“That’s our backup, one of my buddies from Veritas. Used to be a SEAL.”
“Why the hell wasn’t he helping us during the firefight?”
“The Iceman just got here. He had the pilot fly him in the moment I sent him the message about the shootings.”
“The Iceman?” she asked.
“Once you meet him, it’ll make sense.”
As they approached the shoreline, their escort cut across to meet them. He was as tall as Brannon, built much like him, probably close in age. He had the same intense gaze, the same quiet strength. Curiously, he had a flat silver disk in his right earlobe. She bet there was a story behind that.
“Iceman,” Brannon said. “Good to see you.”
The man nodded, his eyes on Cait, assessing her in a calculating way.
“Caitlyn, this is Neil MacFayden.”
He gave her a curt nod, dismissive, as if she was just dead weight. Why had he dissed her? No matter why, it certainly didn’t sit well.
“You’re Neil the SEAL? What is this, a damned Dr. Seuss book?”
An dark eyebrow rose. “A mouthy woman Marine. Now there’s something new,” he replied, the sarcasm thick. Neil’s attention moved back to Brannon. “Sit rep?”
Situation report. This guy was all business.
“Intel says that Ellers might have a staging area south of here. He needed someplace to store the C-4. We think his target is Atlanta.”
Neil grunted, then headed toward one of the Jon boats, and began readying it for departure.
“Short on manners, isn’t he?” Cait said.
“He can be. He suspects there’s something between us.”
“How could he know that?”
“Neil can suss out that kind of thing, and it makes him nervous.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Just does. It’s the way he is.”
“Well, as long he’s not in my face, I don’t care. But I won’t tolerate disrespect, not even from a friend of yours.”
Brannon smiled at her now. “Didn’t expect you would, Sergeant.”
“You two going to stand there all damned day?” Neil called out.
“Yeah, that’s the Iceman for you,” Brannon said, chuckling.
“As long as he watches our six . . . ” Cait replied.
“That we can always count on.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The trip south went smoothly, and fortunately they’d encountered no one else along the way. Neil sat in the front of the boat, a sniper rifle resting on his lap. Cait was in the rear, while Brannon sat in the middle, navigating. None of them was in the mood for conversation, each getting into the zone.
As agreed, they disembarked on the northern end of the hammock, where Rafferty had said the camp was located, and hiked in.
“I’ll take point,” Cait said, putting herself a good thirty feet in front of them. Brannon suspected it was her way of putting distance between her and Iceman.
Fifteen minutes into the hike, Neil asked in a low voice, “You two hooked up?”
Brannon nodded. “Didn’t see it coming, that’s for sure. She’s . . . amazing. One helluva woman.”
His friend shook his head in despair. “First Morgan takes a round to her heart because of the White Knight, and now you? What the hell is going on? And please don’t tell me it’s love, because that’s just bullshit.”
“Cynical as always, my friend.”
“No, that’s reality.”
Brannon could say he was falling for a woman who had more personal demons than he did, but he wouldn’t bother. Neil wouldn’t get it. Or if he did, he wouldn’t admit it. Cait was everything Brannon had ever wanted. Everything he’d hoped to find and thought he never would.
When he didn’t answer, Neil muttered under his breath, “Come on, buddy, she’s just messing with your head.”
Brannon frowned. “Your Iceman armor is getting a little too thick, bro. Dial it down a few notches, okay?”
“I’m just saying that you have to watch yourself,” Neil replied.
“Oh, like you and Alex’s sister? I heard you gave Miri a kitten, and she even named it after you. That true?”
Neil’s sour expression told Brannon he’d hit home. “Yeah. What of it?”
“She’s a hottie. Can’t argue that.”
The look in Neil’s eyes changed from annoyed to possessive. That was rare. Unheard of, even.
“We have nothing in common,” his friend hissed. “I haven’t seen her since . . . the New Orleans mission. Plan to keep it that way.”
Nothing in common except a cat, and that Miri seemed to be a very easy button to push.
Well, I’ll be damned. Who’s messing with whose head now?
Cait had stopped. She pointed upward. “Copter.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Neil said.
“Wait for it.”
It was another five seconds before the sound reached Brannon’s ears.
“Damn,” Neil muttered. “She’s got good hearing.”
Which meant it was likely she’d heard every word of his conversation with the Iceman, and that didn’t trouble Brannon at all.
“It’s coming from behind us,” she said, hunkering down. He and Neil did the same and a short time later, the helicopter flew past.
“Park Service,” she said, rising. “Running lower than you’d expect.”
“Rafferty said there was a clearing near the cabin. But why would it head there?” Brannon asked.
“Maybe the pilot doesn’t have a choice,” Neil replied.
They traded looks and then all three took off at a trot.
*~*~*
It was almost a quarter of an hour later when they reached the clearing. Once there, Neil insisted on reconnoitering the location on his own.
“Is he always like that?” Cait asked.
“Yeah, that’s the Iceman for you.” Brannon leaned over and placed a kiss on Cait’s cheek.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, puzzled.
“Because I wanted to remind myself that there’s more in life besides battles.” To his dismay, her eyes grew sad. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Not sure. Seeing those people die, it stirred up some stuff. Bad stuff.”
