Grabbing the guns, she pushed to her feet, nudged what was left of the door open and stepped inside. Tense and ready, she swung the semi-automatic into position to fire. Baker and the pilot were to her right, both holding weapons. She caught movement to the left. Silva. His hands were empty.
Identify your enemy. Aim and fire.
Baker fumbled with a magazine trying to reload his hand gun. The pilot pointed a 9mm at her. He looked scared. She fired the assault weapon. Now he looked dead. The rifle was set to fire six-round bursts. She also had aimed for body mass and his torso was a bloody mess.
The sound of the magazine sliding into Baker’s gun earned him a burst in his direction. The slimy bastard dodged and ducked. She missed completely.
Shit!
Something large and hard smashed across her back and neck. A chair or a small table. She went down, hard.
The Sauer in her hand hit the deck and clattered away. Scrambling across the floor on her back, she blindly fired another burst from the Russian rifle. Baker loomed in front of her, coming directly at her. She fired again. Nothing—the fucking piece of shit jammed. He was still coming. Where was Silva?
Baker reached for her. Olivia backhanded the rifle to the side of his face. She didn’t have enough leverage, the blow wasn’t hard enough. He grunted with the pain, but didn’t stop. He was over her, and crashed down with a knee to her stomach. Baker was astride her and she tried to buck him off. He had her pinned. His fist came at her and she twisted her face away. The glancing blow caught her left cheek and hurt like hell.
He wrenched the Russian piece of shit from her hand and flung it across the room. In one fluid move he tangled his fingers in her hair, rose and swiveled her around. Silva was standing in the corner of the room, watching them. Baker dragged her across the floor toward him.
“Fucking bitch.” Baker twisted her head from side to side. “You should have killed her when I told you,” he screamed at Silva, and kicked Olivia’s shoulder.
She windmilled her arms over the floor for a hand-hold or anything to use as a weapon. Her left hand touched metal. The Sauer. The moment she lifted the gun, she knew it was too light. The magazine had released when it hit the floor. She raised her arm, twisted her hand around and fired the one round she knew to be in the tube at Baker. He howled and fell. She rolled away and heard his gun hit the floor.
Pushing up to her knees, she dug in her pocket for a magazine. Baker came at her again, a dark stain spreading across the left shoulder of his shirt.
Damn it.
She couldn’t get the fucking magazine in.
Baker lunged at her, his face contorted with pain and rage. Her fingers tightened around the magazine. Her fist, holding a pound of metal, connected with two hundred pounds of diving body weight and did what she expected. She heard the bones in his face explode.
He fell back as if he had a rope around his neck and someone had jerked it. Baker landed with his head and shoulders against the wall, and he made a gurgling sound. Olivia scrambled up and kicked him in the face. His head lolled to the side, sending a spray of blood arcing onto the wall. Finally, he was still and quiet.
She jammed the magazine into the SIG, chambered one and turned to where she had last seen Silva. The bastard was still there. She took deep breaths in an effort to bring the adrenaline surge under control. She held the SIG in her left hand straight out from her shoulder, pointed at his head.
“Olivia.”
His voice and the smile that spread across his face sent ripples of disgust through her.
“Put the gun down. I surrender,” he said, taking a step.
“Stay right there,” she commanded.
Silva put his arms out, holding his wrists together. “Put the cuffs on me. Take me in,” he said in a sickening, oily voice.
She was silent, motionless, watching him. He dropped his arms.
“All of this is for nothing.” He made a gesture indicating what was going on outside the room. “My lawyers will have me out in hours. And you will never see me again. I will disappear—” his smile turned to a sneer, “—and there is nothing you can do.”
Everything Rico had said was right. Bail would be set and no matter what it was he would pay it, get on his private jet and disappear. He would get a new face, a new identity and be back in a matter of months putting more drugs and weapons on the street. The cycle would start all over again. Something cold and primal woke up inside her.
“No,” she said slowly. “I’m not going to take you in. I’m going to kill you.”
He shook his finger at her as if she was a naughty child. “That wouldn’t be right. We both know you wouldn’t do that. You are sworn to uphold the law. You must take me in.”
Without his minions beside him he was a small, stupid man. He had no idea what right or wrong was. He only knew what was good for him.
“This is a game to me, and you—” he sniffed, “—can’t win.”
At that moment he did what she’d been waiting for. His jammed his hand inside his jacket pocket, where she had clearly seen the outline of a small gun.
