Seized (Hostage Rescue Team Series, #7) (21 page)

She stumbled to her feet, her heart slamming so hard she felt sick. Then her mother grabbed her arm. “Carmela, no!”

The man’s patience snapped. “Both of you,” he ordered, lunging for her mother. Carmela tried to pull out of his hold but it was impossible and within seconds he had her and her mother and was marching them forward toward his teammates. “Call Wira,” he called out to them. “We’re taking them to him.”

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W
ira got the call from Bagas just as he left the bridge. “What?” he barked, stalking past the men guarding the door. They were on course for international waters, heading for the rendezvous point where the Russian helos would take off from a waiting ship and extract them.

“We have a problem. One of the passengers has been sending messages to someone on shore, and I think you need to see it.”

Wira swore. “I told you to search everyone thoroughly. You were supposed to take all the electronics from them.”

“We did. Not sure how we missed it.”

The messages were probably nothing to worry about, but he could use this to his advantage to keep the other passengers in line. “Are you in the theater now?”

“Yes. We were going to bring her and her mother up to you.”

“No. Leave them there, I’ll come to you. I’m going to make an example out of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wira jogged down the stairs from the bridge. Three of his men fell in step with him, acting as bodyguards as he made his way down to the promenade deck and toward the theater at the stern of the ship.

On the way he checked in with his remaining men posted in various stations throughout the vessel. The engine room, others posted outside on the deck to watch the loaded lifeboats. Far easier to keep the majority of the passengers contained that way.

By now news of the siege would have reached authorities, and they would know about the manifesto. They’d likely figure out his involvement soon as well, but he doubted they’d be able to make the connection between him and Leo. Not without some very thorough investigative work, and by the time they figured it out, he’d hopefully be halfway to Russia.

When he got to the theater Ali was already waiting outside the doors, holding two women at gunpoint. They looked up at him as he approached and Wira immediately recognized the young woman and her mother he’d seen boarding the ship prior to departing Seattle. From Miami, he remembered.

They both stared at him in shock as they realized who he was, their bodies completely still, kneeling there on the carpeted floor with their hands behind their backs.

“What have you got?” he asked Ali.

His second-in-command handed him the phone. The screen was cracked but once Ali entered the code she must have given him to unlock the screen, the text message exchange was clearly visible. Wira read the messages then met the younger woman’s gaze. “Who did you contact?”

She stared back at him for a moment, her golden brown eyes full of a defiance Wira found equally admirable and annoying. “A friend.”

He slid the phone into his pocket. “Who?” When she didn’t answer immediately he lost patience. He wasn’t going to tolerate anyone playing games with him, especially not her.

“Who is it?” he demanded, and withdrew the pistol from the holster on his right hip.

Her face tightened but she still didn’t answer.

Rather than aim it at her, Wira pointed it at her mother. “Start talking, or I’ll put a bullet in each of her knees and work up from there.”

She swallowed. “His name is Sawyer.”

A boyfriend? Wira kept the pistol aimed at the mother’s knees. “Where is he and what does he do?”

“Seattle. And he’s...”

He kept his finger curved around the trigger. Another ounce or two of pressure and the pistol would fire. “He’s what?”

She hesitated a fraction before answering. “He’s there on a contract job.”

The way she’d paused set off warning bells. She was either lying or hiding something, and if she was willing to lie with a weapon pointed at her mother, then his gut said she was covering something important. He tightened his grip on the pistol. “What kind of contract job?” The wording itself made him suspicious.

“For the government,” she murmured, eyes downcast.

Now the suspicion turned into alarm. “Is he military?”

Again, she hesitated. Wira was done.

He tilted the pistol a fraction of an inch and fired once. Both women cried out as the bullet slammed into the floor, less than two inches from the mother’s left kneecap. “Who does he work for?” he shouted.

The young woman jerked her gaze back to him. “The FBI,” she blurted. “He’s with the FBI.”

Wira clenched his jaw as anger suffused him. His entire plan hinged on having enough time to get within range of those Hind-D helos that were coming for him and his team before the U.S. launched an attack. The time stamp on her first text message was almost two hours before they’d released the manifesto, and that advance notice might screw with his timeline. They were far enough off shore that it would take authorities some time to launch an offensive, and though Wira was willing to use the failsafe before evacuating if necessary, he would only do it as a last resort.

Both women cowered as he loomed over them. He was tempted to shoot them both here and now, but if the younger one had that kind of connection with someone in the FBI, she might yet prove useful to him if he needed to stall for time later on. And she could certainly prove useful to him now in a different way.

He waved the pistol at them. “Get up,” he ordered coldly.

They both struggled to their feet, the mother weaving slightly, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. Wira seized the daughter’s arm and jerked her toward him. She stumbled but kept her footing, walking quickly to match his pace. Ali grabbed hold of the mother and followed him into the darkened theater.

Once on stage Wira got on the radio to one of his men up on the bridge. “Give me lighting on the stage in the main theater. I want everyone in here to see this.”

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T
he cold words sent a wave of foreboding through Carmela.

Moments later, lights came on above and in front of her. She flinched at the sudden brightness and stood there stiffly, her hands secured behind her while Wira’s fingers dug into her upper arm. He was her height, around five-feet-six, but strong. His short dark hair was damp with sweat and the way his angry black gaze bored into her was terrifying.

It had been a shock to realize the head of security was the man behind the attack, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The cruise line and crew had obviously trusted him to put him in that position in the first place, giving him the element of surprise when he attacked. A man in his position would know everything about security measures and emergency procedures on board, would know exactly who to take out and what to do in order to seize the ship.

Carmela swallowed, her mouth dry as sand, her pulse roaring in her ears. As the sister of an HRT member, she was used to giving a cover story about what Ethan did. But when Wira had interrogated her she’d told him the truth about Sawyer for two reasons.

