Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (69 page)

THREE’S A CROWD

REACHING THE BODY, Spurs took hold of the flag covering its face.

She hesitated.

Took a deep breath.

Pulled the flag back.

Commander Nick Reeves. Hair singed. Parts of his face charred.

“Reeves!” she said and shook his shoulder.

She splashed water on his face, but there was no reaction.

“Reeves,” she said again, “for God’s sake, wake up!”

No apparent respiration. If he was alive, she couldn’t tell it. For now, she could do nothing for him, even if a spark did still exist.

Where had he been? What had happened to him? She was unable to put those pieces of the puzzle together. The last time she’d seen him, he was standing in the dark on the flight deck as she left in the chopper with the recon team. He had waved. She had not waved back.

He must have been held hostage by the terrorists. She hoped he had not been tortured, that his death had come mercifully.

Spurs could not leave Reeves’ body to the sharks. When help came, maybe they could revive him. But help would have to come very soon.

She placed the life preserver over his head. Struggling, she finally brought his arms through, then pulled the attached line around his shoulders and tied it to prevent him from slipping out.

With Commander Reeves in tow, she swam back to the tail of the F-18. After a thought of securing the hundred-foot line to the plane, she quickly discarded the idea and tied the end of it around her waist. The plane would soon sink.

The
Enterprise
was only eight hundred yards away. Rescue parties would be sent. It wouldn’t be long. Soon, she would be safe.

Poor North. She could have fallen in love with a guy like that. He was not the man that everyone thought. He was not the man that even he portrayed. Under his gentle, boyish exterior, he was tough as hardtack. She remembered how her body melted in his arms without her wanting it to in Algeria. He was the type of man she had searched for and dreamed of loving—not Doug, not Nick Reeves.

A bitter taste came to her mouth and a shiver tingled her spine. Her eyes burned.

She remembered that for a short time, she had been somewhat attracted to Reeves.

Now they were all gone.

Something brushed her left calf as she slowly scissored her legs.

Shark!

Spurs drew her feet up, hoping whatever it was would go for a larger meal like Chardoff’s body, if there were any of it left.

It didn’t.

Something took her right ankle. Now knee. Now thigh.

Spurs screamed.

The water erupted in front of her.

She cringed.

It was North.

He gasped, lungs frantically raking in air.

She pulled him to her.

“My God, Dare! Are you all right?”

He still gasped.

“Darren, are you okay?

He gasped.

“Darren!”

“Shut up,” he said. “Give me—a chance.”

She smiled and embraced him, her eyes clamped shut.

It was over. All over and they were safe.

They pulled back from each other and gazed with smiles. Nervous laughter erupted spontaneously from both.

Spurs thought of the body, and said, “I found Commander Reeves.” Her smile wearing away, she said, “By the plane. I think he’s dead.”

North didn’t look. His face became somber.

“There’s something I didn’t have an opportunity to tell you,” he said, holding her by the shoulders as they kicked and treaded water.

Spurs frowned back, waiting.

“I found out who the Chameleon. . . .”

Suddenly, North sucked air. This time he gasped as violently as the very first time when he came up to breathe. His body stiffened. His face filled with pain and surprise. Then just as suddenly, he became limp.

Spurs released him, shocked, not understanding, and his body seemed to be shoved toward the downed aircraft.

Commander Reeves had come back from the dead and was before her glaring. His right hand held a huge knife, the end driven deep into North’s back. Reeves wrenched it out and North’s pain-weakened body floated against the Hornet’s wing. Still conscious, his hand reached feebly for the gouged wound in his back.

CHAMELEON OR JUST A SNAKE

SHOCK TOOK OVER and Spurs pushed away from Reeves. It was a Marine’s K-bar knife with seven notches shining from its blackened and now bloody blade. He must have gotten the knife from Chardoff. He must have been on the bridge in control of the ship when Chardoff came out with the stinger.
He
was the Chameleon. He was the leader. The traitor. He was a turncoat to his country; had forsaken everything for money.

“Take it easy,” Reeves pleaded. “North’s the bastard we were after. North was behind all this. Don’t you see?”

