Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Trying to moisten her dry lips, Sabra closed her eyes, continuing to review the plan. They each wore headsets, with microphones close to their lips, should they need to talk. Killian had brought a special radio, set at a frequency that wouldn't likely be detected by anyone on the island. And the FBI agents involved were from D.C., not local island agents.
So far, no one knew where the leak was, and everyone was suspect until it could be found. But the two agents with Killian had worked with him a number of times before he retired from active duty with Perseus. Sabra knew Killian's reputation for caution and trusted his choices with her life.
She tried to relax, but it was impossible. Her emotions swung wildly between worry over Craig and worry for Jason. She knew the guard would open fire. He had to be taken out first—and that was her job. Craig would take care of Garcia and the pilot. She had to disable the guard and watch to make sure no others came out the rear door at the end of the building nearest the pad. But what if Craig was wounded? What if she was? If either of them was hurt, they were to be left behind. Get the boy and run. Saving Jason was paramount.
A fierce tidal wave of fear threatened to suffocate Sabra as she ran various scenarios through her overactive imagination. If Craig was shot, she knew in her heart she couldn't leave him behind. But if she didn't run with Jason in tow, all of them would be captured. So much depended upon their swift initial assault—and on luck. She glanced over at Craig's set profile as he watched the estate. How unlike Josh he was. Craig made no apologies for his problems. Miraculously, during the times they had slept in each other's arms, the nightmare had not stalked him. Craig was amazed and grateful, but had warned her it wasn't gone.
Sabra knew it, but she also knew that Craig trusted her as he had no one else since that ugly crash. In trust, there was friendship, and she accepted that. Not that he'd ever said a word to suggest anything more. No, he was very careful about how he phrased things to her, even in their brief moments of passion. Sometimes the look in his eyes belied the distance he'd been treating her with. Nor could Craig stop that endearing half smile, filled with vulnerability, that inevitably pulled at his mouth when she made him laugh. As wounded as he was, there was so much to love about him. Sabra knew he was ashamed of his fears and reactions. And she wondered if he could possibly love her.
Every night when he heard Garcia's helicopter, Craig broke out in a heavy sweat and his hands shook. He couldn't control either action. Sabra hurt for him, but there was no way she could help him. All she could do was hold him for those precious few hours afterward, and let him know through her actions that she loved him with a fierceness that defied description.
Moving carefully, Sabra turned to study the night sky. The fog was beginning to form in earnest between four and six thousand feet on the volcano, as it had every night. If she didn't know better, she'd think Garcia had ordered it, using the fog as a cover for his early morning returns to his estate—to hide from the prying eyes of the law, perhaps. The fog was coming in sooner than usual tonight, and she could see fingers of it reaching the estate, muting black shadows to gray. Would the helicopter come soon? Would it still land, with the fog already approaching?
Worriedly, Sabra glanced at Craig. His face had been blackened, a black knit cap drawn tightly over his skull, with the headset beneath it, the mike almost touching the hard line of his mouth. Sabra's flak vest chafed beneath her suit. Shivering as the fog stole across them, she began to chew nervously on her lip. If it settled too soon, the pilot might divert the flight to the airport. That would mean putting off the operation to another night, waiting for another chance.
The
whap, whap, whap
of helicopter blades sent a shiver down Craig's back. He felt every hair on the back of his neck rise in response. Cutting a glance to Sabra, he saw that she, too, was aware of the incoming flight. It was 3:05 a.m.; the aircraft was five minutes behind schedule. Earlier this evening, they'd seen Jason board with Garcia. Would he be there now? Gripping the night goggles, Craig settled them over his eyes. Normally, the helo made a low pass directly over them on its way to the landing pad, where it would stop at about one hundred feet, hover, then slowly descend to the waiting concrete. His chance to verify if Jason was on board would be on the pass.
