KIA. Killed in action. Harvard could see P.J.’s shock reflected in her eyes as she gazed at him. His tension rose. If they’d stumbled into a war zone, he wanted her out of here. He wanted her on the Irvin and heading far away, as fast as the ship could move.
Unless…
“Captain, could it be nothing more than an elaborate setup?” Harvard’s brain had slipped into pre-combat mode, moving at lightning speed, searching for an explanation, trying to make sense of the situation. And the first thing to do was to prove that this situation was indeed real. Once he did that, then he’d start figuring out how the hell he was going to get P.J. to safety. “I wouldn’t put it past the Marines to try to freak us out with fake bodies, fake blood…”
“It’s real, H.” Joe Cat’s voice left no room for doubt. “One of ’em crawled to the tree line before he died. He’s not just pretending to be dead. This is a very real, very dead man. Whatever went down here probably happened during the night. The body’s stone cold.”
Blue’s voice cut in. “Captain, I got Admiral Stonegate on the phone, breathing down my neck. I’m calling y’all back to the ship. Code eighty-six, boys and girls. Dead bodies—in particular dead Marines—aren’t part of this training scenario. Come on in, and let’s regroup and—”
“I’ve got movement and signs of life inside the main building,” Joe Cat interrupted. “Lucky’s moving closer to see if any of our missing jarheads are being held inside. We’re gonna try to ID exactly who and how many are holding ’em.”
“Probably not Kim’s men,” Crash volunteered. Over Harvard’s headset, his voice sounded quiet and matter-of-fact. You couldn’t tell that the man was moving at a near run up the mountain. “They wouldn’t leave their own dead out at the mercy of the flies and vultures.”
“If not Kim’s men, then whose?” Harvard asked, watching P.J. work to keep up with Crash. He was well aware that he was disobeying Blue’s direct order. And he was taking P.J. in the wrong direction. He should be leading her down this mountain, not up it. Not farther away from the ocean and the safety of the USS Irvin.
But until he knew for damn sure the captain and Lucky were safe, he couldn’t retreat.
“The largest of the rival groups is run by John Sherman, an American expatriate and former Green Beret,” Crash said.
“Captain, I know you want to locate the Marines,” Blue’s voice cut in. “I know you don’t want to leave them stranded, but—”
“Lucky’s signaling,” Cat interrupted. “No sign of the Marines. Looks like there’s a dozen tangos inside the structure and—”
Harvard heard what sounded like the beginning of an explosion. It was instantly muted, their ears protected by a gating device on one of the high-quality microphones. But whose microphone?
He heard Joe Cat swear, sharply, succinctly. “We’ve triggered a booby trap,” the captain reported. “Greene’s injured—and we’ve attracted a whole hell of a lot of attention.”
Crash picked up the pace. They were running full speed now, but it still wasn’t fast enough. The voices over Harvard’s headset began to blur.
The sound of gunfire. Joe Cat shouting, trying to pull the injured fink to safety. P.J.’s breath coming in sobs as she fought to keep up, as they moved at a dead run through the jungle. Lucky’s voice, tight with pain, reporting he’d been hit. Crash’s quiet reminder that although they only had rifles that fired paint balls, they should aim for the enemies’ eyes.
Joe Cat again—his captain, his friend—ordering Lucky to take Greene and head down the mountain while he stayed behind and held at least a dozen hostile soldiers at bay with a weapon that didn’t fire real bullets.
Harvard added his voice to the chaos. “Joe, hang on—can you hang on? We’re three minutes away!” But what was he saying? The captain had no real ammunition, and neither did they. They were charging to the rescue, an impotent, ridiculous cavalry, unable to defend themselves, let alone save anyone else.
But then Joe Cat was talking directly to him. His unmistakable New York accent cut through the noise, calm and clear, as if he weren’t staring down his own death. “H., I’m counting on you and Crash to intercept Lucky and Greene and to get everyone back to the ship. Tell Ronnie I love her and that…I’m sorry. This was just supposed to be a training op.”
“Joe, damn it, just hang on!”
But Harvard’s voice was lost in the sound of gunfire, the sound of shouting, voices yelling in a language he didn’t comprehend.
Then he heard the captain’s voice, thick with pain but still defiant, instructing his attackers to attempt the anatomically impossible.
And then, as if someone had taken Joe Cat’s headset and microphone and snapped it into two, there was silence.
Lucky’s leg was broken.
