by Alex Ander
Ten minutes later, Hardy, Cruz and Charity were dressed in black tactical clothing and boots. The team was short one duffle bag. Dahlia insisted Cruz and Charity each take a duffle bag, while she planned to wear Cruz’s clothes—blue jeans, black blouse, black knee-length blazer. She also had on Cruz’s chunky one-inch high heels. While she would have preferred to have something more appropriate on her feet, she could deal with the shoes.
The weapons available to them were three sound-suppressed MP5 rifles, chambered in nine millimeter, three Glock 22’s and the pistols they were carrying. Hardy gave Charity a rifle and a Glock. Dahlia and Cruz had their Walther PPQ M2’s from New York. Hardy instructed Dahlia and Cruz to grab an MP5, while he would use his personal weapon, a Walther PPQ M2. Retrieving the sound suppressor for his pistol, he attached it to the barrel and re-holstered the weapon, after verifying its readiness. When everyone was fully outfitted, they reviewed the plan one more time before climbing into the SUV and driving toward the forward point.
Chapter 36: Move Out
8:46 p.m.
For the past fifteen minutes, Hardy had stood at the corner of the first warehouse, peering at the shipping vessel docked about one hundred meters away, while his team remained out of sight by the SUV. Parts of the ship had light pouring from it, while the entryway to the ship was dark. The boarding ramp was in position. No traffic could be seen coming or going. The entire dock was absent of people. The quietness gave Hardy an eerie feeling. Cliché as it was, the thought that came to his mind was, too quiet.
Hardy spun to his right and pulled the Vortex Solo monocular away from his eye. Striding to the SUV, he stowed the monocular in a pouch on his tactical vest. Cruz was the first one to quiz him.
“How does it look?” She was dressed in black tactical clothing, including black boots and a black bulletproof vest. Her MP5 rifle was slung and she was resting her arms on the weapon.
“It’s quiet. There’s no one on the dock and no one in sight on the ship.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not there,” said Dahlia. She had a bulletproof vest on over her clothing. A black knee-length blazer covered the vest. Her weapon was slung, while she made last minute checks of the rifle.
“We have to assume they’re on board.” His eyes encompassed Cruz and Dahlia. “You two are Bravo team. Cruz, you’re in charge.” He moved his thumb back and forth between Charity and him. “We’re Alpha team. I’m taking point. Dahlia, you bring up the rear of the column.” He glanced at each of them. None of them has an established call sign. “We’ll use our names for ID purposes—Cruz, Dahlia, Cherry,” he pointed to himself, “and Shepherd. Let’s keep our communications to a minimum. Got it?”
“Copy that.”
“Roger that.”
Charity nodded.
Slipping his fingers inside the bulletproof vest below Charity’s neck, Hardy pulled her closer. “I hope you’re not bashful, Cherry, because I want your lips glued to my butt. Do you understand?”
Charity nodded her head, knowing he was speaking in the figurative sense.
“I mean it. When we get in there, I want you close at all times.” He swung his head to the right to include the other women. “I don’t want anything to happen to any of you on this mission. We get in…we get Abby…And, we get the hell off that ship. Abigail’s safety, and the safety of this team, is our primary focus. We can call in support and deal with those bastards later. Are there any questions?” Dahlia and Charity shook their heads, but Cruz opened her mouth to speak.
“Have you given any thought to what would happen if Abby is not on that ship?”
“What do you mean?”
“That ship is the sovereign property of the government of Egypt. If we storm it and don’t find anyone but Egyptian nationals, we could create an international incident. If we shoot any of them,” Cruz closed her eyes and shook her head several times, “I can’t imagine the fallout from that.”
