by Bruhns, Nina
He spent the next fifteen minutes going over in his head every possible scenario that might come about, and how to handle each. The more he thought about it, the crazier he thought they were for ever believing this insane plan could work.
But he wasn’t about to back down now.
His earpiece crackled, and Jaeger said, “Two minutes.”
“Sending in the pastry,” said Quinn.
They all acknowledged, and Kip took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
This was it.
Lifting up so he could see over the stone wall, he focused his binoculars on the spot below where two roads intersected in an elongated traffic circle. The roads weren’t too busy, but there was a steady stream of morning traffic going in both directions.
A tourist bus approached the interchange, then bumped off onto the dirt shoulder just before it got to the roundabout. There was movement inside. The bus was full of people.
So far, so good.
He swung the binoculars and checked out the opposite side of the traffic circle. There, an ancient tractor was putt-putt-putting up the road toward the interchange, pulling a rickety trailer piled high with a huge, towering load of hay.
If the situation weren’t so damn serious, Kip would have laughed. Clearly, Quinn had been watching too many Three Stooges movies. This idea was so fucking preposterous . . . hell, it just might work.
He could hear the commander speaking on the cell phone to the driver. “Almost, just a little—”
Jaeger interrupted. “Fifteen seconds.”
“Okay, go,” Quinn told the bus driver.
Its engine revved, and the bus lurched, barreling onto the road, scattering cars right and left as they swerved to avoid a collision. Horns beeped, and motorists shouted insults through open car windows.
The hay tractor was already in the roundabout, nearly to the crossroad.
Behind the bus, the convoy came into view through the trees. Perfect timing. The lead jeep was just a few cars away.
The bus sped into the traffic circle.
Too fast.
It saw the tractor too late, and couldn’t stop.
It swerved violently and clipped the back of the overloaded trailer. Hay flew up into the wind, scattering in every direction, obscuring windshields, covering the road in great drifts of straw.
Good God. That bus driver had to be kidding.
An accident was not part of the—
Shit.
Blinded, the bus skidded to a halt across both lanes. More horns blared. The hay farmer leaped off the tractor, shouting at the bus driver, waving his fist. Traffic ground to a halt.
The convoy was trapped, penned in by cars piling up behind it.
Good. That was the plan.
Aggravated drivers jumped out of their cars yelling, adding to the noise and the chaos.
Now would be the time to—
“Go!” Quinn barked.
Kip slipped over the stone wall and darted toward the road, sidling in behind a tree. He hung back, waiting for an opening.
The soldiers in the jeeps hopped out uncertainly, alert and brandishing weapons, gazes darting all around, seeking the source of an attack they were clearly expecting.
Even more drivers popped from their vehicles, wondering what was going on.
Just then, passengers began pouring off the bus. Ten, fifteen, twenty of them. Drawing even more attention than the accident.
They giggled and waved, beckoning to the startled soldiers.
Who lowered their weapons in surprise and delight. And strolled toward them, chests puffed, momentarily forgetting their guard duties.
After all, what red-blooded young soldier could resist? Especially in a country with a thirty-five million surplus of men.
The passengers from the bus . . . were all hookers.
It didn’t take long for all four jeeps to completely empty of men. Most of the soldiers were distracted by the women, but Kip saw that a few were staying alert at their posts, guarding the car with the prisoner, weapons up and at the ready.
However, they all stood facing forward, warily watching the confusion of the accident—and the tempting sight of the women.
Which made it an easy task for Alex to scramble underneath the last three jeeps and pull out some essential part to disable them. The lead jeep was impossible for him to get to, but it was penned in by cars on every side and wasn’t going anywhere until this mess got cleaned up.
Kip noticed one of the soldiers on his radio, undoubtedly speaking to either the prison personnel or his superiors at Yulin. Either way, any minute now they’d simply walk Romanov to the other side of the traffic circle where a prison vehicle would soon be there to complete the transfer.
He hit his com. “Ticking clock,” he reported, slipping from the cover of the tree trunk and moving casually over to a car that had been abandoned by its looky-lou owner. He made himself small leaning casually against the front fender. He saw Alex do the same a couple of cars over.
Kip estimated they had maybe four minutes, tops, to get the Russian out of there, or he’d disappear into the Chinese prison system and be nearly impossible to extract.
Time for stage two.
Right on schedule, Quinn said over the com, “Lighting the candles in three, two, one—”
Suddenly, there was a ka-boom, and a burst of fireworks lit up the orchard next to the roundabout. Seconds later, the rapid pop-pop-pop of firecrackers crackled through the air on the opposite side of the road.
Everyone froze. Then, almost to a man, the soldiers snapped up their guns and ran in every direction, searching for the source of the explosions. All except for two of the men guarding the car with Romanov in it. They stayed firmly put.
Another round of fireworks went off in a third location. More chaos ensued.
Kip pulled the stun gun from his waistband and hit the “charge” button.
“Lima and me,” Quinn said a moment later. “On three, two, one.” They fired simultaneously.
