water-resistant explosives zipped in their haversack. Luminous compasses. They were going to measure distance the old-fashioned way, by the number of kicks. They nodded to each other.
Cam leaned forward, thumped Steve on the shoulder, and gave him a thumbs-up. Hawk just shook his head and climbed overboard. Steve did the same, dropping without a splash into the white-crested sea.
***
Marlena thought she heard something, but as in a bad-movie FBI interrogation, she was blinded by the glare of the spotlight. The only way to escape was to kill the bright beam, but without any weapon on her, that seemed an impossible quest.
“I never intended things to go this far, Marlena,” Pierre interrupted her reverie. “I didn’t know he would be spying on you and setting your friend up. To me it seemed an interesting idea at that time to see how this man was going to use the system to make a profit.”
He wasn’t calling her chérie, and she understood the underlying apology behind the explanation. Pierre never needed any excuses for what he was, and she knew these words were difficult for the proud man. “It amused you to watch this game,” she explained for him, as much as for herself, “because you wanted to catch the thief as well as make a profit from his scam. And knowing they would look for a middleman, you gambled that it would be me.”
He nodded. “The only way to get to the bottom of this was to see it through, so I allowed them to gain closer access to me. Besides, I knew you would want this laptop for Max Shoggi.”
She understood the unspoken words. Play with the devil’s minions to get to the devil himself. Pierre used the strategy so he could find out who was secretly infiltrating his network. Her organization had employed the same tactic, going after Max Shoggi the past couple of years, slowly squeezing off his well of weapons. Working with a special operations group, T had spent time underground for two years, and had finally canceled Mad Max’s main man, Cash Ibrahim, a few months ago. Then, within her special position in New York, she had frozen the arms dealer’s bank accounts, effectively cornering Maximilian Shoggi into desperately looking for something big to replenish his depleted cash flow.
Something like a laptop with a secret high-tech formula would attract his foreign clients. T’s role in that operation completed, it was Marlena’s turn to enter the picture. She would obtain the missing laptop and dangle it as bait to Mad Max. Everything was going smoothly, what with her letting him trail her all the way to D.C. He was even at Pierre’s function, making sure he was in line to buy what Marlena Maxwell had to offer. Everything was just fine and dandy, until—she sighed—until she had unwittingly made Gorman jealous of Stash. And because of her, she didn’t know where Stash was, or what had happened to him.
She wondered when T was going to show up. Knowing her, she would send a crew ahead to scout the situation, perhaps disguised as a passing fishing boat. Gorman’s boat had been anchored there long enough for her location to be pinpointed, so it shouldn’t be too long now. She weighed the probabilities of when things might start to happen—before Max Shoggi’s arrival, or after. She hoped for the latter. She had conveyed to T a coded message that she hoped made it clear that the operation was still in progress. If the scouts appeared too soon, they might frighten the arms dealer away.
No time to worry. In the distance the lights of an approaching boat twinkled. One of the men spoke into his walkie-talkie. The grinding stop of an engine. A flurry of activity. She took in a deep breath.
***
Lena. Steve silently called to the figure standing in the spotlight. From his position, she looked unharmed. He frowned. She and du Scheum were speaking quietly, no sign of antagonism between them as they watched the other vessel. Once in a while, one of those burly guards communicated with a walkie-talkie. How was du Scheum part of this?
Steve checked out the guards through a mini scope, taking in their weapons. When one of the men again said something into his walkie-talkie, he noticed this time that the guy glanced upward toward the spotlight, an unconscious response to the person on the other side.
Steve pointed in that direction, and Hawk nodded his understanding, that someone over there was watching the people illuminated by the beam. Hawk crawled closer to him and indicated three fingers, telling him that the thermal imager showed three observers. He signaled for Steve’s decision—pointing at the different options. Upward at the observers. Back toward Marlena and du Scheum, with their guards. Ambush. Or hold.
Steve’s gut reaction was to immediately save Marlena, get her out of the way. His instinct told him that the person in charge was one of the three hidden observers, but if he went for Marlena’s kidnapper, she was in danger of being surrounded by the guards and whoever was coming over from the other boat, effectively stopping his plans. On the other hand, if he took down her guards where she was now, someone up there would just use them as target practice.
