Engaging his Enemy (Shattered SEALs Book 4)

by Amy Gamet

  “Ben texted me.” He read it out loud.

  Razorback crossed to him, taking the phone out of his hands and looking at it himself. “Does that mean the boat’s coming tonight at seven?”

  “I think so.” He typed a response, reading it aloud as he went. “Did you hear back from the inspector on the condition of the dock?”

  A minute later, he had a response. “He said it’s good to go.”

  “So the ship’s coming in tonight,” said Razorback. He turned to Sloan and Champion. “You two better get going. I want you in Kevlar. Suit up and take every precaution.”

  When they were gone, Moto turned to Razorback. “Are you calling in the feds on this one?”

  Razorback’s eyes were dark and determined. “No. We do this one alone. See if you can get your brother out of there before the shit hits the fan.”

  23

  Davina sat in the backseat of Spaulding’s sedan, speeding through town. A thick metal grate separated her from the front, like a police car. He’d told her Ben had a severe head injury, but was resistant to giving her details.

  “Please, tell me what happened.”

  He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  She nodded.

  “He was down at the port. One of the men offered him a tour of a containership, one of the real big ones they use to import goods from Asia. I’m not sure exactly what happened, if he lost his footing or tripped or what, but he fell from the ladder getting down from the ship.”

  She gasped and covered her mouth. “How high up was it?”

  “I don’t know exactly, ma’am.”

  “But he’s alive?”

  “He was when I came to get you.”

  She felt physically sick with worry and was grateful Wyatt wasn’t there to hear this. She woke up her cell phone and checked the number of bars. “I need to call his brother, but I don’t have service. That’s weird, because I can usually call from anywhere in town.”

  “Strange.”

  She looked out the window at the buildings passing by. “Which hospital is he at?”

  “I’m not sure, ma’am. I’ve just got it in the GPS.”

  There was a map displayed on the dashboard, but she couldn’t see where it was taking them. Not that it mattered at this point. Ben was badly injured. The location was unimportant.

  Spaulding took a ramp up to the expressway, getting her attention. “You’re going the wrong way. All the hospitals are that way.”

  He didn’t respond.

  She leaned forward, all but pressing her face against the grate. “Did you hear me? We need to go back!”

  “Relax. I’m taking you to Ben. He’s just not in a hospital. Not yet, anyway.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There was no accident. I made that up to get you in the car. Falling off the ship, that part was just for fun. I’m taking you to DeRegina.”

  She sat back abruptly, taking in the metal bars with fresh eyes. There was no handle with which to open her door. She was a prisoner, unable to escape, at the mercy of the man driving the car and taking her God knows where. “Is Ben all right?”

  “Like I said, he was alive when I saw him last, but I can’t make any promises. He pissed Mr. DeRegina off pretty good. I should tell the guys about the ship idea, just in case they do need to kill him. It’s a good visual, don’t you think? Very dramatic.”

  Her stomach curled at the thought of Ben hitting the pavement. “What do you need me for?”

  He chuckled. “You’re the insurance policy.”

  She needed to reach Zach, let him know she was in trouble. She woke her cell phone again but still didn’t have a signal.

  “You’re not going to get any bars back there. The signal’s blocked. You may as well just sit back and enjoy the ride. If this doesn’t go well tonight, it could be your last one ever.”

  24

  Ben was in and out of consciousness, his blood staining the cold cement floor. His message to Zach had been intercepted by one of DeRegina’s goons who’d been keeping a watchful eye on the room, Ben’s real estate charade far too transparent to stand up to scrutiny, especially given Zach’s reference to a dock.

  One of his two tormentors kicked him in the groin, and he doubled over with renewed awareness of his pain.

  “Who did you call? Who’s coming here tonight?” the man demanded.

  Ben grinned from the side of his mouth that wasn’t too swollen to move. “More trouble than you’ll know what to do with.” He spit out a mouthful of blood, just as a boot made contact with his back.