Both guards sank to the ground.
Kip ejected the cartridge, stowed the gun, and pulled a dirt brown sheet from his rucksack.
He held his breath.
But no one reacted.
“Go,” said Quinn.
The team moved in swiftly. Kip was to grab Romanov and run. Quinn would plant a blow-up doll in the back seat in his place, and Alex was to cover them.
As another volley of fireworks went off, Kip kicked the guard’s gun away, then swiftly searched his pockets and took his keys. He reached in the transport vehicle, popped the back door locks, and swung open the door.
Romanov was right there, ready to jump out. He was wearing a red jumpsuit and his hands were cuffed behind him.
Unfortunately, his legs were also shackled.
“Fuck,” Kip swore, wrapping him in the sheet to cover the red prison suit.
“Sorry,” Romanov said, looking grim. And bloodied. Jesus, they’d beaten the crap out of him.
“Don’t be,” Kip said, and picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, and headed for the alley. Jesus. The man weighed a ton.
Quinn was right behind him.
That’s when they both noticed Alex wasn’t.
Quinn halted and turned to see what was keeping him, and at the corner of the alley, Kip couldn’t stop but glanced over his free shoulder.
His blood froze. The kid was crouched down, hanging on to the back bumper of the transport vehicle, hyperventilating.
Ah, hell.
34
Skidding around the mouth of the alley, Kip dumped Romanov onto his feet and scooped the driver’s keys from his pocket, leafing quickly through the ring to find the handcuff key.
There were three possibles. He spun Romanov, tossing the sheet aside, and stabbed the first ke
y into the lock. It didn’t turn.
Crap.
He put his head around the corner and saw Quinn sprinting back to Alex.
“Shit.” He tried the second key. “The car’s down this alley. The blue one. Guns, phone, and clothes in the trunk. Keys sitting on the back left tire. Julie’s number is programmed in the phone. She’ll guide you out of here.”
“You’re not coming?” Romanov asked in surprise.
Kip jetted out a breath. “I’ve gotta go back. Alex is in trouble.”
“Then I’m coming, too,” Romanov said, pulling his wrists in front and rubbing them when the cuff lock sprang free on the third try.
“Hell, no,” Kip said. “Not happening.” He shoved the keys into Romanov’s hands so he could open the leg shackles.
“You risked your lives to free me—”
“Exactly. So don’t squander that. Get out of here. Now.”
With that, Kip started after Quinn—he didn’t run, because he didn’t want to attract undue attention, but walked as fast as he dared, keeping his face down. He slid the Beretta into his hand, keeping it covered by the flap of his peasant jacket.
Quinn had already reached Alex, and was kneeling down beside him, glancing around, speaking quietly while urging him to his feet.
Alex had his arms crossed over his chest, eyes squeezed tightly shut, rocking slightly back and forth on his heels. He was trying to catch his breath and not paying any attention to Quinn.
Pulse pounding, Kip halted at the tree he’d hidden behind before, and did a thorough scan of the entire scene, looking for any sign of danger. Chaos still reigned everywhere. But it wouldn’t last much longer. Any second now the soldiers would find the fireworks and realize this was all a diversion. They had to be already starting to suspect.
Goddamn it. What had Quinn been thinking, bringing Alex along?
Quinn caught Kip’s gaze and shook his head, motioning forcefully for him to go back to Romanov. Kip gave his own head a shake and continued to scan the area. He could see Quinn’s lips press into a thin line, all the way from here.
Quinn grasped Alex’s arms and tried to pull him to his feet. Alex struggled against him.
Kip cursed under his breath. He was really starting to get nervous. The fireworks and firecrackers had gone silent. The prison vehicle would be here momentarily. The hookers’ novelty would soon wear off and the soldiers would remember what they were here for. The blow-up doll in the back seat was not going to pass any kind of closer inspection.
This had clusterfuck written all over it.
Come on, come on, come on.
Abruptly, Alex looked up at Quinn, then around. It took him two seconds to realize what had happened. The next second he practically flew to his feet. Quinn grabbed his arm and they took off.
All right.
They hustled quickly toward Kip.
They almost made it.
Suddenly, a strangled shout rose above the noise and chatter. One of the stunned guards had woken up.
Angry as hell.
Kip wanted to kick himself. He should have watched them more carefully!
The guard was still lying prone on the ground. But he’d managed to get to his pistol.
Kip whipped up his Beretta.
Too late.
A shot exploded through the air.
Quinn faltered in mid-motion, then stumbled and started to fall. Blood blossomed on his upper thigh. A grimace ripped across his face.
Alex caught him before he went down, but struggled under his weight.
Kip catapulted out from his hiding place, rushing to their aid.
Another shot rang out.
Alex staggered and his shoulder bloomed crimson. Quinn slumped and started to slip from his grasp.
Kip reached them in three long strides, and slung an arm around Quinn, taking the burden from Alex.
