Page 41 of Engaging his Enemy
“I’m sorry,” Ben mumbled through his swollen lips and mouth, wanting to weep as he watched them bind her wrists and ankles. At least they hadn’t beaten the will to run out of her system, as they had for him. “I’m so sorry.”
A sudden kick to his lower back had him writhing once more, and Davina screamed, “Don’t hurt him!”
“How about you tell me now?” said the big guy. “Or do you want me to see if I can get it out of this one?”
“No!” A wave of nausea went through him and he vomited what little he had left in his stomach after the last time he puked. He cried, the small wail unrecognizable to his own ears. “HERO Force. A company called HERO Force.”
The men retreated. The gauze that had offered him oblivion just moments earlier now refused to come down, the acute pain in every part of his body fully recognized by his brain. “Is Wyatt okay?” he whispered.
“Yes. He was at a friend’s house when they came. Why did they bring us here?”
He wished he didn’t know, but he understood it all too well. “Hostages. The ship’s coming into port tonight and HERO Force is going to try to stop them. We’re their insurance policy.”
“Let’s just hope we get to go home when this is all over.”
He was feeling drunk, whether from his body’s natural painkillers or his altered consciousness, he didn’t know. It was a nice feeling, and it occurred to him he might be bleeding out on the floor. “I’m going to take Laney to the movies.”
“Yeah?”
“Some chick flick she’d really like. I’d do that for her. Watch a chick flick.” He could feel the veil settling over him again and welcomed its protection. “Maybe some flowers,” he mumbled, sinking into sleep.
25
Moto and Razorback were dressed in black tactical gear, with bullet-proof vests, night-vision goggles, and a full pack of supplies and ammunition. Trace wore scuba gear, an underwater defense gun by his side, and a pack that included underwater demolition explosives. He would go into the water upstream from the warehouse and berth, while the men would approach on foot through the darkness.
Sloan and Champion were already there and had alerted Razorback when they saw activity at the warehouse hours earlier, though they hadn’t gotten a good visual on exactly who’d gone inside, and no one had come out.
It was dusk when Moto and the men arrived, joining Sloan and Champion in a field of shipping containers stacked three high with a decent view of the berth. In the distance, a haze of fog hovered over the river, a testament to the unseasonably cool night.
Sloan held what looked like a video game controller with a small screen. “The ship’s about halfway down the river. ETA, fifteen minutes out.”
Razorback peered at the image on the screen. “Don’t go crashing that drone into the river like the last one. Shit cost me an arm and a leg.”
“It was the ocean, and it wasn’t my fault.”
“Whatever. Just keep it in the air, frogman. How many men you got on the ship?”
“Looks like three, just like last time,” said Sloan.
“Plus two or three in the warehouse,” said Moto. “Plus however many show up when the boat gets here. No sign of DeRegina?”
Sloan shook his head. “Negative.”
Moto grunted. “Fucker was probably only here last time to gloat.”
“Remember the plan,” said Razorback, and Moto stifled an eye roll. They’d already been over this time and again, but after the fiasco last time, he knew Razorback wanted to get it right. “As soon as the ship drops anchor, Trace will set the charges on the hull. Sloan and Champion breach the warehouse with tear gas and subdue any tangos on premises. Cuff ’em, don’t kill ’em if you can avoid it.”
“Roger that,” said Sloan.
“The rest of us will take the ship, with Trace watching the water for anyone who tries to get away. If we get more company between now and then, we play whack-a-mole until they’re no longer a threat. We have the sniper rifle if we need it. Worst-case scenario, if we lose the upper hand, we have Trace in the water and the ship wired to explode. The threat of losing the whole cargo is our get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Moto didn’t like the odds. Sure, they had a strong offense, but they had no idea what they were up against. Calling the feds was out of the question, but he still didn’t like this uncertainty.
“Get your comm sets and your NVGs on,” said Razorback.
“Ten minutes out,” said Sloan. “Bringing the drone back to the landing zone on autopilot.” He turned off the screen and placed the control in his pack. “Ready?” he asked Champion.
“As I’ll ever be.” Champion nodded to Razorback and Moto. “Kick some ass, gentlemen.” They disappeared into the darkness.