He lightly brushed a finger down her cheek. “Don’t give that bastard inside your head any more real estate. He’s got enough as it is.” She shrugged. “Just hang in there. When this is done, it’ll be just you and me.”
Her frown began even before he’d finished. “When this is done, if we’re not dead, you’re headed to jail. For a very long time. Did you forget that part?”
He sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see. Don’t give up on us just yet.”
Cait began to protest, but Neil’s return, near silent as it was, ended the conversation. He studied them both, then shook his head.
“What did you find?” Brannon asked, not in the mood for his friend’s judgmental behavior.
“Four tangos and a chopper pilot in a Park Service uniform. Sounds like he’s a hostage, not a true believer. Both Ellers and his nephew are here. I recognized them from the photos. They’re loading weapons from a cabin near the clearing.”
“Okay,” Brannon said. “Caitlyn, can you secure the cabin?”
“Roger that.”
“Iceman? We need a diversion, something that will pull them down our way,” he said. “That way the sergeant will have a fairly clear field near the chopper.”
“You want me to blow the cache if we can’t bag Ellers?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow at Neil. The man nodded in response.
“That’s a go, but make sure we all have time to get clear. No matter what, this asshole does not leave the swamp with those weapons.”
“Then let’s make
that a reality,” she replied.
While Brannon remained in place closer to the water, Neil and Cait headed north, skirting along the eastern edge of the clearing. Voices reached them: Ellers issuing orders, grumbles from some of the men. James seemed to be helping with the loading, but only because his uncle insisted. He kept looking inside the copter, probably keeping an eye on the pilot.
As they ghosted through the woods, Neil remained taciturn, which didn’t bother her. He had his head in the game. When she and the former SEAL reached the point at which she would continue on alone, he shot her a look.
“Don’t fuck this up, wook,” he said, his voice cold.
She glowered at him, instantly angry. Wook stood for Wookiee Monster, a play on WM, Woman Marine. He was dissing her again, and she’d had it with the jerk.
Don’t fuck this up? She shoved him back with a hand. “Same to you, guppy.”
Neil’s eyes grew round at the insult. Before he could reply, Cait moved away. She wasn’t sure if the attitude was because she was a female Marine, or because of Brannon. It would be easy to believe it was the former, but she suspected it was because of his buddy.
Pushing the encounter to the back of her mind, Cait took the long way around, moving quietly through the woods, careful not to step on anything that would make noise. The helicopter sat in the center of the open space, engine off. Some twenty yards away was the ramshackle cabin, its door open. Two men carried out a wooden crate and judging from the way they struggled, it was heavy. Probably the C-4. As she scoped out the site, she saw three more crates stacked near the copter. A terse conversation was going on between the copter pilot and Ellers. The park ranger was pale and sweaty, just what you’d expect if he’d been hijacked.
“Look, I don’t know what you guys are up to, but you can’t just kidnap a park ranger. We’re federal employees.”
“I don’t acknowledge your government. All you need to know is that you’re here for one purpose: to fly this bird wherever I tell you. Or I will shoot you and leave your body for the gators. Understand?”
The ranger shook his head in despair. “What’s in those crates?”
“Explosives.”
Now the man went ashen. “Are you crazy?”
Ellers laughed. “I’ve been told that.” He waved at his men. “Get it all loaded.” The closest carton was hefted up and carried inside the chopper.
“What? No,” the pilot protested. “That’s too much weight. This isn’t a damned Sikorsky!”
“James?” The commander’s nephew stepped out of the copter. “Explain to this fool what he’s going to do. If he gives you any shit, kill him. I’m done wasting my time on him.”
The pilot stepped back, shaking.
“Come on,” James said, grabbing the guy’s arm. “Let’s go look at all those pretty instruments.”
“Get the Tannerite loaded next,” the commander ordered. “Move it! We need to get out of here.”
Tannerite and C-4? This guy knew how to throw a party.
Once she was sure she was in the clear, Cait sprinted to the side of the cabin. Edging up on her toes, she took a quick peek through the window, whatever glass had been there long gone. Three 55-gallon drums sat near the door. Tannerite.
The explosive was designed for firearms practice, in particular for long-range shooting, allowing the shooter to know whether they’d hit the target. But in sufficient quantities, it made a very nasty bomb, one that could easily be detonated with a single high-velocity bullet.
Cait ducked down as men entered the cabin and removed the barrels. That left the place empty. She leveraged herself up and inside. Well, not quite empty. Right beneath her was a wooden crate, its lid open, and inside were M67 grenades. Ellers could do a lot of damage with these beauties.
So could I. She picked up a grenade and carefully tucked it into a cargo pocket, only needing one for what she had in mind. After a quick look outside, Cait positioned herself to the left of the open door, out of sight. The location gave her a good view of the rear of the copter.
Get on with it, SEAL.
As if in response, there was the sound of rapid gunfire. Cait stepped into the doorway, in case any of them retreated to the cabin. Instead, Ellers ordered all of his men, except James, into the woods to deal with the attackers.