One, she’d hoped it would make them think twice about killing any more passengers if he knew American authorities were aware of what was happening, maybe buying them enough time for a rescue attempt. And two, if these guys were capable of taking an entire cruise liner hostage without anyone from the outside world knowing about it, then they likely had the capability to trace Sawyer’s number and find out the truth on their own. Maybe her honesty would gain her points with Wira. Maybe he’d see her as a valuable asset now, and want to keep her alive.

Or not.

The man who she assumed was his second-in-command stood a dozen feet away holding her mother, who was watching her and Wira anxiously. All the other passengers sat before them with their hands either bound behind them or placed on top of their heads. Some of them stared at the floor, others at her and Wira. The huge, two-story room was deathly quiet, everyone seeming to hold their breath along with her, waiting to see what he would do.

“You were all warned what would happen if any of you defied my orders,” he told them in a harsh voice that sent a shiver of dread through her. Despite the heat in the room her hands were icy cold and a trickle of cold sweat slid down her sides. “This woman was caught sending text messages to an FBI agent. And this is how I deal with people who defy me.”

Before Carmela could react he slammed the butt of the pistol into the side of her head. Pain splintered through her skull and she went down, hitting the floor with a thud. She must have blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing she was aware of after opening her eyes was a blur of color and light. Everything was woozy.

She winced and tried to roll over, wanting to get to her knees, but her body wouldn’t obey. The bright lights overhead hurt her eyes and the pain in her head made her nauseous. Then Wira was leaning over her, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a fierce scowl, his expression furious as he yelled something at her. His voice was muffled, like she was underwater.

When she didn’t respond to whatever he’d said he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head up. Carmela let out a yelp and tried to scramble to her knees to relieve the pressure. Pain radiated from just behind her temple down the side of her neck and she felt something warm trickling down the side of her face.

He shook her once then jerked her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her vision and hearing cleared instantly. “Do you hear me?” he screamed into her face, the rage in his eyes making her stomach clench. She could hear her mother crying in the background, begging him to let her go. “I’m going to drag you outside, make you watch while I shoot your mother in the head, then I’m going to dump you both overboard and watch you drown.”

Terror forked through her.
No!
She wouldn’t let him kill her mother for this. “No,
Mami
, no! Don’t hurt her, please—”

The radio on his belt chirped. Wira stilled, then a man’s urgent voice came through. “Wira, come in. We’ve got a situation down here near the engine room. One of our men saw some unsecured crewmembers and he thinks they’re trying to organize an attack.”

Wira made an irritated sound in the back of his throat and shook her once, making her flinch as the increased pressure on her scalp intensified the pain in her head. Just as quickly he released her with a rough shove and booted her between her shoulder blades for good measure.

She hit the floor hard, her right shoulder and side taking the brunt of the impact, and immediately curled into a ball to try and protect herself from more blows.

“Search them all again for electronics, and keep a close eye on this one because I might use her later.” He jabbed her with the toe of his boot. “If anyone gives you trouble, just shoot them,” he ordered his men, then stalked for the wide double doors at the top of the stairs, leaving Carmela trembling and bleeding on the floor.

****

S
awyer hitched the straps of his ruck up higher on his shoulders and hustled across the tarmac in the darkness toward the Coast Guard station, barely even noticing the way the weight and friction irritated the stitches in his left shoulder. Ten minutes ago they’d received a green light from the director of the FBI to execute the takedown of the ship. The hostage takers weren’t responding to negotiators’ attempts to make contact with them, and with so many lives at stake, tactical action was necessary.

He couldn’t wait to get there so he and the others could actually
do
something to help the passengers. No one knew how many of them had already been killed during the initial siege. There’d been total radio silence from Carmela since that text, and both he and Ethan were worried sick.

The familiar scent of jet fuel hit him as he fell in line behind Ethan. Behind them the noise of the C-130’s engines lowered in pitch as the pilots powered down. Off to his right he spotted four Pavehawks already waiting for them, rotors turning slowly. Their elite Air Force crews would be ready to launch at a moment’s notice.

Sawyer hoped DeLuca pulled the trigger fast on this one.

The station was a flurry of activity, people rushing in and out, the commander coming over to greet DeLuca and Rycroft. Out in the lead, Tuck led the way into the building and down a hallway to a quiet room near the back of the station. Their team and the SEALs all squeezed in there together with DeLuca and Rycroft.

“Just got word from Gold Team leader that their flight got delayed due to mechanical problems,” DeLuca announced to the packed room. “They’ll take the next transport available but with the delay we’ll have to do this operation without them because we can’t wait.”

That didn’t worry Sawyer. They had plenty of experienced operators here, ready and raring to go.

DeLuca outlined the relatively new intel. They’d been receiving constant updates from investigators along with satellite images, with Celida and Travers keeping them informed from back in Seattle.

It looked like most of the lifeboats were loaded with passengers and they’d been able to catch a glimpse of a handful of the terrorists. Coast Guard and Navy vessels in the area were also providing what intel they could, giving brief reports while abiding by the terrorists’ orders and maintaining a certain distance from the ship, which appeared to be sailing northwest. All signs indicated they were heading for international waters, toward Russia.

Sawyer and the others had to take the ship before they left U.S. waters, or more precious hours would be lost waiting on reams of red tape and diplomatic bullshit to be cleared. They couldn’t afford that kind of delay. They had four full hours of darkness left to operate with, and they had to make the most of that window to give them maximum cover.

“Here’s what we’ve got in terms of backup in the area.” DeLuca listed all the assets available to them before, during, and after the op. Once Sawyer and the others launched their counter-attack, the Coast Guard would move in close enough to rescue people stranded in the lifeboats.