P.J. was no nurse, but it was obvious the SEAL’s leg was completely and thoroughly broken. He’d been hit by a bullet that had torn through the fleshy part of his thigh, and he’d stumbled. The fall had snapped his lower leg, right above the ankle. His face was white and drawn, but the tears in his eyes had nothing to do with his own pain.
He was certain that the Alpha Squad’s captain was dead.
“I saw him go down, H.,” he told Harvard, who was working methodically to patch up both Lucky and Greg Greene. Greg’s hands and arms were severely burned from a blast that had managed to lift him up and throw him ten yards without tearing him open. It was a miracle the man was alive at all.
“I looked back,” Lucky continued, “and I saw Cat take a direct shot to the chest. I’m telling you, there’s no way he could’ve survived.”
Harvard spoke into his lip mike. “What’s the word on that ambulance? Farber, you still there?”
But it was Blue’s voice that came through the static. “Senior Chief, I’m sorry, an ambulance is not coming. You’re going to have to get Lucky and Greene down the mountain on your own.”
Harvard came the closest to losing it that P.J. had seen since this mess had started. “Damn it, McCoy, what the hell are you still doing there? Get moving, Lieutenant! Get off that toy boat and get your butt onto this island. I need you here to get Cat out of there!”
Blue sounded as if he were talking through tightly clenched teeth. “The local government has declared a state of emergency. All U.S. troops and officials have been ordered off the island, ASAP. Daryl, I am unable to leave this ship. And I’m forced to issue an order telling you that you must comply with the government’s request.”
Harvard laughed, but it was deadly. There was no humor in it at all. “Like hell I will.”
“It’s an order, Senior Chief.” Blue’s voice sounded strained. “Admiral Stonegate is here. Would you like to hear it from him?”
“With all due respect, Admiral Stonegate can go to hell. I’m not leaving without the captain.”
Harvard was serious. P.J. had never seen him more serious. He was going to go in after Joe Catalanotto, and he was going to die, as well. She put her hand on his arm. “Daryl, Lucky saw Joe get killed.” Her voice shook.
She didn’t want it to be true. She couldn’t imagine the captain dead, all the vibrance and humor and light drained out of the man. But Lucky saw him fall.
“No, he didn’t.” Her touch was meant to comfort, but Harvard was the one who comforted her by placing his hand over hers and squeezing tightly. “He saw the captain get hit. Joe Cat is still alive. I heard him speak to the soldiers who took him prisoner. I heard his voice before they cut his radio connection.”
“You wanted to hear his voice.”
“P.J., I know he’s alive.”
He was looking at her with so much fire in his eyes. He believed what he was saying, that much was clear. P.J. nodded. “Okay. Okay. What are we going to do about it?”
Harvard released her hand. “You’re going back to the Irvin with Lucky and Greene. Crash will take you there.”
She stared at him. “And what? You’re going to go in after Joe all by yourself?”
“Ye
s.”
“No.” Blue’s voice cut in. “Harvard, that’s insanity. You need a team backing you up.”
“Part of my team’s injured. Part’s pinned down by hostile forces, and part’s pinned down just as securely by friendly forces. I don’t have a lot to work with here, Lieutenant. Wes, you still got batteries? You still listening in?”
“Affirmative,” Wesley whispered from his hiding place dead in the center of the rival army’s camp.
“What are your chances of breaking free come nightfall?” Harvard asked him.
“Next to none. There’re guards posted on all sides of this structure,” Wes breathed. “Unless this entire army packs it in and moves out, there’s no way we’re getting out of here any time soon.”
P.J.’s heart was in her throat as she watched Harvard pace. She didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she did know one thing for sure. There was no way she was going to walk away and leave him here. No way.
“Senior Chief, I have to tell you again to bring the wounded and get back to this ship,” Blue said. “I have to tell you—we have no choice in this.”
“What is this all about?” P.J. asked Blue. “What’s happening? Why the state of emergency?”
“The missing Marines turned up at the U.S. Embassy about fifteen minutes ago,” he told her. “Most were wounded. Two are still missing and presumed dead. They say they were ambushed late last night. They were taken prisoner, but they managed to evade their captors and make it down to the city.
“They’re saying the men who attacked them are soldiers in John Sherman’s private army. This is a drug war. If Joe is dead, he was killed as a result of a territorial dispute between two heroin dealers.” His voice cracked, and he stopped for a moment, taking deep breaths before he went on.