In the distance, she saw a grim figure stalk one of the militiamen, then Brannon rammed his knife into the base of the tango’s neck. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Another fell, cut down by the Iceman’s sniper fire.
“Spin this bird up!” Ellers shouted. “James, get in the copter!”
As his nephew ducked around the side and into the chopper, two of the commander’s men retreated, firing wildly behind them. One went down, but the other kept shooting. As he drew closer, Ellers leaned out and put a bullet in him. Stunned, the man staggered for a few steps, then crashed into the dirt.
“That’s one way to lighten the load,” she muttered.
Knowing she had little time, Cait sprinted out of the cabin, then crept around to the other side of the cockpit. Just as the engine kicked in and the rotors slowly began to turn, she yanked open the door. The pilot glanced over at her, his eyes wide.
“Out!” she ordered. After cutting the engine, the ranger scrambled across the equipment. The instant he reached the ground, he took off into the woods. Cait trotted behind him, smiling to herself. Unless Ellers could fly one of those things, he was stuck.
The park ranger abruptly stopped, and she nearly barreled into him. “Keep going!”
“No, you’ve got to get the girl out of the copter.”
“What girl?”
“The younger guy had her all tied up. She was scared out of her mind.”
“Blond hair with a blue streak?” He nodded.
Patti.
Brannon and Neil had rejoined forces after efficiently neutralizing Ellers’s men. Now they only needed the commander and his nephew, either alive, or in body bags.
“Can you take the shot?” Brannon asked.
“Negative on tango one,” Neil said, his sniper rifle positioned on the tripod in front of him. “Ellers knows how to keep hidden. Where the hell is your Marine?”
“Don’t worry, my Marine is out there. She’ll move when she’s ready.”
Neil huffed, his attention not moving from the scope.
Brannon repositioned his field glasses. “Pilot is no longer in the cockpit.” Which meant Cait must have found a way to pull him out of danger.
“Still no go on tango one.”
The rotors picked up speed now. Puzzled, Brannon rechecked the cockpit. Someone had climbed in from the back. “We’ve got a new pilot, Ellers’s nephew.” Why the hell didn’t we know he could fly a chopper?
“You want me to take him out?”
Brannon was just about to give the order when Ellers moved to the side door. In front of him was a terrified Patti, his gun to her head.
“Back off, or I’ll kill her!” the man shouted.
“Dammit! What the hell is she doing here?” Brannon hesitated. “You got a clean shot?”
“Negative,” Neil replied.
The rotors picked up speed, jostling both Ellers and his hostage as the chopper lurched up from the ground.
“Brannon?” Neil said quietly.
This was on his head. Did they kill James and hope Patti survived the crash? Would that crash set off the explosives, in which case almost all of them would die?
But if he let Ellers go to spare the girl . . .
Where the hell are you, Caitlyn?
As the copter began to rise, Cait ran toward the craft at top speed. It’d already cleared the ground when she launched herself at the far landing skid. One hand got hold of it, and she dangled for a moment until her other hand found purchase. As the copter picked up speed, the rotor wash sl
ashed across her, eager to toss her aside like a stray leaf.
Above her, Ellers stood behind Patti, using her as a shield, which meant that James must be the pilot. A gag hung loose around Patti’s neck, and it appeared that she’d managed to loosen the ropes at her wrists. The wind wiped her hair in all directions and there was stark terror in her eyes. Fortunately, the commander was too focused on Neil and Brannon to notice his extra passenger. Now, it wasn’t just a matter of stopping Ellers: She had to get the girl to safety.
The chopper had barely passed over the shoreline when it lurched like a drunk at a frat party. Ellers lost his balance and fell backward, as Patti grabbed onto the doorway. Something inside the chopper rolled free. The commander shouted as one of the barrels of Tannerite rolled out the door and plummeted out of sight, barely missing both Patti, and Cait.
The copter lurched sideways again. The park ranger’s warning had come true: The thing was overloaded. Cait looked down and found that they were over open water now, maybe fifty feet from the shore. It was time to get the girl out of here.
“Patti!” she shouted. “Patti!”
From her place at the open door, the teen finally saw her, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Go!” she shouted, pointing down. Patti shook her head. “Jump!”
Patti looked over her shoulder, then back. In what had to be the hardest decision of her life, she reached out a shaking hand. Sidling along the landing skid, Cait grabbed onto it and helped her down to the first skid, then the second.
“Go!” Cait commanded.
To her relief, the girl jumped, tucking into a ball as she headed for the water below. If the guys got to her quick, before any alligators had a chance to sniff her out, she’d probably be okay. Once Patti’s head reappeared above the water and she began swimming for shore, Cait turned back to the problem at hand. The SEAL wouldn’t make the shot as long as she was on board. Brannon wouldn’t let him. If the sniper missed, Ellers would be taking his war to Atlanta. There was only one sure way . . .
The grenade’s explosive range was adequate to destroy the copter, and the murderers inside. It took some effort to free the grenade from her pocket and flick off the safety clip. Once she pulled the pin and released the “spoon,” she’d have four or five seconds, tops, to hit the water before the thing exploded.
Killing Game (Veritas Book 2) Page 23