Anxiously, he studied the thickening fog. It was coming in too soon, and a light haze covered the area. Would the pilot assess the situation and leave without landing? The conditions were iffy for a helicopter. As a pilot, Craig had hated fog. Helicopters weren't properly equipped for such weather. Military ones were now, but civilian or commercial helicopters ones such as this didn't have the advanced instrumentation to fly safely through thick fog. Looking up, he saw the lights twinkling beneath the belly of the approaching craft. Soon. Very soon.
He was sweating heavily, exacerbating his concern over Sabra. She could be killed in the coming firefight. They had no lethal weapons on their side, and Garcia would be sure to use some against them. Craig's only consolation was the armored vests they wore over their vital organs. Still, a shot to the head would kill them instantly.
Was Jason on board the aircraft? Craig's hands felt clammy and damp with tortured anxiety. Positioning himself, he held the night goggles steady against his eyes. The whapping of the blades grew more powerful—and more emotionally shattering.
His stomach knotted so painfully he felt like groaning as he swung his gaze skyward. The helicopter was coming in for a landing despite the worsening weather! Good. The fog could work for them, if they were lucky. Right now it was drifting in—thin here, thick there, offering more cover than they'd anticipated. But could they take out the three men before a bullet was fired? One shot could alert the entire armed compound. Craig's heart was pounding hard in his chest. Particles of the nightmare crash blipped before his eyes. Sweat ran down his face. Cursing to himself, he forced the images aside. The belly of the helicopter roared overhead, the vibration pulverizing him. Yes! He'd gotten a brief glimpse of Jason. The child was on board!
Dropping the goggles, he leapt to his feet and made one, sharp gesture to Sabra, confirming Jason's presence. The
whapping
sound thickened as the blades hit the dense fog at the estate. The lights were switched on at the helipad, as always. Craig drew his tranquilizer pistol and crouched, snapping a look to his right. Sabra had her gun drawn, too. Her face was taut, her eyes slitted in intense concentration. He couldn't see the bird, could only hear it laboring in the thick moisture. Helicopters didn't do well in heavy moisture or high humidity. As Craig moved swiftly through the foliage toward the iron gate, he knew the pilot had his hands full right now.
Let it make him less alert,
he prayed silently.
Plant fronds slapped at his body as he lunged up the slippery, damp slope. The fog was thicker, but the vibration of the helicopter shattered through him, shaking his confidence. Blips of the crash again blinded him momentarily. Angrily, Craig forced through the scene. Sabra passed him and moved swiftly toward the gate. It was her job to get the guard who would appear shortly at the door. Craig would leap up on the fence, fire at Garcia and then at the pilot. They would be rapid shots. He'd have to be accurate when Garcia opened the door to climb out. Timing was everything. One missed shot and they could be killed. One mistake and Jason could die, too.
But, as he'd hoped, the fog had become their friend. It was so thick that the lights around the landing pad took on a hazy appearance. He marveled at the pilot's skill. Craig could hear the aircraft descending slowly, carefully. The mist whipped and swirled violently around them, foliage dancing as the whirling blades of the helo disturbed the area. Wind buffeted him as he crouched beneath the fence, waiting.
Sabra disappeared into the fog as she headed for the gate, and his throat constricted with fear. He couldn't see her at all! Would she be able to spot the guard in time? Looking around, Craig could see the fog moving in bands, torn by the helicopter's blades. Straining his eyes, he could make out the white underbelly of the aircraft. Twenty more feet and it would make contact with the pad. His mouth went dry and his heart rate tripled. His fingers nearly cramped around the pistol as he held it ready.
Where was Sabra? They had communications, but they didn't dare break the silence. One of Garcia's sensitive pieces of equipment might pick up their voices, and their cover would be blown. His heart ached in his chest. Why in hell hadn't he told her earlier that he loved her? What if he died? What if she was hurt? Captured? The bitterness in his mouth swept through him. What a fool he'd been. He'd never loved a woman as much as he loved Sabra. Now it was too late.
