Saint

by Zoe Dawson

  Saint

  SEAL Team Alpha

  Zoe Dawson

  Saint

  Copyright © 2021 by Karen Alarie

  Cover Art © Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Squad Glossary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  OTHER TITLES BY ZOE DAWSON

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my beta readers, reviewers and editor for helping with this book, especially Lisa Fournier and William Passmore for their excellent help. As always, you guys are the best.

  Nothing is impossible in this world. Firm determination, it is said, can move heaven and earth.

  Tsumetomo Yamamoto

  Both heaven and hell are within us.

  Mahatma Gandhi

  Squad Glossary

  Ruckus’s Squad – Tier 2 Operators

  Books 1-8

  Lieutenant Ruckus “Bowie” Cooper

  Ashe “Kid Chaos” Wilder

  Wes “Cowboy” McGraw

  Thorn “Tank” Hunt – MWDs: Echo and Bronte

  Ocean “Blue” Beckett

  Arlo “Scarecrow” Porter

  Orion “Wicked” Cross

  Jude “Hollywood” Lock

  Fast Lane’s Squad

  Books 9-16

  Ryuu “Dragon” Shannon

  Errol “Pitbull” Ballentine

  Atticus “Hemingway” Sinclair

  Max “Mad Max” Keegan – MWD: Juggernaut, (Jugs)

  Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham

  Neo “2-Stroke” Teller

  Zach “Saint” Bartholomew

  Lieutenant Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon

  Rock’s Squad

  Books 17-24

  Lieutenant Adrian “Rock” Lane (Previous CO)

  Milo “Professor” Prescott

  Lieutenant Elias “Joker” Jackman (Current CO)

  Zephirin “Gator” LaBauve

  Callen “Blitz” Berenger

  Andrew (Drew) “D-Day” Nolan

  Mateo “Zorro” Martinez

  Sam “Buck” Buckard

  Dakota “Bear” Locklear – MWD: Flint

  Iceman’s Squad – Tier 1 Operators

  Books 1-8

  Senior Petty Officer Christopher (Kit) “Iceman” Snow

  Boyce “Preacher” Carmichael

  Remington “GQ” Nash

  Jayesh “Kodiak” Lyta

  Archer “Hazard” Booth

  Cooper (Skully) “Skull” Sullivan – MWD: Bonesaw (Bones)

  Carter “Boomer” Findley

  Kelly “Breakneck” Gatlin

  To all the Tier 1 operators who work in the shadows to keep us safe. This one is for you.

  1

  Off the Coast of Somalia

  The first delicate flicks of sunlight danced off the water as the heavy churning of engines pounded in Zach “Saint” Bartholomew’s head.

  He and the team had flown from Camp Lemonnier, a United States Naval Expeditionary Base adjacent to Djibouti-Ambouli International Airport in Djibouti City. The Combined Joint Task Force—Horn of Africa, U.S. Africa Command, made Djibouti City its home. The Republic of Djibouti was part of the African Union, United Nations, Non-Aligned Movement, Organization of Islamic Cooperation and Arab League, along with maintaining close ties to the governments of Somalia, Ethiopia, France and the United States. The Republic was a strategic location for many foreign governments to maintain their presence, as it was close to Bab-el-Mandeb Strait that separated the Gulf of Aden from the Red Sea, which controlled access to the Suez Canal.

  He peered out the side window of the Black Hawk chopper to the Indian Ocean. Saudi Arabia to the north and Africa’s landmass to the east were nothing but brown blobs. Below him was the watery domain of pirates who had only recently started more attacks, alarming the chain of command all the way to the White House.

  The Somali Coast, as long as the East Coast of the United States, was one lengthy ribbon of white sand against aqua water and coral beds. A beautiful sight in the midst of ugly human suffering, a failed state that existed with an ineffective government, famine, disease, piracy, militant extremism, and frequent external intervention.

  With Somalia in a civil war and the Somali Navy disbanded, illegal fishing by foreign vessels spiraled out of control and pushed the Somali people into extreme poverty. Desperate for food and unable to compete with the larger, heavily armed boats, local fishermen banded together to fight for their right to fish the waters. By banding together and using small boats, they had held some larger boats and crews for ransom. Unfortunately, it became so lucrative, it ran rampant. There was a crackdown, but piracy was never eradicated.

  In tough times desperate people did desperate things.

  Like him.

  Saint was desperate to rescue Special Agent Aella Mikos.

  Mogadishu was under siege and had been since troops had been pulled. Special Operations were being conducted by the US out of the Mogadishu Airport, but even the Americans were in an untenable situation, as there were signs Al-Shabab were planning to launch an attack against the meager Somali forces. Their team was hoping to get in and get Aella out before that happened.

  Someone shook his arm, and he turned his face away from the view to shout, “What?”