  The second man sounded squirrely. “They should have just fucking called it off.”

  “They can’t, you stupid idiot,” said the first guy. “The ship’s running out of fuel. They’ve been at sea too long.”

  Ben heard someone step near his face, then they pulled his hair, lifting his head clean off the concrete. He winced and hollered in pain.

  “You fucking tell me right now, you goddamn sack of shit. Who’s coming to the port tonight?”

  Ben forced his swollen eyes open, the man’s fat face and stubble-covered jaw coming into view. “Never.”

  The man launched Ben’s head toward the floor, his cheekbone seeming to explode out of his skull. This was how he was going to die. In a freezing-cold warehouse meant to house tons of illegal drugs. He’d helped their organization reach its goals, helped them find this property, secured it for them. He’d even laundered their money. If he had to die, at least he could do so taking down the very structure he had helped to create.

  His mind drifted away, a veil coming down over his senses in a blessed wave of relief. But a distant voice had him fighting away the fog that offered some semblance of peace.

  Davina.

  He’d know her voice anywhere, and hearing it echoing through this place caused him to panic like little else could. He tried to open his eyes, a small slit his only vantage point as he watched the men dragging her between them, flailing as she screamed.

  “Shut up!” yelled the squirrely one, punching her in the face, and she was silent the rest of the way as they brought her to Ben.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben mumbled through his swollen lips and mouth, wanting to weep as he watched them bind her wrists and ankles. At least they hadn’t beaten the will to run out of her system, as they had for him. “I’m so sorry.”

  A sudden kick to his lower back had him writhing once more, and Davina screamed, “Don’t hurt him!”

  “How about you tell me now?” said the big guy. “Or do you want me to see if I can get it out of this one?”

  “No!” A wave of nausea went through him and he vomited what little he had left in his stomach after the last time he puked. He cried, the small wail unrecognizable to his own ears. “HERO Force. A company called HERO Force.”

  The men retreated. The gauze that had offered him oblivion just moments earlier now refused to come down, the acute pain in every part of his body fully recognized by his brain. “Is Wyatt okay?” he whispered.

  “Yes. He was at a friend’s house when they came. Why did they bring us here?”

  He wished he didn’t know, but he understood it all too well. “Hostages. The ship’s coming into port tonight and HERO Force is going to try to stop them. We’re their insurance policy.”

  “Let’s just hope we get to go home when this is all over.”

  He was feeling drunk, whether from his body’s natural painkillers or his altered consciousness, he didn’t know. It was a nice feeling, and it occurred to him he might be bleeding out on the floor. “I’m going to take Laney to the movies.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Some chick flick she’d really like. I’d do that for her. Watch a chick flick.” He could feel the veil settling over him again and welcomed its protection. “Maybe some flowers,” he mumbled, sinking into sleep.

  25

  Moto and Razorback were dressed in black tactical gear, with bullet
-proof vests, night-vision goggles, and a full pack of supplies and ammunition. Trace wore scuba gear, an underwater defense gun by his side, and a pack that included underwater demolition explosives. He would go into the water upstream from the warehouse and berth, while the men would approach on foot through the darkness.

  Sloan and Champion were already there and had alerted Razorback when they saw activity at the warehouse hours earlier, though they hadn’t gotten a good visual on exactly who’d gone inside, and no one had come out.

  It was dusk when Moto and the men arrived, joining Sloan and Champion in a field of shipping containers stacked three high with a decent view of the berth. In the distance, a haze of fog hovered over the river, a testament to the unseasonably cool night.

  Sloan held what looked like a video game controller with a small screen. “The ship’s about halfway down the river. ETA, fifteen minutes out.”

  Razorback peered at the image on the screen. “Don’t go crashing that drone into the river like the last one. Shit cost me an arm and a leg.”

  “It was the ocean, and it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Whatever. Just keep it in the air, frogman. How many men you got on the ship?”