Hardy had been thinking about the consequences as soon as he learned of Egypt’s possible involvement in the kidnapping. He was not a politician. He had proven that in the Situation Room in D.C. No, Hardy was a soldier, who put the mission above his personal needs. Risking his career, his freedom, his life to save Abigail, a friend, fell within both his patriotic and personal jurisdiction. He had no right, however, to expect his teammates to share his sense of duty and endanger their futures. “If Abby’s not on that ship and this whole thing goes sideways, I’m ready to accept the consequences.” He took a hard look at each woman. “If anyone does not want to go with me, I understand and I won’t hold it against—”
Dahlia stopped him. “What the hell are you talking about? You woke me from a sound sleep in New York to tell me you need my help. Then, you make me fly to Denver and Los Angeles, where we knock over an antique store. If you think I’m going to walk away now, when we’re so close to finding this girl,” she twirled her index finger at the side of her head, “you’re not firing on all cylinders, Hardy.” She expelled a breath of air and shook her head.
The corner of Cruz’s mouth curled upward into a half-grin. “My words may not be as eloquent as Dahlia’s, but…I’m going where you’re going.”
Charity never wavered. “I told you before. I’m seeing this through to the end.”
Hardy smiled and felt a lump growing in his throat. He wanted to express his gratitude for their devotion, but the compressed timetable of the mission did not allow for it. He did allow himself a few moments to regard each one, however. They were classy and beautiful women—intelligent, highly skilled and faithful compatriots. And, we make a damn good team. Hardy drew his pistol. “All right, let’s move out.” He took the lead with Charity behind him.
The team moved along the backside of the warehouses, until they were even with the ship’s boarding ramp. Scurrying down a narrow alley, they came to the corner of the front side of the warehouses and stopped, squatting at the corner of one building. Hardy took out his monocular and surveyed the ship one more time. There were no signs of life. He tapped the communication device in his ear. “Overwatch, this is Shepherd. Do you copy—over?”
“Shepherd, this is Overwatch. I’m reading you loud and clear—over.”
“Give me a situation report—over.”
“All is quiet,” replied the officer, watching the ship. “I saw movement near the bow ten minutes ago. Your entry point has been clear for more than an hour—over.”
“Copy that. We’re moving out. Do not engage, unless necessary. You’re our eyes first, and foremost. Do you copy—over?”
“Copy that, Shepherd—over.”
“Keep your eyes peeled. We’re moving out in five—Shepherd, over and out.” Stowing the monocular, he counted down from five and signaled to his teammates.
In single file, Hardy, Charity, Cruz and Dahlia sprinted across the dock. Hardy hit the ramp at full speed. He bounded up the ramp and closed in on the entryway to the ship. Darkness was the only thing he could see beyond the opening. Coming to the doorway, he slowed before he stopped and held up his left fist. The three women were stacked behind him. Their rifles were aimed at the ramp and their eyes were fixed on Hardy, waiting for his command. He crept closer, while retrieving his Surefire flashlight. With nothing to hide behind, there was no best way to enter. He pressed the button on his flashlight. Taking less than a second to scan the immediate area inside the ship, he shut off the light. He repeated the procedure once more before waving his team forward.
Once aboard the ship, Hardy turned left and led his team down a wide walkway toward the bow. There was light ahead. The walkway was wide enough to bring the wooden crates onto the ship. Overhead lights provided enough light to see. Coming to a large room, Hardy stopped his team before surveying the room, making sure no one was in it. He entered and signaled for Cruz and Dahlia to go wide, while he and Charity went straight. They encountered two more rooms and repeated this movement each time.
Arriving at the fourth room, Hardy halted his team.
Not as much light was coming from the room. Drawing up alongside the doorway, he could see why. Wooden crates filled most of the room on either side of the main walkway. Jackpot, thought Hardy. He signaled for Cruz and Dahlia to go left, while he and Charity would go right. Everyone knew what to look for—crate number fifty-seven with an approximate dimension of five by four by four.
Once in the room, the two teams went their separate ways and searched for the crate. Fifty-seven crates did not seem like that many; however, identifying and crossing each one off the list took a long time. The crates were jammed together in groups, resulting in aisles between each group. There were many places where someone could be hiding. Plus, the beams from their flashlights could alert someone of their presence. Hardy used the light sparingly, employing the ‘flashing’ technique, while Charity located the number. Halfway through their search, Cruz’s hushed voice came over his earpiece.
“I’ve got contact.”
Dahlia: “I’m on it. Watch my back, Cruz.”
“Copy that.”
