Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (54 page)

Annie and Boone would wait for him on the patrol boat with Leo and his crew. They’d monitor his position and progress but remain a safe distance away so they didn’t alert or alarm the
Aegean Mercy
. As he closed in on the luxury ship, Sam tethered the prop to the underbelly, removed his regulator, then swam to the stern. Slow and with as much incredible stealth so he barely disturbed the water, Sam eased upward. He let his forehead break the surface only until he could see. On the water, even with the lights moderately dimmed, the ship seemed well lit. He eased up to the yacht’s swim ladder and took hold. Awareness spread through him of being alone. Of not having his team, his SEAL brothers working in unison and synchronicity. One shooting, another catching the target before he hit the water or ground. Softening the landing.

Sam hauled himself up over the back and crouched. As he pushed himself upright, he heard the thump of the guard’s boots. Sam shoved himself down, waiting. The guard came right past where he crouched, yawning, and started away.

Aiming, Sam sent a drugged dart into the guy’s neck. The guard stumbled and Sam rushed up behind him, catching him before he could make a loud noise. He eased him to the deck and rushed on, toward the front, where he knew the other guard should be. Spine against the hull, he slid toward the bow. Peeked out. Spotted the guy sitting on a padded bench, smoking a cigarette.

Sam steadied his breathing and stepped out. Fired a dart straight into the guy’s neck, just like the first one.

Only, the guard had lifted his hand. Accidentally deflected the dart.

Confusion bled into the man’s face as he stared at the feathered tail sticking out of his hand. In a split second, he went from a frown to alarm. He punched to his feet with a strangled shout.

Sam fired another dart. And a third. But the man was punch-drunk on adrenaline now. The dart would take longer. Sam rushed him, knowing he had to silence him or the whole mission was shot.

Eyes wide, the man shoved away from Sam. Drew a weapon. Aimed.

Seconds took on the weight of death.

Sam knew the guy would shoot him before he could.

Annie

Mediterranean Sea

7 June – 0220 Hours

“Do you have the shot?”

A golf ball–sized lump lodged in Annie’s throat. She couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. Sam wore a shoulder-mounted camera so she and Boone could see in real time what was happening. Right now he was staring down the barrel of a weapon.

“I have joy,” came Nuala’s unnaturally calm voice.

“Take the shot.”

Annie held her breath, her gaze tempting her to look to the roof where Nuala lay nested for high, unobstructed vision.
C’mon, c’mon
. Time felt anchored in death, waiting for the kill shot.

“Target down,” Nuala said quietly even as Annie watched the guy tumble over the side of the boat.

She covered her mouth as Sam rushed to the rail.

“Copy,” Boone said. “Moving to a safe distance.”

The patrol boat eased away from the yacht so they wouldn’t be seen but close enough to help Sam if trouble reared its ugly head again. Annie remained focused on Sam and what he was seeing.

“Houston, you reading us?”

“Loud and clear.” Houston’s voice came through as if he sat in the galley, not in a country across the Atlantic. “The feed is a bit grainy, but it’ll do.”

Most likely Trace, the Lorings, and Téya were watching via the live feed as well. Trace had opted out of going, saying he had commitments to take care of. What could be more important than the mission at hand? Than clearing Zulu’s name? Truth was, Annie was mad at him. For not coming. For sending Sam. For confusing the tar out of her with that near kiss on the plane. What was she supposed to do with that?

She cared deeply for Sam. Had they been given the chance, she might’ve loved him—maybe. She didn’t know.

Trace, on the other hand, she
had
loved. Maybe she still did. She didn’t know.

That was just it—she didn’t know what she felt. And having Sam in front of her only mangled things. Made it harder to sort out. She ached for that night on her deck overlooking Wapato Lake. Things were simple then. She was falling in love. He loved her back. For the first time in years, she felt like the sun had found her once more.

“He’s in,” Boone said.

Annie straightened, her mind whipping back to the present. To the black-and-white feed with Sam easing down a narrow hall on the yacht. They would maintain radio silence as much as possible while he was on board. That luxury boat had more technology and satellites spinning than they had at the bunker.

“Copy,” Houston said. “I’m in the yacht’s security system.” Thanks to a transmitter Sam had on him. “Baby, what I wouldn’t do for a ship like this. Then again, I’d go for a super-yacht—”

“Houston.” Trace’s impatience was evident.