Looming up silently behind them, Dirk and Cucumber slithered next to them. They communicated silently, making sure everything was in order. Reaching a decision, Steve consulted Hawk with finger and hand signals. His cousin nodded in agreement, and the team set their watches. Parting ways, they merged with the shadows of the boat.
One target down. Up the stairwell. Two down. Steve reached the top. He sheathed away his bloodied Bowie, adjusted the safety on his weapon. Voices drifted toward him.
“Don’t let her out of your sight. She’s very good at what she does, and I don’t want anything to go wrong. Make sure the deal is done. The moment Maximilian Shoggi gets off, out of sight, I want her and du Scheum eliminated. Her first. Don’t give her a chance to move, do you hear?”
Steve heard the soft acknowledgment from a walkie-talkie. He backed off, then turned away from the doorway. No time. His heart was thumping somewhere in his belly. Someone out there had just received orders to kill Lena. And he wasn’t out there. He wasn’t anywhere close to her. Suddenly the same stairs he had just climbed seemed to have too many steps.
Chapter Twenty-three
Marlena smiled at Mad Max Shoggi. She let him kiss her hand. She told him she forgave him for trying to scare her with those threatening phone calls, and that she was glad he’d won the bidding war for the item in the end. After all, he was missing his suave right-hand man, Cash Ibrahim, and he wasn’t used to dealing with such minor details as middlemen. She omitted the fact that he had T to thank for the loss of his man Ibrahim a few months ago; that was another story.
Gorman had promised to release Stash after she’d finished transacting this piece of business for him. Of course, she didn’t believe he would actually keep his word, but she did know he wanted the transfer of the laptop to be successful. Someone like Gorman didn’t like being duped because he prided himself on being the master of double-cross.
She intrigued him because of her own deceptive exploits. She felt his desire that had now changed into a perverse delight in pitting himself against her skill. There was nothing funny about having her life snuffed out while her opponent played cat-and-mouse with her, and Marlena didn’t intend to walk around in this maze waiting to be rescued.
Once upon a time she’d stood beside Pierre du Scheum and watched him negotiate deals with tough opponents, who had gone away trying to figure out how a man who talked with poetic softness defeated them. Relatively speaking, she’d learned at the knee of a master, and it was surreal to have him return the favor tonight. He stood by and observed. With his international background, he was the assurance to people like Max Shoggi that there was nothing nefarious with the deal at hand.
Gorman understood this, and that was why Pierre was there with her. But he didn’t know that she and Pierre had a history that went way back, that they had their own body language and signals. So she had the advantage there. But would she have time? The moment Max Shoggi returned
to his boat, Gorman had no further use for her.
She handed the suitcase full of money to one of the guards. At the last moment, she let go before he could reach for it. His body came in front of hers as he reflexively bent to pick it up.
In those few seconds Marlena’s mind barely registered the unmistakable blossoming red on the taller man’s chest, as he fell forward, before her trained body jumped into action. That bullet had been meant for her. Instantaneously she turned and shoved Pierre into the other guard. Pierre didn’t even make a sound, just tangled with the bigger man.
Diving onto the deck next to the downed guard, she reached for the automatic weapon he had dropped when he was shot. There was no sound as her executioner fired another shot at her, hitting the dead guard next to her again. It went in with a sickening implosive thud; the body jerked violently, pushing the weapon farther away. Marlena went after it again. Another bullet thumped into the body. Her fingers curled around the handle. Pain shot up her arm. She cursed.
The air exploded in a roar of showering glass. Someone had shot at the spotlight, plunging everything into semidarkness. Still half lying on the deck, Marlena blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden change. She found her fingers curled around the trigger of the weapon, but she hadn’t fired off a shot.
Whoever was shooting at her must also adjust to the sudden darkness. This was her chance to get cover. Using one arm to push up, she rose to her knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of metal. Pierre. She swerved and pulled the trigger.
“Run for cover!” she yelled to Pierre as dark figures suddenly materialized from several different directions. Running herself, she reached into her right pocket. A figure jumped out in front. Before she could shoot, someone leaped into her from the right, and she fell down again. To her disgust, she couldn’t keep her assailant from using the momentum to roll them like bowling balls across the deck. Whoever it was knew exactly where to stop, because they ended up behind a pillar, with her trapped under a muscular body.