A man in a black leather jacket and black pants had entered the room, coming from the bow of the ship. He had a lighter in his hands, trying to ignite the cigarette between his lips. An AK-47 rifle was slung around his neck and hung in front of his chest. He was engrossed in his task and never noticed the figure slinking from behind him.
Hardy and Charity stood still, their ears straining to hear the next communication. He was hoping Dahlia could take down the target without making a sound. He glanced at Charity and could see the whites of her eyes. Coming from somewhere in the room, he heard a heavy weight landing on the floor.
Dahlia had crept between two crates and hid, waiting for the man to pass. When he did, she stepped out from behind a crate and kicked him in the back of the knee, sending him into a kneeling position. The man dropped his cigarette lighter and reached for his rifle. Dahlia drove the butt of her rifle into the back of his head and he fell forward, motionless. She slung her rifle, grabbed the man by the collar and belt buckle, and dragged him out of the walkway and into a dark area of the room. “Target neutralized,” she said before re-joining Cruz.
Hardy exhaled the air he had been holding and he and Charity continued identifying the crates.
Both teams finished their searches and met up near the doorway closest the ship’s bow. Hardy’s eyes shifted back and forth from Cruz to Dahlia. “Did you find it?” They shook their heads. He stared at the floor. Has this been a wild goose chase? Were there fifty-seven crates here? He cranked his head around and peered toward the bow of the ship. I don’t want to go any deeper, if we don’t have to. There’s no telling how many men are on this ship. He focused his attention on the crates. “Let’s double back and check everything again.” Cruz and Dahlia nodded.
The teams split-up and re-traced their steps. When Hardy and Charity came to the third grouping, he stopped and examined it. Walking around the grouping, he shined his flashlight on the gaps between the crates. He stopped and motioned to Charity. Following the beam of his flashlight, her eyes opened wider and her eyebrows shot upward. Hardy extinguished his flashlight and tapped his earpiece. “Cruz, Dahlia, we found the crate.”
Chapter 37: Air Holes
“There’s another one hidden among these.” Hardy grabbed the top of the wooden frame and swung his right leg up before climbing on top of the crate. He peered over the edge and saw a container, roughly matching the size of the one listed on the manifest. “Cruz, Dahlia, watch my back. I’m going to check this out.”
Special Agent Cruz and Dahlia did as he ordered. Each one was watching a different direction down the main walkway.
Hardy got on the crate in the center of the grouping and put his ear to the top, listening. He knocked on it and waited. He knocked again. If Abigail was inside, she was not responding. He scanned the edges of the lid and discovered the top was nailed to the rest of the box. Shining his flashlight all around the sides, he saw something hopeful. There were several small holes on each of the four sides. Air holes, he thought. None of the other crates had them. That was a good sign. Hardy was confident that Abigail was inside. He needed to find a way to remove the lid. “I think she’s in here. I need something to pry off the lid; a crow bar or piece of metal…something.” He opened his Cold Steel Recon One tactical knife and managed to get the blade in the gap between the lid and the rest of the box. He pulled back, but the lid would not budge. Increasing his effort, he tried several times with no success. If he applied more force, he was going to break his knife. He heard a noise behind him.
Dahlia appeared, kneeling on one of the outer boxes. “Try this.” She handed him a bayonet. The man she had knocked unconscious had a bayonet attached to his AK-47 rifle.
Hardy used his tactical knife to create a large enough opening for the bayonet to slide into the gap. He removed his knife and began reefing on the bayonet. His body weight was on the lid, making it difficult to lift the lid. He tugged on the bayonet, while trying to shift some of his weight to the opposite side. After several heaves, he heard a creak. With each yank on the bayonet, the creaking sound grew louder. The nails were yielding to his effort.
Watching Hardy, Dahlia did not notice, when a man entered the room from the direction she had been guarding. He saw her, unslung his rifle and raised it to his shoulder. Dahlia dropped to her stomach, when the first of many bullets zipped past her and sent splinters of wood flying into the air.
Hardy was hidden from the man’s view, but he ducked and grabbed his pistol.
Dahlia got to her knees and returned fire with her MP5, sending the man diving for cover.