Relief filled Annie as quiet once more fell over the mission. Strange, deafening silence. They couldn’t hear anything Sam heard or did, but they could see it. Making his way down a narrow corridor—weren’t they all narrow on a ship?—Sam moved decisively and stealthily. At a corner, he slowed, the camera seeming to hesitate on a dark-paneled wall. Then he went left. The angle swung around and Sam was in a small, tight room. The office. Which seemed more like a small walk-in closet than an office. But the wall of books and the glass desk verified the setting.

Hands gloved, Sam searched the desk. Ran his hands along the edges. Turned to the wall of shelves.

Annie’s palms grew sweaty, thinking of how much time he was in there. The minutes falling off the clock, each one more opportunity for someone to wake up and discover him. What was taking him so long?

“There’s no computer,” Houston said, practically reading her mind.

No computer? That was the whole point of the mission, for him to install the USB that would upload Houston’s program.

“He needs to find at least a laptop or get to the engine room.”

“Engine room?”

“That ship has a lot of technology. Something has to be driving it. Maybe we can find something for him to plug into there.”

“Okay, all quiet. I’m going to tell him,” Trace said. “Squid, Lighthouse.”

“Copy,” came Sam’s deep but quiet voice. He moved to a wall and angled the camera around. “You see my problem?”

“Roger.”

“Going below. Looking for portable device.”

Annie glanced at Boone. “Portable?”

“Laptop.”

“Negative,” Trace ordered. “Stay—”

But Sam was still moving out of the office and now headed for a set of stairs. “He’s not listening,” Annie muttered, her stress level skyrocketing. Stomach clenched, she covered her mouth.

“Squid, you are ordered—”

Sam stopped. Lifted the camera and shone it on his face. “Trust me.”

Silence gaped, and while Annie’s heart thundered in protest, she had a feeling Trace’s was probably doing the same. If Sam was caught or got hurt…or died…

She turned away, sick at the thought of anything happening to him.

“Ten mikes.”

Without another word, Sam reattached the camera and proceeded down the hall. Darkness pressed in on the camera, gray and white graininess that felt more like the
Blair Witch Project
than an orchestrated mission. Shadows tested her ability to make out anything and forced Annie to hold her breath with each step Sam took.

“Bedroom,” Houston whispered, apparently feeling the strain of seeing Sam open a door.

Annie covered her mouth, but not before she sucked in a breath.

Boone slid a glance toward her but didn’t meet her gaze before refocusing on the feed. “He only has three darts left, if I’ve counted right.”

Three darts. But four passengers. Annie’s breath climbed up into her throat. “But he has his weapon,” Annie said. Hoping that would be enough. “He knows what he’s doing.” Her words had conviction she didn’t feel. But she was right. Sam
did
know, had been trained to do this.

“He better.” Boone shifted in his seat and cracked his knuckles. He keyed his mic. “Noodle, stay alert.”

“Roger.”

None of it comforted Annie.

Sam slid into a room, darkness harboring the passengers. Though thermal imaging showed two forms, there was no telling if it was the Stoffels or Batsakis.

But Sam must’ve noticed something, because he backed out and closed the door. He moved deeper into the darkness. Swells of light along the corridor only made the feed wash out then back in, rather than lighting the passage. It might, for Sam, be working out okay, but every blinding glare knotted her stomach.

He neared another room, light glowing around the partially open door. Sam’s hand reached into view to push it open.

Suddenly, he swung in the opposite direction.

Sam’s weapon snapped up at a dark form. Movement blurred.

Annie’s pulse flung through the roof. “What happened?”

Attention rapt, Boone watched silently. The video answered her question when they could make out Sam hauling a body back into a room. He shifted and turned, and Annie caught a reflection—Sam’s reflection.
Bathroom
. He moved backward and closed the door. Someone had come out of a bathroom and Sam had tranqed her.

“Two darts,” Boone muttered, counting down the number of tranquilizers left.

“He’s fine,” she said. “He’s fine.” Somehow saying it twice gave her little comfort. It was ridiculous to worry like this. Sam was a SEAL. They endured brutal training, far more rigorous than what Trace put her and the rest of Zulu through. Sam had probably carried out innumerable missions that she could never know about. This was probably a walk in the park for him.

