Seized (Hostage Rescue Team Series, #7) (25 page)

He would never surrender, no matter what.

It wasn’t ideal and certainly not his first choice, but surviving long enough to reach the point where the helicopters could hoist them out of the water was paramount now. The pilots knew to look for lifeboat twelve if there were boats in the water when they arrived.

Completing the mission and getting to Leo was his first priority. Taking down the ship was second.

Whatever teams had boarded the ship to attack them, they were well trained. Had to be the Navy SEALs. The bridge was now lost and he didn’t know how many of his men down by the engine room were either wounded or dead. But none of that really mattered now that they were going to evacuate.

When his man on the bridge had made that announcement over the ship’s PA system prior to the executions in the theater, it had been a signal to the others to begin shooting and enact their escape plan. Right now every surviving member was heading for lifeboat number twelve, located off the port side.

Turning the final corner that led to the doors, safe as he could get for the moment in the center of the group of bodyguards clustered around him, he spotted the lifeboat through the large windows. Several had already been lowered into the water, he saw, no doubt passengers and remaining crew attempting to save themselves.

Ali was already at the prearranged lifeboat, pulling the remaining passengers out of it, dumping them unceremoniously on the deck. Some dead or wounded, others scrambling away in the opposite direction as fast as they could.

The cold, salt-tinged air hit Wira the moment he stepped outside onto the wooden deck, clearing the tide of adrenaline and bloodlust from his head. He and the others kept firing at intervals, effectively herding the terrified passengers steadily toward the bow, winning him and his men space and time to make their escape.

But when he took another step toward the boat, he saw his point man freeze in place a dozen yards ahead.

“The Americans!” he shouted, and wheeled around, lunging behind the safety of a steel bulkhead set into the port side.

Up ahead in the moonlight, through the crowd of fleeing passengers Wira caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a black dive suit and carrying a rifle. A split second later he was gone, disappeared around a distant bulkhead.

The first stirrings of fear hit him. They were close. Too close.

“Go!” he shouted, shoving the man in front of him to make him move faster.

They had only seconds now to reach the boat, and they had to cross the entire distance without any cover. With no one around them to shield them and in this moonlight, they’d be easy targets.

The door behind them pushed open and a small group of passengers rushed out. They all skidded to a stop when they saw Wira and his men, but not fast enough.

Wira seized one of them—a woman—around the neck and yanked her back against him. She screamed and struggled for a moment but went limp when he put the muzzle of his pistol to her head.

“No, don’t,” she blubbered, shaking so hard it was difficult to hold onto her.

“Stay still,” he snarled at her, ducking his head down behind her shoulder so the SEALs couldn’t get a head shot.

He dragged her with him along the deck, moving as fast as he could while holding his hostage. His heart thundered in his ears. So close now, only another thirty yards or so.

Four of his men raced past him for the boat. The two in the lead cried out and fell as bullets slammed into them. Wira jerked to the side and ran faster, practically carrying the woman, holding her in a chokehold so she couldn’t break free.

Blood rushed in his ears as he ran, his boots thudding over the hardwood. Only twenty yards to go. He couldn’t take a different boat—all the others they’d passed were crowded with passengers and he didn’t have time to clear them out.

But as they ran toward it, more shots rang out. The man out front cried out and pitched forward, landing facedown on the deck, twitching once before he stilled.

Wira cursed and flattened himself against the wall behind a steel reinforcement beam, breathing hard. He hadn’t seen the shooter through the crowd of scrambling bodies, but he knew there were more out there.

The woman began clawing at his arms and kicking his legs, twisting like a wildcat in his grip. “Let me go! You bastard, let me go!”

Wira increased the pressure of his forearm across her windpipe. She stilled instantly, her hands now locked around his forearm as she choked and gasped.

He didn’t care if she suffocated in the next minute, all he needed was for her to act as a shield long enough to get him to the boat.