“Watch Hardy’s back, Dahlia. I’ll take care of him.” Cruz crossed the main walkway and disappeared down a narrow aisle.
Dahlia kept her weapon to her shoulder and scanned the area. “Copy that.” She flicked her eyes toward Hardy. “Keep going. I’ve got you covered.”
Hardy holstered his pistol and went to work prying open the lid.
Cruz moved in and around the wooden crates, searching for the man. She made her way to where the gunshots had originated, but he was not there. I feel like a mouse stuck in a maze, trying to find the cheese. Instead of covering the rest of the area, she doubled back. Coming to the other side of the room, she rounded the corner and spotted the man. He was one turn away from getting eyes on Hardy and the others. Raising her rifle, she centered his back in her red dot scope and pressed the trigger once, sending a three-round burst into his torso. She watched him arch his back and make a quarter-turn before falling on his right side. Keeping her weapon trained on him, she hurried forward and verified he was dead. “This is Cruz. Target is down and I’m coming back to you—over.” More gunshots filled the room, coming from the far corner.
“Cruz, this is Dahlia. What’s your status?” Dahlia jumped to the floor.
“I’m right here.” She came around the corner of a crate.
Dahlia whipped her head around. “We’ve got more company.” She pointed. “It’s coming from over there. You go left and I’ll—”
“Where’s Cherry?”
Dahlia glanced around the area. “I don’t know. Didn’t she go with you?”
Cruz shook her head. “I left her here…she must have gone after the shooter.” She tapped her earpiece. “Cherry, where are you?” She waited, but there was no reply. “Cherry, this is Cruz. What’s your location?”
Hardy heard the chatter. “What the hell is going on? Cruz, Dahlia, give me a situation report, now.”
Though she could not see him, Cruz turned her head in his direction. “Cherry’s not here. We think she went after the shooter.”
“Damn it.” Hardy had managed to lift one-half of the top of the crate, while squatting on the other half. He stuck his flashlight through the opening. Centered in the beam were two feet in stockings. He ran the beam further up and saw the hem of a long sweater. Abby. “Cherry, this is Hardy. Do you copy?” He wrenched on the lid, listening for a reply. Hardy was torn. He knew he h
ad Abigail within reach, but Charity was not answering his calls. Where the hell was she? He felt a responsibility to both of them, but he could not be in two places at once. If something’s happened to her, I’m going to kick her…Dahlia interrupted his thoughts.
“Cruz, you stay and help Hardy.” She unslung her rifle and propped it against a nearby crate before drawing her pistol. “He’s almost got the lid open. I’ll find Charity.” She took off in the direction of the gunshots.
Cruz got on the crate and met Hardy. Kneeling on an outside crate, the two of them leaned forward, grabbed the partially open lid and yanked. On the second pull, the lid released and sent Hardy and Cruz scrambling to keep their balance. Standing, they peered into the open box. Hardy lit it up with his flashlight.
Cruz gasped and her hand came to her mouth, while she gazed at the figure, crammed into the tight space. Her eyes panned right and her disgust turned to anger. Lying in the box and wearing a long sweater and boot socks that rose above her knee, was Abigail Conklin. She was on her left side with her knees bent, not moving. Cruz saw grocery bags filled with snack foods, paper towels and bottles of water. In one corner, there were a couple of small buckets. “Oh, dear God, she never would have survived the voyage.” Cruz waved her hand in front of her face. There was a faint acidic odor. She figured it was urine.
Hardy eased his body into the box and knelt beside Abigail. He put his fingers on either side of her neck. After a few seconds, he nodded at Cruz. “I’ve got a weak pulse.” After checking Abigail for obvious wounds and finding none, he put his right hand under her head and got closer to her. “Abby…sweetheart, it’s Hardy. Abs, can you hear me?” With his left thumb, he pushed up each eyelid. “I think she’s been drugged.” He unrolled a long length of paper towels, opened a bottle of water and soaked the towels. Using the waterlogged towels, he gave her a sponge bath. She had urinated. Her legs and the sweater were wet. He tossed the dirty wad aside, ripped off another length of paper towels and dried her legs. Tossing those towels aside, he heard Cruz.