In the dim, scattered light, Craig saw Garcia sitting grimly on the passenger side of the helo. Right now the guard should be coming out to open the door for him. No one came. Had Sabra gotten to him? Craig gripped the bottom of the wrought-iron fence, ready to aim the pistol. He saw Garcia's strained features, saw the perspiration on his thick, mustached upper lip. The helicopter landed. Anger was in Garcia's eyes as he twisted around, waiting for the door to be opened. The pilot looked harried, stressed by the danger of the landing.
Come on. Open the door!
Craig compressed his lips as Garcia jerked the latch and swung the door—wide open. Craig raised his pistol and fired once. The dart sank deeply into the druglord's neck. He slumped, tumbling heavily out of the helicopter.
Craig saw the pilot's eyes widen. The man leaned down. Damn! He had a gun! Craig saw Jason, his eyes puffy with sleep, looking around in confusion. Leaping upward, his muscles straining, Craig took aim as the door swung one way and then another. There! The dart slammed into the pilot's chest. The man let out a little cry, then slumped forward in his harness, the gun dropping from his hands to the deck of the aircraft.
As Craig scaled the fence, he heard a sharp retort of a high-powered handgun. It sounded like a .350 Magnum. Damn!
Sabra?
He reached into the helicopter for Jason. The child gave a cry and threw up his hands to protect himself. The blades of the helicopter were still turning at full speed; the pilot hadn't shut the engine down! It took everything Craig had to climb into the aircraft, wrap his hand around Jason's arm and haul him out of it.
Two more shots were fired. He whirled around, the boy under his arm. Jason gave a shriek and started fighting him. Out of the fog, Craig saw Sabra running toward him.
"I've got him!" he rasped. Just as he turned to go over the fence, he heard a series of shots ring out. In horrifying seconds, he saw Sabra fly forward. Her body crumpled. The pistol flew out of her hand. He held back a scream as he watched her strike the ground. Part of the nylon uniform on her back had ripped away. Had the armor protected her? He turned, dragging Jason with him, heading toward her.
More shots flew through the air. Craig was halfway to Sabra when he saw her rise to her hands and knees. Voices carried above the sound of the whirling blades. Sabra motioned violently for Craig to go back. The fog thinned just enough for him to see three men running from around the front of the estate. To his left, on the slope, he saw two more guards coming toward them. They were trapped!
Jason shrilled and hit at him. Craig tightened his grip around the boy and gestured violently to Sabra, who was now on her feet, running toward them. There was no choice. None at all. Glaring at the helicopter, he ran toward it. The only way out of this situation was to fly the bird out of the estate. More bullets whined around them. One bit into the concrete, shards flying upward, stinging his lower legs.
"Get to the chopper!" he gasped to Sabra.
"Go!" she cried. "Go!"
He tossed Jason into the helicopter. "Don't move," he roared at the frightened boy. He unsnapped the harness on the unconscious pilot. There! Craig jerked the man out of the cockpit and leapt into the seat. Slamming the door shut, he quickly assessed the controls. His hands shook badly. He felt like crying. Anxiously, he looked around. Sabra jerked the passenger door open, her mouth contorted with pain. He saw no blood on her. The armor vest had protected her. He grappled with the control surfaces, his fingers curving around them. He twisted the cyclic, and the blades whirled faster. The machine shook around them. Bullets began pinging against the helicopter. The fog was their only defense. The aircraft shuddered. They had to lift off now or become sitting targets for the guards rushing in to capture them.
Now! Now or never!
Craig's mouth flattened as he pulled back on the control. He hadn't flown in nearly two years, yet, it seemed like yesterday. The helicopter strained to break the hold of gravity, the blades shaking and pounding above them. Bullets struck the Plexiglas. He heard Jason cry out and saw Sabra lunge to cover him with her body. The Plexiglas of the nose shattered, the material exploding inward, and Craig jerked his head to one side, feeling the hot sting of fragments striking him. The bird was lifting off, but the bullets were striking it with deadly accuracy.