He darted a glance to the right, saw two more of his men make a desperate dash to the boat. One was cut down but the other dove inside it.

“Come on!” he yelled, waving his free arm wildly, then stuck the muzzle of his weapon out the side and began returning fire in the direction of the American shooter. The remaining crowd of passengers caught in between scattered like ants in an effort to evade the bullets, increasing the confusion and hopefully impeding the American’s sights.

Taking several deep breaths, Wira locked his gaze on the lifeboat and prepared to make the final run. Saying a silent prayer to Allah for protection, he burst out from behind cover and ran.

––––––––

“C
ontact, two o’clock, forty meters.”

Crouched behind cover near the center staircase on deck two, Sawyer immediately turned to see three more men slip out the far exit near the stern.

The crowd of running passengers in this part of the ship had slowed to a trickle now, most of the remaining ones huddling in small groups in the corners, too afraid to move. Sawyer pushed it all from his mind as he crept up behind Ethan and laid a hand on his shoulder to alert his buddy of his position.

“Tangos are heading for a lifeboat on the port side. We’re cut off by the passengers and don’t have a clear shot. Report.” The SEAL platoon leader’s voice was crystal clear over their comms now that the noise had died down.

“Roger that. Moving in for a closer look.” Tuck used hand signals to direct the team toward the far door. No one shot at them, a good indication that all the tangos were already outside, but they weren’t taking any chances and were careful to guard the team as they moved.

They kept to the shadows to help camouflage them. Tuck held up a fist and they stopped while he snuck a look out a port-side window. “Got a visual. Five of them about twenty-five yards forward.” He paused a moment, checking the tangos’ position. “Cruzie, Vance and Bauer go out first while we provide overwatch. Fire only if you have a clear shot.”

They all responded in the affirmative. Sawyer followed Ethan, Bauer close behind as they eased up to where Tuck and the others took up defensive positions around the doorway in case any more shooters came at them from inside. “We’ll cover you,” Tuck said. “On my mark. Three.”

Sawyer leaned his weight forward onto the balls of his feet, his hands steady around the grips.

“Two.”

Ethan moved a step closer to the doorway and Sawyer followed suit.

“One.”

His heart rate slowed a few notches. A sense of calmness overtook him as it always did just before an assault. His team was tight and the guys were all highly skilled operators. For the few seconds after he cleared that door his life would be in their hands, but he wouldn’t want anyone else watching his back.

“
Go
.”

Evers kicked the door open. Ethan rushed through it then crouched slightly just outside it, pausing to assess the threat outside while Sawyer stood over top of him, his weapon tight to his shoulder, eye to the sight.

Everything slowed down, as if each second was broken into a separate frame on a movie reel. The gunmen were all running for one of the lifeboats. Some turned around and spotted them but one of them had a hostage held in front of him as he backed toward a boat.

A woman. Her face was turned away from him but Sawyer could see she had long dark hair and his heart seized.

Carmela.

****

“B
ehind us!”

Wira whirled around, his hostage held close in front of him. She’d lost consciousness a minute ago and now hung like a dead weight in the crook of his arm. He strained to keep her upright.
You stupid bitch
, he cursed her silently, then turned to confront whatever his man had seen behind them.

He saw nothing but empty deck and shadows. But before he could turn away again, two shots rang out in rapid succession. Both men standing between him and the door fell.

A bolt of terror flashed through him. The enemy was closing in on him from both sides.

I have to get out. Have to get the lifeboat to where the pilots can reach me.

Leo was counting on him. His entire family was counting on him to succeed.

He swung around so his back was to the railing and half dragged, half carried his prisoner, the burden of her dead weight slowing him down. Whoever was shooting at them wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot of him if he positioned the hostage properly. Only a few more yards until he reached the boat and his human shield seemed to be working so far.

But when he got less than ten running strides away from it, Ali began to lower it to the water.

“
No!
” He roared it, overcome with rage and betrayal. He couldn’t believe it.