Reeves’ words were just more bullshit. But this time she wouldn’t believe his lies.

“No,” she said, “I won’t listen to your crap. Get away from me!”

Spurs swam around the wing of the sinking plane. Reeves came for her, the preserver still around him, as she struggled toward the jet’s nose. The hundred-foot line that tethered the two together floated behind them, looping back to the tail. Her only hope was to keep the plane between her and Reeves until help came.

“Come on Spurs, don’t you get it?”

He was on her, suddenly, grabbing, the huge knife still in his grip.

She reached for the nose of the jet to pull herself away. No use. Nothing to hold on to and he was too strong.

He grabbed the line that linked them together. He took part of it and quickly wrapped it around her neck.

“You little bitch,” he spat. “You know, don’t you?”

His face distorted maniacally as he twisted the line tight around her throat with his right hand that was already full of the big knife handle.

He pulled her close. His wild expression faded. He loosened the line.

“We could make it. Together. You and I.”

What was he saying? She didn’t understand. Had he already given up on his little lie?

“You’re the only one left alive that knows about me.” He took the line away from her neck and smiled. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. It could be like it never happened.”

He was crazy. Completely and certifiably insane. Spurs looked for an escape. Anything. A way out.

North’s eyes blinked. Still alive. Dying. Too far away on the other side of the wing to help. Too weak.

“Come on. We were so close to having a good thing together,” Reeves said.

She was sure he was toying with her.

He wiped water from his face and she saw his Annapolis ring. She remembered what North had said about the man that had thrown her overboard. That the man had been wearing an Annapolis ring.

He pulled her to him again, both arms wrapping around her, his left hand pressing the back of her head. He forced his lips to hers.

She fought to push away, but couldn’t.

His right arm released her, but his left hand still pushed against her head..

What was he doing? That knife. He still had that knife. He was going to kill her as they kissed, she was sure of it. Any second, she would feel the huge, cold blade stab into her belly. He’d twist it to make sure. It was all clear, now. She knew everything about this man. His clever ways. His seemingly sympathetic and understanding behavior. He could turn his emotions on in a snap. Be what he wanted in order to get what he wanted. He truly was a “Chameleon”. And now, what he wanted was to get her to submit and then die in his arms, the sick son-of-a-bitch.

Spurs jerked her mouth away from his lips.

She saw North raise his head weakly.

To Reeves she said, “You’re a traitor.”

He clenched his teeth.

His pause gave her just enough time.

Spurs brought her knee up to his groin forcefully and shoved away.

He released the knife, in favor of the more cherished but now painfully damaged possession.

She turned, looking frantically for an escape, swimming away, perpendicular from the plane. But there was nowhere to hide, and only a few feet in front of her the water flamed. She was cornered, exhausted. When Reeves came for her again, he would not be playing. He would surely kill her.

Spurs glanced back at North, behind the Harpoon. Her sight fixed on the cannon plug connector just behind the pylon that the missile was attached to. She didn’t know why at first. Her subconscious seemed to be telling her that this was the way to stop Reeves. She remembered Doug had teased Cards, calling him,
Ol’ No Shot
because his
pickle
button had been sticking. The button that fired the weapons. It’d been sticking, allowing only one weapon to be fired. If Cards had selected and armed the missile and then pushed the sticking pickle button—and it did stick in the “fire” position—maybe properly connecting the cannon plug would fire the missile. That is, if that troublesome button had stayed depressed even after the crash.

Reeves had recovered. He came for her again.

SADDLE UP

SPURS GRABBED AT the water to get far enough away from Lieutenant Commander Reeves to attempt her plan. Her limbs ached, weakened from the physical exertion she’d endured. She finally stopped, drained of nearly all energy and emotion, and turned toward Reeves.

Taking the line closest to his end, she pulled the slack from between them as he swam methodically toward her. He took his time, taking slow wide strokes, obviously confident that he had her.

Spurs looped the line, making a quick lasso. She couldn’t make a conventional one, with both ends of the line tied off to each of their bodies, and she didn’t have time to untie it from around her waist. She raised her nylon lariat, waving it above her head and hoped when thrown, it would cinch down well enough to be effective. Hitched to the wing twenty feet away, her finned, white bronco waited.