  “Are you all right, man?” Hemingway asked, his voice tinny through the mic.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I called your name a couple of times, and you didn’t answer.”

  “I was focused on the mission,” Saint lied. He was focused on Aella and what she could possibly be going through on the ground, in the clutches of Axmed Omar, one of the warlords who had been rumored to be aiding Al-Shabab in reclaiming the city. His stronghold in the eastern part of the city was already a hotbed of rebel activity. There had been several crackdowns, but Al-Shabab were like rats, scurrying right back after the troops were gone.

  He felt it in the air and across his shoulders. There was something amassing, something waiting and watching, ready and willing to give everything.

  What that force didn’t comprehend was that Navy SEALs stood firmly between them and their target. The SEALs would go beyond everything to secure that objective.

  For a second, his fear for Aella washed over him. Anger quickly smothered it. He couldn’t do that, let his fear for her safety affect him. There was only one thing on his mind. Find Aella.

  There was a small—very small—window of opportunity to free her, and Saint was impatient to get to the ground and move out.

  He swore he could feel the ghosts of two Black Hawks that not only haunted the city, but the minds and hearts of the American people. Americans had died here to fight tyranny and injustice as a populace s
tarved for the edicts of war. Aella was part of that fight, and they were here for the same reasons.

  As the chopper banked, he caught a glimpse of the eastern section of the city where their mission waited. Where she waited.

  Somewhere…inside that cesspool, Aella fought for her life.

  He had no intentions of letting her down.

  The chopper headed straight toward the western side of the city where the spec ops base was located at the airport. The chopper dipped as it came in low over the airport outbuildings until it touched down on the helipad.

  As soon as the bird was down, they all started to move. Eight men, dressed in camouflage, bristling with gear and automatic weapons. A force of eight.

  The heat hit him like a blanket, but he’d been in worse situations, even wetter and hotter heat.

  He closed his eyes for a moment before stepping out onto the tarmac. He could almost smell her. Almost taste her on his mouth still. God, the woman could kiss. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a woman with such intensity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept with a woman with Aella’s power.

  Those other women had faded away.

  An aide greeted his CO, Fast Lane, and they followed the man into a building and a briefing room. As they settled into their chairs, a woman came into the room. CIA. She went to the front. She was a slim, striking brunette with brown eyes and a take-no-prisoners attitude.

  “Hello. I’m Rose Sinema. We’ve got what we believe is a solid location on Agent Mikos.”

  He didn’t like the uncertainty in her voice. What was she not telling them?

  “But?” Saint piped up.

  “Omar has a habit of moving his captives. She was there eight hours ago.” She pushed a button and a building popped up on the screen. There was a woman flanked by four men, a black bag over her head being escorted into an apartment complex. Determination rippled through him as he straightened.

  “That’s her,” he confirmed, and Rose turned to look at him, her eyes dark and haunted. He could only imagine what she’d seen over here.

  Rose nodded. “She’s going into a fight. Omar’s been having them regularly since she was captured. He is known for being brutal.”

  Saint’s gut clenched, memories of her flooding him. She had been as relentless as a SEAL in pursuit of their two missing teammates back in Bosnia—Neo “2-Stroke” Teller, his teammate, and Chrysanthe Steele, their CIA liaison officer.

  He wasn’t here for a romantic interlude or to second guess his decisions. When he left her in Washington at Walter Reed with a broken leg from their last mission, he’d known she wasn’t the type of woman he was destined to marry. He needed a wife that shared his values, who was strong enough to hold down the house and take care of their family while he saved the world. He wanted—no, needed—someone who’d be there when he returned from a mission, not one focused on her career. It’s too bad his heart didn’t understand that—and that when he allowed himself to think of the future, she was the star of his daydreams.

  Concern poured through him again, part of him ached to know a woman as fast on her feet as Aella, but she was an HVT, and they were her only hope.

  “Get some rest,” Rose said. “You’ll be going in as soon as it’s nightfall.”

  They filtered out but Fast Lane snagged his shoulder. “I want a word with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Saint said as Hemingway looked at him sheepishly, then disappeared through the door. He swore softly to himself.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m ready to go, LT.” It was all Saint was willing to say. Concealing his feelings for Aella was all he could do. If Fast Lane knew that there was nothing that was going to hold him back from going after her, he might bench him. Reckless behavior from one of his teammates wouldn’t be tolerated. There were no lone wolves in the Teams.

  But Saint couldn’t accept defeat here.

  Fast Lane eyed him with his special leadership voodoo, his face like granite, his eyes flinty. “That’s not what I asked.” He crowded Saint into a corner. “Is it?”

  “No, sir.” Saint stood a little straighter, focused a little harder. Fast Lane wore his authority like he wore his body armor. He brooked no disagreements, no secondary agendas with a no-questions-asked mindset.