Ali and those other cowardly bastards were going to leave without him to save their own skins, abandoning him to face the American teams alone. Abandoning Leo and their brothers-in-arms to rot in the hellholes they were trapped in. Spitting in the face of the oath they’d all sworn to the
Mawla
.

I’ll kill them. Kill those traitors for doing this.

Shaking with fury he raised his pistol and fired three shots, hitting the windshield of the lifeboat. The men inside ducked down as the bullets smashed through the glass but didn’t stop lowering the boat.

The effort of holding the hostage up was draining him. Wira couldn’t carry the woman and make it to the boat in time. He needed to do something else to buy time.

The failsafe.

He’d planned to detonate it when the helicopters arrived anyway. Now the bomb was his only hope, it might distract the American team long enough to buy him another few seconds so he could reach the boat that was rapidly descending out of reach.

Snarling his fury at being forced into this situation, he dumped his human shield and grabbed the remote trigger from a pouch on his vest, firing his pistol in the direction of the shooters at the same time.

He rushed for the boat, feeling like he was moving through quicksand. Everything was happening too slowly. His hand had just closed around it when a bullet hit him between the shoulder blades.

He grunted at the impact and staggered forward, a feral growl issuing from his throat. His vest had prevented the bullet from going through him but it knocked the air from his lungs.

His gaze sought the lifeboat. It was below the railing now. He could still make it if he jumped.

He straightened, put on a burst of speed, desperation driving him forward.

A bullet slammed into his neck, tearing through the front of it. Screaming, he dropped his pistol and fell to his knees. Through the waves of agony tearing through him he could hear men behind him shouting at him in English to stay down and put his hands over his head.

Never.

He’d never let them take him alive. He would not allow himself to be taken captive only to rot in a secret prison like the one Leo was trapped in.

Blood pumped out of his ruined throat, out of his gasping mouth. He choked, managed to turn his head and saw the lifeboat slip out of sight below the railing. Already he could feel his strength fading.

It’s over.

He’d failed Leo, the
Mawla
and his family. Failed
himself
.

The best he could hope for now was for someone else to pick up the torch he’d carried this far. Defeat crashed through him, then resignation, followed quickly by a sense of peace.

Leo’s plight would have worldwide attention now. There was still a chance he might be freed if politicians at home and abroad put enough pressure on the Americans.

He couldn’t see anymore. Running footsteps thudded on the deck behind him, more male shouts reached his ears.

Hearing really is the last sense to go when you die.

He was out of time.

Calling on the last of his will, Wira commanded his limp fingers to curl around the device, each millimeter of movement taxing his endurance. His heartbeat was sluggish, his lungs no longer drawing in air.

Have to detonate the failsafe.
Once he did the ship would be mortally wounded and go down within the hour. Taking all its wealthy Westerner passengers down with it.

Fervent prayers filled his head. He was ready now. Ready to die after this one last act.

With his remaining strength he curled his fingers around the trigger and hit the detonator.

He never even felt the bullet that slammed into the back of his head a split second later.

****

T
he tango was dead and the woman he’d been holding hostage wasn’t Carmela.

Sawyer’s lungs started working again the second he realized it, but his gut clenched at the muffled boom from below and the way the deck rolled beneath his feet.

Fuck, he’d been a second too late with the headshot.

He charged straight for the dead man, Ethan hot on his heels while Bauer stopped to check the female hostage. The dead tango was lying on his stomach, eyes still open in his now misshapen face, the front of his skull blown away.

And the fucking trigger was lying on the deck inches from his open hand.

“God dammit,” Sawyer snarled at himself as he knelt and picked it up. He hadn’t seen it in the bastard’s hand until it was too late. “Tango down,” he snapped into his comm.

Tuck and the others jogged over, scanning for more threats as they ran. But it appeared the gunmen that had been on deck were either all dead or already in boats in the water. Sawyer spotted at least a dozen of them motoring away from the ship off the port side.