  “Looks like three, just like last time,” said Sloan.

  “Plus two or three in the warehouse,” said Moto. “Plus however many show up when the boat gets here. No sign of DeRegina?”

  Sloan shook his head. “Negative.”

  Moto grunted. “Fucker was probably only here last time to gloat.”

  “Remember the plan,” said Razorback, and Moto stifled an eye roll. They’d already been over this time and again, but after the fiasco last time, he knew Razorback wanted to get it right. “As soon as the ship drops anchor, Trace will set the charges on the hull. Sloan and Champion breach the warehouse with tear gas and subdue any tangos on premises. Cuff ’em, don’t kill ’em if you can avoid it.”

  “Roger that,” said Sloan.

  “The rest of us will take the ship, with Trace watching the water for anyone who tries to get away. If we get more company between now and then, we play whack-a-mole until they’re no longer a threat. We have the sniper rifle if we need it. Worst-case scenario, if we lose the upper hand, we have Trace in the water and the ship wired to explode. The threat of losing the whole cargo is our get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  Moto didn’t like the odds. Sure, they had a strong offense, but they had no idea what they were up against. Calling the feds was out of the question, but he still didn’t like this uncertainty.

  “Get your comm sets and your NVGs on,” said Razorback.

  “Ten minutes out,” said Sloan. “Bringing the drone back to the landing zone on autopilot.” He turned off the screen and placed the control in his pack. “Ready?” he asked Champion.

  “As I’ll ever be.” Champion nodded to Razorback and Moto. “Kick some ass, gentlemen.” They disappeared into the darkness.

  Moto took out his gun and checked the magazine, taking a second from his tactical pack and tucking it in a pocket in his vest. He peered around the stack of shipping containers. A ship similar to the one loaded with fireworks moved slowly along the river toward them.

  “Incoming,” said Razorback, and Moto turned to see the black sedan driving toward the berth. “Let the boat dock before we do anything.”

  Through his NVGs, Moto could see the occupants of the sedan clearly. “DeRegina’s not there. A couple of big guys, no one else.”

  The ship slowed to a crawl, coasting toward its berth, its hull reflecting the sedan’s headlights. Trace’s voice came over the comm set. “Setting the charges.”

  Moto watched as the anchor descended from the ship, saying into his comm set, “Anchor deployed. Breach the warehouse.” The men got out of the sedan and headed for the ship. There were three of them. Moto zoomed in with his NVGs. “They’re armed.”

  “So much for playing nice,” said Razorback, grabbing two smoke grenades. “Turn on thermal imaging. Here we go.” He chucked one smoke grenade at the men, the other between them to provide cover as he and Moto crossed to an open area and attacked.

  Smoke filled the area, the thermal imaging on Moto’s headset the only way he could see through the dense plumes. Suddenly, Champion’s voice came over the comm set. “We have hostages! They came out of the warehouse just as we were heading in. We’re in a standoff, twenty yards apart.”

  It was too late for Moto to stop, the situation demanding they finish what they’d started. He tackled the first man and disarmed him, quickly fixing his hands with zip cuffs. He looked up just in time to see another man, gun drawn, flailing around too close to Razorback as he wrestled with the third tango.

  Moto withdrew his gun as the man fired, and aimed directly at his central mass, taking him down with two shots. “You all right?” Moto asked Razorback.

  “Fine.”

  “Jesus Christ, Moto,” said Champion. “One of them is your brother. They’re getting into a van.”

  Moto pushed out of the smoke and into the open air, staring in the direction of the warehouse. Of course he could see nothing, the distance and the darkness making that impossible.

  “Stand your ground,” barked Razorback. “We need to finish this first. Trace, is the crew still on the ship?”

  “Affirmative. No one’s come down the ladder yet.”

  Razorback turned to Moto. “Cover me.” Together they crossed to the vessel, the ladder some fifteen feet from shore. Razorback didn’t hesitate, securing his weapon and jumping into the water. Moto worked to keep his attention on the ship and not his brother as he scanned the ship for tangos.