“No, Alvaro. I always win. No matter what I’m doing.” Before Silva could get his finger on the trigger she fired three times. The bullets that entered Silva’s frontal lobe snapped his head back and left holes forming a tight triangle. He made no sound, simply crumbled to the floor in a heap.
“For you, little brother,” she whispered.
Rico stood silently in the doorway behind Olivia. His search for Silva and Baker had come up empty and he was out of ammo. He’d heard the sounds of a fight and rushed to help. From the darkness of the passageway he saw one man, obviously dead, his chest a pulpy mess. Baker lay bloody, but breathing on the floor next to him. Olivia stood, feet apart, pointing a 9mm at Silva’s head. She was rock steady. Neither her arm, nor hand moved. Silva began talking, taunting her.
Rico saw Silva’s move for the gun the same time she did. He was in the room raising his weapon to a firing position before he remembered he had no ammo. Olivia fired three times.
When she fired, Baker raised an arm, gun in hand, aiming it at her.
“Olivia!” Rico flung himself between her and Baker. He slammed against her shoulder, pushing her down and away.
After that, things seemed to move very slowly. The first bullet entered his right armpit. He felt it bounce around inside, felt the searing path it took. The second went into his lower back and came out the front. Olivia yelped and he felt her flinch. The bullet had passed through him and hit her.
The third bullet tore his thigh. Another through and through. Had it nicked his femoral artery? If it had, he’d be dead in minutes. Slow, ever so slowly, he fell. Olivia rolled up. The hand holding the SIG inches from his face. She fired. Emptied it into Baker. The sound was deafening.
From his back, Rico saw Hunter’s bulk fill the doorway. Saw Hunter’s H&K point in Baker’s direction, the barrel recoiling slightly. Each ejected shell casing arched and fell. The room went quiet, except for the click Olivia’s weapon made each time she pulled the trigger on the empty SIG. He tried to raise his arm to take it from her but couldn’t. Hunter did the job for him. Olivia looked at Hunter then at him with concern.
Rico tried to tell her it would be okay, but no sound came out. He wanted to touch her cheek, but his arm wouldn’t move.
So this was what it was like to die.
“The chopper is through those doors,” Olivia dipped her head in the direction. “Can you carry him?”
Hunter didn’t answer. He was busy covering the wound in Rico’s leg with pressure packs. “We aren’t going anyplace until I get him taped up. He’ll bleed to death.”
“The femoral?” she asked.
“Wrong side of the leg. Talk to him. It’s better if he stays alert.”
“Rico. Look at me.” His eyes tracked to hers.
“Man, I’m going to turn you on your side then wrap tape around you. Tight. Leg first.”
Rico shifted his gaze to Hunter. Hunter grabbed his face and moved it side to side. “Shit. He’s already in shock. Help me roll him on his side.”
Olivia grasped Rico’s shoulder and pulled as Hunter pushed. With Rico on his side, Hunter wrapped his leg with tape. Duct tape. Hunter caught her expression.
“It holds, even with a lot of blood.” He began examining the side entry wound. “Shit,” he muttered. Rico moaned.
“You’re hurting him.” She put her hand out to stop Hunter.
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t feel it. He won’t remember any of this.” Hunter squatted beside Rico and slid his arms under his shoulder and knees. “Help me lift. Once I get him up I’ll be okay.”
Olivia mimicked his movement on the opposite side. When they lifted him, Rico’s head lolled back and fear slithered through her.
Hunter bent his knees, adjusted the weight and grunted. “Weapons.”
Olivia looked around, picked up two 9mms and Rico’s guns, both empty. She snagged two magazines from Hunter’s waist, reloaded both and slung his automatic rifle over her shoulder.
“Go,” he urged.
Olivia burst through the door, a weapon in each hand, ready to fire. There was sporadic firing, but it was on the decks below, not up at them. She shoved the chopper’s passenger door open and Hunter heaved Rico in on the floor. Hunter boosted his bulk inside, she pitched the weapons to him, closed the door and went for the pilot’s seat.
“You aren’t going anywhere, bitch,” a heavily accented voice behind her snarled. Olivia slowly turned her head to see the man she’d taken the cell phone from. He moved cautiously toward her, an assault rifle in his hands.
“Step back from the helicopter,” he ordered. “You’re mine now.”
Olivia removed her hand from the chopper and did as told.
“Turn around.”
She did. He was two maybe three steps away and the rifle he held pointed directly at her chest.
Move forward. Take the fight to the enemy.