“No. Leave me,” rasped Quinn. “Take Zane and—”
“Shut the fuck up, Commander,” Kip growled, all but dragging them toward the shelter of the alley. “We all make it, or no one does.”
“Then we’re all in deep shit . . .”
That was the last thing he heard before the next shot split the air, and the bullet found its mark dead center.
And everything in his world went black.
35
DeAnne was growing antsy.
It had taken another whole hour of playing hide-and-seek before the Vietnamese subs finally gave up and left them alone. The captain hadn’t wanted to show them any of his A-game—no sense educating the enemy about your best strategies—so he had basically given them a pretend chase, all the while deliberately moving closer and closer to Hainan Island.
Which was where they wanted to be anyway, in order to make the AUV switch. So in a way, it had worked out well.
Unless you counted the several Chinese naval vessels up top, monitoring the AUV from above as it went through its test paces. The sub crew had been warned to keep their voices low so listening ears wouldn’t pick up any sensitive information. Such as the impending plan to spoof their top secret AUV.
At some point, the radio room had plugged someone’s iPod into the overhead speaker, and heavy metal rock was playing throughout the main deck, helping to mask the sounds.
Naturally, the sub still hadn’t gone anywhere near the surface, and therefore couldn’t receive any radio or satellite signals.
So DeAnne was getting more and more nervous about what was happening with Kip and the away team.
She had a really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
And it wasn’t from the late breakfast she and Darcy were enjoying in the wardroom. Well. Sort of enjoying. The pancakes were delicious, but DeAnne was just not hungry.
“I hate this,” she complained. “I wish we could just pop our noses up for a minute.”
Darcy didn’t look exactly worried, but she wasn’t as relaxed as she’d been earlier. She didn’t like being in the dark, either. She was used to running things.
“You know the captain’s top priority,” Darcy said, stirring her black coffee. “He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize that.”
“No, of course not. I just . . .” DeAnne bit her lip.
Darcy nodded. “I know. I’m anxious about the guys, too.” She put down the spoon and made a face at it.
The wardroom door opened and a rating poked his head in. “Lieutenant Commander Walker wanted to let you know it’s showtime,” he said quietly.
DeAnne perked up. “Really?” She started to rise. “Can we come watch?” she whispered.
“It’ll be standing room only, but you’re welcome.”
It turned out that Clint and Rufus Edwards were at the consoles manning the controls. The captain was standing behind them observing along with a few of the officers, and many of the crew followed along via the repeater monitors scattered around the sub.
Everyone else seemed to understand what was going on. But to DeAnne and Darcy, it looked like just another snowstorm. DeAnne knew the plan was to spoof the enemy AUV, hijack it, take it apart and document every inch of it inside and out, download copies of all of its software, then return it to the water, switch it back from its spoofed state, and pray the PLAN never figured out what had happened.
It was going to take ridiculous navigational skills from Clint, mad sonar signature spoofing by Chief Edwards, techs who could take things apart and put them back together in their sleep, split second timing all around, and an insane amount of pure luck.
It would be a miracle if they could pull it off.
Especially with all the enemy vessels above pointing the most sophisticated sonar equipment that country possessed at them and analyzing every nuance of every sound on board.
The excitement in the torpedo room was contagious. When the three unmanned, torpe
do-like vehicles came close enough for the sub’s array to pick up their signals, the monitor lit up with squiggles and lines. Everyone leaned in for a better view.
Clint and Edwards exchanged a tense look and a curt nod, and everyone held their collective breath.
Clint hit a short sequence on the keyboard, and they all watched the squiggly lines without moving a single muscle.
DeAnne peered at them, too.
This was the critical moment.
Suddenly the lines on the screen blipped. If she’d blinked she would have missed it.
The crew erupted in mute cheers.
Wait.
That was it?
The men punched the air with their fists, grinning widely. It was weird. No one made a sound.
She glanced at Darcy and they exchanged a silent okay-then look.
The celebration stopped as quickly as it started, but everyone’s expression remained jubilant.
Clint grabbed a joystick off the console. “Okay. Let’s bring this baby in,” he murmured softly.
Chief Edwards slapped on his headphones and monitored the spoof UUV, making sure it acted the way it should.
Ten minutes later, the Chinese AUV had been coaxed into the torpedo tube and the crew hoisted it gingerly off the rack.
Ten minutes after that, all the sections that could be taken apart were in pieces, spread out on the deck. Cables had been attached, portable drives plugged into ports. Two crewmen were photographing everything meticulously.
Darcy looked over at her. “Kip was supposed to do this part.”
“Yeah.” DeAnne nodded.
“He’s a great photographer. Have you seen his work?”
DeAnne shook her head. “No. Never had a chance. Though he was always taking pictures when we were . . .” Running. Hiding. Catching their breath. Admiring the view. Making love . . . “Together.”
“Some of his photos are posted on the internet,” Darcy said.
“I’ll have to check them out.” Though DeAnne would much rather he showed them to her. She hoped he would, someday.
If they were still together.
“I read he has a few in galleries, too.”