The camera panned and Sam entered the room he’d reached before knocking the woman out with the tranq. She imagined the door creaking as he opened it. The soft pad of his feet, soundless with his training. Sam moved toward the bed where a man lay partially propped up with a pillow beneath his head. Beside him, a woman slept on her side.

Sam eased around the room and moved in deeper. Farther from the exit. Closer to trouble.

The camera angled toward the bedside table.
There!
Her heart jogged in her chest at the sight of a laptop sitting there. The camera went lower and lower, the room seeming to shrink.
He’s sitting
. But why?

“What is he doing?” Boone asked, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

“Sitting,” Annie muttered.

“Why is he sitting?”

Annie flicked Boone, urging him to be quiet. Truth be told, she had no idea why Sam was sitting. What if he wasn’t
sitting
? What if something had happened to him in the hall with the bathroom lady? What if he was injured?

“Annie,” Houston’s voice crackled through the coms, making her jump.

She turned away, her hands trembling. “What?”

“He plugged the USB in, but the laptop’s not on. Tell him to power it on.”

“How do you know he did that?”

“The USB sent a signal, but it’s stalling.”

Annie nodded to Boone, who sat up and leaned toward the monitor, keying his mic. “Squid, this is Lighthouse.”

Two staticky taps. He couldn’t talk. That was Sam’s signal that he heard Boone.

“Bunker needs power.”

Chewing her thumbnail, Annie waited. Would Sam understand what that meant? It felt like minutes ticked by without a response.

“Maybe he didn’t—”

Two staticky taps.

She blew out a breath and watched as the camera seemed to jiggle. A hand stretched out then froze. And beyond it, Annie saw the man shifting in his sleep. Turning over. Turning into the direction of the camera.

Annie held her breath, willing the man to stay asleep.

“He’s running out of time,” Boone said.

Sam’s hand extended farther. His fingers pried open the laptop. Another inch. Sam must be huddled in the corner, out of sight, but within reach of the nightstand.

“Why doesn’t he just take it?” Annie silently begged him to get out of there.

“Number of reasons,” Boone said. “If Batsakis wakes up and finds it gone, he’ll know someone messed with it.”

“He could unplug it and bring it back.”

“Greater chance of getting caught.”

“What if the laptop is dead?” Annie asked.

“That would be a problem.”

Sam eased closer, pressed a button.

Light exploded from the laptop, the screen coming to life apparently. It illuminated the man’s face. Batsakis grimaced in his sleep, slapped the laptop shut, then rolled over in the other direction.

Annie shook her head. “It’s still on, though. Right?”

Boone shrugged.

“We’re good,” Houston spoke through the coms. “The program is uploading. Just a few more minutes.”

But even as the words were spoken, Annie saw the shape of Batsakis shift again. His feet swung over the edge of the bed. Frozen, wondering if Sam would be discovered, Annie stared. Gripped Boone’s shoulder.

The camera edged away. Slowly. Very slowly.
Too slowly
. Even as Batsakis, head down, and scratching his bare chest, made his way across the room, the camera angle darkened. Light exploded through the room again then collapsed as a door was shut.

Bathroom. “He’s in the bathroom.”

Sam had a minute, three at most.

“How much longer?” Annie asked, bending forward, as if gripping the monitor would give her more control over this situation. Give her a better chance of getting Sam back safely. “C’mon, Sam, c’mon. Move…”

But Sam seemed to be investigating. Looking around.

Annie’s stomach squeezed. She felt sick.
Get out of there, Sam
.

And then he was in motion. He retrieved the USB and went for the door.

But brightness flooded the hall.

Bouncing hard, the camera went jerky. Bobbing rapidly. Up and down.

“What…what’s happening?”

It went down and right suddenly. Then seemed to scan the floor then veered up and blurred.

“What’s going on?” Annie asked, her voice more frantic.

“Easy, easy,” Boone said, though his tone didn’t comfort her. “He’s just moving fast. Job’s done. He’s getting out of there.”

“Oh…” Annie didn’t buy it. Was she worrying for nothing? But he was still racing up the stairs. Across the living area. “He’s not slowing down.”