She took a long quick step to him then another. Her left hand shot out, her fingers gripped the gun barrel. Throwing all her weight into it she forced the gun up and back, slamming it into his face. He stumbled back. Before he could regain his balance, she underhanded the long blade of Hunter’s knife into the center of his torso.
Muscle and sinew gave way as she shoved the blade in to the hilt. A look of surprise came over his face. She wrenched the rifle from his hands, twisted the blade and released it. He wrapped his hands around the hilt of the knife and dropped. Before he hit the deck she was on her way to the helicopter.
She literally jumped into the seat and flipped on the engines. Looking back into the passenger area, she saw Hunter lower his weapon. Olivia pitched the man’s rifle in his direction.
“Thought I was gonna have to rescue you,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“Strap in,” she ordered. The engines caught and Rico moaned. She glanced back. Hunter had Rico positioned on the floor, his head resting on the seat.
“He’s bad,” Hunter said. “Time to fly this thing outta here.”
Olivia focused her attention on doing just that. The Eurostar was a good bird by rep. She’d never flown one, only seen them at air shows. She sure as hell hoped it would do everything they said it would. Like take off without the engines being completely warmed. She worked the sticks and peddles and the little beauty lifted right off. She had no idea where she was headed but at least they were up and away from the yacht.
Passing over the stern she caught sight of several large crates that hadn’t been there during her recon of the yacht. A particularly large crate on the party deck was being opened by three of the crew.
“What the hell?” There was some kind of equipment inside. She swung the Eurostar around to get a better view.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Hunter yelled. “Get us out of here.”
“Put on a head set,” she shouted, slipping one on herself. “Do you see that down there?” She banked to port so Hunter could get a good look at the box.
“Son of a bitch. RPJ7 missile launcher. And a machine gun.”
“Can you fire that rifle?”
“Sure as hell can, but—”
“They haven’t gotten the machine gun set up. You can take out the men before they get them operational.”
Hunter grunted his response.
Bullets zinged off the chopper. Olivia slewed to a position more to the bow. Several men ran along the deck following and firing.
“We get hit?”
“Yes. Don’t think we have to worry about small arms fire. The way this bird maneuvers I’m damn sure it’s armored.”
“Get me in a position to fire.”
They were taking fire again. She pulled up and over the superstructure of the yacht hovering lateral to the main deck. Better safe than sorry.
“I’ll get low and tilt. When I do you can fire down their throats. I’ll hold the position until you stop firing. Unlock the door but that’s all. Stay back out of sight until the door opens. Ready?” She looked back and he nodded. “Here we go.”
She brought the helicopter straight up, rising past the satellite dishes, radar antennas and guidance systems towering over the yacht’s cabins, and hovered.
“For Christ’s sake what are you doing?” Hunter yelled. She slipped the bird back and swung it against the antennas and satellite dishes. Half of them toppled. She slammed into them again sending those remaining crashing to the deck.
She looked back at Hunter and he gave her a thumbs up.
“How is he?”
“Out of it. Okay considering.”
She wanted to push the helicopter up and away, get Rico help. Three men appeared on the deck opposite them and began firing. Olivia swung the tail with its whirling rotor blades at them and they quickly retreated inside.
Ahead, she saw a ship coming. Even in the darkness she recognized the familiar shape. A Coast Guard cutter. Maybe the Valiant, out of Miami. “Look. Straight ahead.”
“Our ride home.” Hunter said. “First we have to get that launcher or the cutter will take fire.”
Good. They were on the same page.
She made her decision on an approach: come in low and position the chopper between the guns and the cutter. Her fingers tightened around the stick and slipped, slick from the blood trickling down her arm. She reduced altitude to little more than fifteen feet above the stern deck to allow Hunter a clear view of the men below. She heard and felt bullets hitting the chopper.
“Ready?” She looked back at Hunter. He nodded and unlocked the passenger door. Olivia brought the nose up and swung to port. The door slid back. She tilted the bird and Hunter fired. The weapon was in full automatic mode—the magazine would be empty in a matter of seconds. She didn’t know if he had another clip. No matter. The men below scattered and two lay motionless on the deck.
Hunter let out a terrible sound. She looked back to see him clutching his thigh. He’d been hit and was sliding out the open door. The fool had unbelted to fire. She tilted the chopper the opposite direction in an attempt to keep him from falling, exposing herself to fire from the men below.
Bullets penetrated the door on her right sending bits of shrapnel flying into the cabin. Instinctively, she swung the chopper to allow a gunner to return fire. Too late she realized this was not her helo. She had no gunner.