“We’d already be dead if it wasn’t for a loose cannon plug,” she said, loud enough for North to hear.

Reeves smiled at her, apparently not caring to understand.

She looked behind and to the left of Reeves and her eyes met North’s. He looked back hopelessly, his face pale, head limp to one side, mouth gaping. His was the face of a man with not long to live. He’d lost so much blood before from the gunshot wound— now a knife in the back.

She continued to swing the line in circles above her, glaring back at Reeves.

He came closer, gazing comically at her.

Could it possibly work? What would happen if it did? Even if North did understand, would he be strong enough to make the connection? And if he did, could she lasso the missile in one try, before it launched and not too soon to give Reeves enough time to pull it free? She’d never thrown a lasso while being held up to her armpits by an undulating sea. Using shoulders, upper torso and even hips were essential in the accurate roping of livestock.

“Yep, just a loose cannon plug,” she said, again looking to North, then to the loose connector.

North finally traced her sight and looked to the tail of the missile. He eyed the pylon. The cannon plug. He glanced back at Spurs and she gave him a nod. He reached slowly, touched the connection with one hand, grabbed with the other.

Not seeming to understand what she was doing, Reeves let up and treaded water, only eight feet away.

“Come on, Spurs,” he said. “Go along with me. You and me.”

“All right,” she said mildly, smiling back. “I’ll go along with you.” She then gritted her teeth. “But it’s going to be a quick and explosive trip. Hit the trail, Asshole!” she ordered, glaring into his face.

Reeves scowled at Spurs, then looked back to North. He saw the loose connection, looked to Spurs again. His eyes lifted to the nylon line being slung above her head, looked back to her face.

Spurs slung her lasso at the nose of the missile, following through, extending her weakened arms. It sailed as they all watched.

A perfect shot. It caught the Harpoon with a slap and slid over the first set of fins.

Reeves gawked at the line wrapped around the death’s messenger before him, as North shoved the connecting plug together.

Spurs fumbled with the knot on the line around her waist. She must get free. If the Harpoon fired, she might have just committed suicide.

The tail of the missile sparked. Commander Reeves gaped at Spurs, then jerked frantically on the line to free himself and, at the same time, tried to slip out of the life preserver.

Spurs pulled and yanked at the nylon rope attaching her to the missile and Reeves. She had secured it too well. She had killed herself.

The Harpoon’s turbojet engine ignited. Flames torched from the back. Smoke plumed. It launched.

With only fifteen feet of slack line between it and Reeves, he left quickly. The horrified expression on his face was almost worth suicide.

The surface-skimming missile yanked him from the water as it streaked away. It dragged him backwards, his arms reaching limply, rag doll-like. His heels kicked up salt-water rooster tails as his body skipped across the rolls of sea.

Spurs was tied to that line, also. No use, too tight. Not enough time. She would be dragged away also. Her body became rigid, but as soon as it did, she reasoned that the rope was only one hundred feet long and it had been shortened considerably. If she’d been leaving on the Harpoon Missile Express with Reeves, she would have been gone long ago.

The turbo jet assisted bomb disappeared through the smoke and rolling flames. Within five seconds, it blasted thunderously, prematurely dragged down by Reeves’ added weight.

Why had she not been taken along? And what of North? Had he been fried from the turbo jet’s flame?

Spurs looked to the other side of the F-18. The missile’s ignition had left a steamy fog. Through the steam she could only see North’s blackened arm protruding from the water. In his hand was the smoking, burnt end of the line. His head popped from the water as waves from the explosion rocked them like buoys. A faint smile came over his face, but then he grimaced with pain as the low drone of a boat motor approached. A rescue launch from the
Enterprise
neared, four of its six occupants showing the business ends of their M-16s.

She saw something small bobbing in the water. The Tupperware container filled with Nader’s letters was pushed toward her from the boat’s wake. She smiled at the men in the boat.

There would be one hell of a lot of explaining to do.