  Fast Lane’s eyes narrowed, and his scrutiny was like being that mouse with a hawk’s predatory gaze piercing through everything. “This woman means something to you. That type of regard tends to make a man lose his focus on what’s priority. Tell me you understand that this mission is governed by my orders, not yours. You and the men on this team are my responsibility. Is that all clear, Petty Officer Bartholomew?”

  “Crystal, sir.”

  Fast Lane frowned. Damn the man was much too perceptive for Saint’s good. “This is still the Navy, there is still a chain of command. Don’t break it.”

  Saint took a soft breath. “I won’t, sir.” Didn’t mean he wouldn’t bend it and stretch it to the maximum while he avoided crossing the line. But if he had to choose? If Aella’s life was on the line? He didn’t know what he would do in that situation. They’d all gotten a sharp reminder of the UCMJ when Dean Teller, 2-Stroke’s brother, had disobeyed orders and now he was out of the Navy.

  Fast Lane rubbed the back of his neck and frowned deeper. “Doesn’t mean I’m not open to alternatives as long as I approve that alternative. We all know things can get hairy in the field. The best laid plans are just that—plans—until they’re executed.”

  “You feel it, too.”

  Fast Lane looked out the small window. “Yeah, something is brewing here. The tension in the air is making me twitch. The history of this place haunts us all.” He looked toward the door, inclining his head. “Get out of here, get some sleep and then grub.”

  Saint didn’t hesitate.

  He recognized his vulnerability where Aella was concerned. Apparently, his LT recognized it too no matter how much Saint thought he had concealed it.

  None of it mattered. Her life was on the line.

  He had no intention of failing.

  Fast Lane watched Saint exit the building and head toward the barracks they were assigned. Something was sticking in his craw, and it had everything to do with his medic and Special Agent Aella Mikos. He didn’t need anything more. Aella had proved her mettle in spades. He was keen on rescuing her because, as far as he was concerned, she’d become part of the team.

  And, once again, Zasha Vasiliev and her boyfriend, Darko Stjepanić, had a hand in a mission his team was executing.

  Or maybe it was the mission briefing he’d received that had him twisted up. Anytime Zasha and Darko were involved, a clusterfuck was imminent. What did they want with Somalia? Why were they here? Who had they pledged their black souls to?

  It still worried him that Zasha and Darko had close ties to Muhammad Angar Said.

  He was a forty-five-year-old most wanted terrorist in the world right now. Pakistani, he was born in the Waziristan area, a hotbed of tribal rebellion and terrorism. He was the leader of a fledgling organization called Al’Irada which translated to The Will. A Bin Laden 2.0 and extremely dangerous.

  They might not have heard much from the terrorist leader, but that didn’t mean he had gone away. Angar Said had to be especially angry with the interference from his team, namely Oliver “Artful Dodger” Graham and his fiancée, CIA Officer Anna Keegan. They had completely foiled Angar Said’s five-pronged plan to attack the West and its allies.

  Zasha had been in pursuit of Fast Lane for a long time. She’d kidnapped, injured and tortured people close to him. The last time she had been posing as CIA agent Kelly Sparks, whom Zasha had murdered in her own home.

  The CIA was trying to plug that hole. He was all right with his team being part of the solution. But he’d rather fight an enemy he could predict than deal with the assets of traitors. Former CIA spooks with too much knowledge and too many places to hide were impossible to trace.

  He walked thr
ough the doors and started across the tarmac. As he approached the living quarters, he heard his name.

  “Ford?”

  He whipped around. He’d know that voice anywhere. He’d left his blood and sweat on all seven continents for Uncle Sam, but there was only one place where he’d lost his heart, and he’d never gotten it back.

  He dragged in a deep breath. With this on-the-razor’s-edge op he was definitely not going to go there now.

  “Solace,” he said, cursing himself for the involuntary way his voice dropped an octave. Chief Warrant Officer 3 and badass Night Stalker helicopter pilot Solace Eden Mitchell, formerly Nixon. His ex-wife.

  She flew helicopters for the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, a special operations force of the United States Army and manhandled thousands of pounds of machinery under the most harrowing circumstances, usually in the deepest, darkest night.

  But her professional life aside, she was a delicate woman with curves to spare in her flight suit. She had a slightly upturned nose, long lashes, her dark hair pulled back into a severe bun at her nape. Her eyes were a clear, defined, and vibrant green.

  When it was clear she realized it was him, there was a definite level of tension stiffening her up, the old fight-or-flight reaction. They’d done their share of fighting mostly because he was a contrary bastard, and he’d wanted it his way. What he got was major push-back, and he ended up losing the love of his life. Maybe it was his youth, or his stubbornness, or maybe it was just plain, gut-wrenching fear of losing her.