In her peripheral vision she saw Hunter desperately clawing, reaching out to find a hand hold. Her left arm went to him and pain shot through her shoulder. She’d been hit. Then Rico’s long arms reached out and his big hands grabbed Hunter. Somehow, he managed to hold on until Hunter hauled himself into the cabin.
They were now taking fire from men on the upper deck. Where had all these fuckers come from? With Hunter safe, she tipped the nose down and swung to starboard. The passenger door slammed closed. She did a 180 and swung the helicopter’s tail rotor directly at the men firing on them. One went overboard. She couldn’t tell where the second man had gone.
Below she could see more men at the gun and missile launcher working to get them ready.
The cutter wouldn’t have a chance if they could get a heat seeker off. At this range there would be no chance of missing.
Hunter yelled at her to fly out of there. Rico was making sounds. She looked at the cutter again and knew what she had to do.
“Brace yourselves,” she ordered.
The nose of the chopper dropped and she moved the bird’s rotor blades at the men and guns below. Hunter yelled such a list of cuss words it made her smile. The six men at the guns looked up, and she clearly saw the moment of realization and fear cross their faces. The blades were less than ten feet from them when they scattered. She wasn’t going to stop until they were…
“Commander Carver.” She heard her name crackle over the headset. “Olivia, you there?”
“Crenshaw?” She twisted to locate the familiar orange and silver bird and pain shot through her. “How did you…”
“We’re what you get when you care to send the very best, ma’am.”
Turner! “They have missiles, GAILS, and machine guns on the stern deck. Where are you? I can’t find you.”
“To your starboard, low. Get out of there, ma’am. Climb, pull hard to port, circle behind the yacht. We’re taking over now,” Crenshaw answered.
Before he finished the sentence she pushed the Eurostar up and to her left. Its engine groaned in protest.
“Come on, little girl, you can do this,” she pleaded. “Come on.”
Hunter protested also, yelling at her like a sissy. Rico was silent. The helicopter wasn’t made to do what she was asking and she struggled with the controls. She felt light-headed.
Behind them, the unmistakable and familiar sound of the Dolphin’s big gun firing filled the dense night air. The cutter would be safe. A place for her to land. She hovered and rotated until she had the cutter in view. Five hundred yards away, powering for the yacht. She headed straight for it.
A hundred yards out the radio crackled. “Civilian helicopter this is U.S. Coast Guard cutter. What is your intention?”
Intention? Didn’t they know who she was? Hadn’t they heard her transmission with Crenshaw?
“I’m going to land,” she replied, heading directly for the helicopter landing deck on the cutter’s stern.
“Civilian helicopter stand down and identify yourself,” a stern voice demanded.
“I am…” The instrument panel in front of her blurred. “I am Lt. Commander Olivia Carver, United Sates Coast Guard. I am poster girl. I have every intention of landing this egg beater on your deck. Give me your nautical speed, wind speed and direction. Now!”
“Yes, ma’am,” came the quick reply.
“Need medics. Two wounded federal agents aboard. I may be also.”
The lights on the cutter’s landing deck turned the night sky into day. “Deck super, get your men clear. Landing may be ugly.” Dizzy and cold, she had to hold it together for a couple more minutes. Just a couple more minutes.
Olivia adjusted her course, slipped behind the cutter and landed the helicopter hard on the deck.
The space around the chopper filled with uniformed bodies. The door to her right opened and two men, officers, were speaking to her. Tension leaked from her and she savored the familiar, comforting world surrounding her. The ocean’s scent mixed with the oil and engine smells. Crisp military voices. A tiredness like she had never felt overcame her.
One of the men standing outside the chopper was talking to her. He said his name was Mike.
“Commander Carver, can you walk?” he yelled above the rotor sound. She didn’t answer. He leaned in and flipped the engines off. She listened as they cycled down. Olivia looked at the officer and wondered why he thought she couldn’t walk.
“I’m cold.”
He stripped off his jacket and draped it over her. She moved her legs and tried to slide out but was stopped by Mike.
“Ma’am, you’re bleeding. Stay still until the medic arrives.”
He turned his head and yelled. All she needed was to get out of the fucking helicopter, a blanket and a bed. Rico and Hunter were the ones they needed to take care of. She needed sleep.
Crap.
She would have to go to the debriefing. She hated debriefings.
Her head hurt. An arctic chill engulfed every square inch of her body. At least everyone was being quiet now. She leaned her head on Mike’s shoulder and went to sleep.