  “I’ve got a jumper!” said Trace. “Backside of the boat. I’ll grab him.”

  Razorback started up the ladder. A head appeared over the edge of the boat and Moto fired several times, making the man retreat. In his ear, Champion said, “They’re heading your way. Two tangos, two hostages. Ben and a woman.”

  Gunfire sounded from the top of the boat, and Moto returned it as Razorback neared the top. He stopped just before cresting the edge. “I’ll cover you,” he said, waving Moto on. Moto secured his weapon, jumped into the water, and quickly found the ladder.

  More shots were fired, but he kept climbing, grabbing his weapon when he reached Razorback, and the two of them crested the edge of the ship. A figure ran between two shipping containers and Moto went in pursuit, Razorback heading down the alternate corridor.

  Moto rounded a corner, the flash from the barrel of a gun bringing him up short before a bullet lodged in the Kevlar of his vest and knocked him down. He returned fire, hitting the man twice before checking to see that he was in fact dead. “One down,” he said into his comm set. “With our jumper, that leaves one.”

  “I don’t see him,” said Razorback. “Not on the bridge.”

  “He’s heading down the ladder,” said Trace.

  Moto raced back to it and looked over the edge, aiming his gun down the ladder’s length. The tango raised his arm to fire, and Moto fired first, the man falling dramatically into the water. “That’s three.”

  He lifted his head as headlights crossed the field of pavement between the road and the ship. Razorback moved to stand beside him. “The hostages,” Moto said.

  “Trace, start swimming,” said Razorback. “We might have to sink this baby after all.”

  26

  Davina squinted against a bright flashlight as the van door opened. She was lying next to Ben, who was coughing up blood at an alarming rate, much of it seeping into her blouse and wetting the skin beneath.

  “Give me your feet,” barked the man, and she twisted her torso to do as she was told. Using a knife, he cut the rope that bound her ankles together. “You try to run, and I’ll shoot you.” He hauled her up and out of the van, setting her beside his sidekick. She winced as the first man yanked Ben out of the van, the severity of his injuries making even the slightest movement difficult.

  “Go,” said the first man, gesturing into th
e darkness with his gun, and she blindly headed in that direction. His flashlight illuminated only a few feet in front of her, the air strangely hazy with an acrid, swampy tang.

  Ben stumbled beside her and fell to the ground. “Get up!” snapped the smaller man, kicking him in the side.

  “Don’t kick him, you imbecile! How’s he going to walk?”

  Davina squinted into the haze, barely able to make out the shape of something looming just out of range. A foghorn sounded nearby. Ben got back to his feet, and they slowly resumed their march. The hull of a ship materialized from the thick evening air.

  “Get off my ship,” called the big man, shining his light to the top of the boat, though it wasn’t strong enough for her to see what was up there.

  “Let them go,” came the reply, Zach’s voice as clear and familiar to her as a ringing bell, and her already beleaguered nervous system ramped up again.

  The smaller man yelled, “Only after you get off the boat!”

  “As soon as we set foot on that ladder, you’re going to shoot us,” called Zach.

  “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

  Davina turned to see who was speaking, a man’s voice from out of the darkness. The sound of dress shoes clicked on the pavement, and a silver-haired man appeared as if from nowhere.

  “I want my boat,” the old man said. “And you want your family. Isn’t that right, Moto? That’s what they call you, I know.” He walked closer to the ship, his voice carrying on the humid night air. “I know all about you. I know about HERO Force. I know about your son, Wyatt. I know you are a man with much to live for, not the least of which is this woman, here.” He gestured to Davina, and she felt dizzy with fear.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Ben sway, and she turned to catch him as he went down, his weight pulling them both toward the ground. Two pops sounded in quick succession, the men who’d held them captive suddenly dropping, darkness spreading across their chests as the smell of blood tinged the air.