“So we’ve got John Sherman up north, and this other army—the private forces of Sherman’s rival, Kim—mobilizing. They’re moving in Sherman’s direction, as Bobby and Wes have seen, up close and personal. Both factions are armed to the teeth, and the government is staring down the throat of a full-fledged civil war. Their method of dealing with the situation is to kick all the Americans out of the country. So here we are. I’m stuck on this damn ship. Short of jumping over the side and swimming for shore, I cannot help you, H. I have to tell you—bring the rest of the team and come back in.”
That was the third time Blue had said those words, I have to tell you. He was ordering them to come in because he had to. But he didn’t want them to. He didn’t want Harvard to return without the captain any more than Harvard did.
P.J. looked around, realizing suddenly that Crash was nowhere to be seen.
She turned off her lip mike and gestured for Harvard to do the same. He did, turning toward her, already guessing her question.
“He went to the encampment,” he told her. “I asked him to go—to see if Joe really is alive.”
P.J. held his gaze, feeling his pain, feeling her eyes fill with tears. “If Joe’s dead,” she said quietly, “we go back to the ship, okay?”
Harvard didn’t nod. He didn’t acknowledge her words in any way. He reached out and pushed an escaped strand of hair from her face.
“Please, Daryl,” she said. “If he’s dead, getting yourself killed won’t bring him back.”
“He’s not dead.” Crash materialized beside them, his microphone also turned off.
P.J. jumped, but Harvard was not surprised, as if he had some sixth sense that had told him the other SEAL had been approaching.
Harvard nodded at Hawken’s news, as if he’d already known it. And he had, P.J. realized. He’d been adamant that Joe was still alive—and so the captain was. But for how long?
Crash turned on his microphone and pulled it to his mouth. “Captain Catalanotto’s alive,” he told Blue and the others on the ship without ceremony. “His injuries are extensive, though. From what I could see, he was hit at least twice, once in the leg and once in the upper chest or shoulder—I’m not certain which. There was a lot of blood. I wasn’t close enough to see clearly. He was unable to walk—he was on a stretcher, and he was being transported north, via truck. My bet is he has been taken to Sherman’s headquarters, about five kilometers up the mountain.”
There was silence from the Irvin, and P.J. knew they’d temporarily turned off the radio. She could imagine Blue’s heated discussion with the top brass and diplomats who cared more about the U.S.’s wobbly relationship with this little country than they did about a SEAL captain’s life.
Harvard gestured to Crash to turn off his microphone.
“Tell me about Sherman’s HQ,” he demanded.
“It’s a relatively modern structure,” Hawken told him. “A former warehouse that was converted into a high-level security compound. I’ve been inside several times—but only because I was invited and let in through the front door. There are only a few places the captain could be inside the building. There’re several hospital rooms—one in the northeast corner, ground floor, another more toward the front of the east side of the building.” He met Harvard’s eyes somberly. “They may well have denied him medical care and put him in one of the holding cells in the sub-basement.”
“So how do I get in?” Harvard asked.
“Not easily,” Crash told him. “John Sherman’s a former Green Beret. He built this place to keep unwanted visitors out. There are no windows and only two doors—both heavily guarded. The only possibility might be access through an air duct system that vents on the west side of the building, up by the roof. I tried accessing the building that way, back about six years ago, and the ducts got really narrow about ten feet in. I was afraid I’d get stuck, so I pulled back. I don’t know if getting inside that way is an option for you, Senior Chief. You’ve got forty or fifty pounds on me. Of course, it was six years ago. Sherman may have replaced the system since then.”
“I bet I would fit.”
Both men looked at P.J. as if they’d forgotten she was there.
“No,” Harvard said. “Uh-uh. You’re going back to the ship with Lucky and Greene.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? I’m not wounded.”
“That’s right. And you’re going to stay not wounded. There are real bullets in those weapons, P.J.”
“I’ve faced real bullets before,” she told him. “I’ve been a field agent for three years, Daryl. Come on. You know this.”
“Crash needs you to help get Lucky and Greene to the ship.”
She kept her voice calm. “Crash doesn’t need me—you need me.”
Harvard’s face was taut with tension. “The only thing I need right now is to go into Sherman’s headquarters and bring out my captain.”
P.J. turned to face Crash. “Will I fit through the air ducts?”
He was silent, considering, measuring her with his odd blue eyes. “Yes,” he finally said. “You will.”
She turned to Harvard. “You need me.”
“Maybe. But more than I need your help, I need to know you’re safe.” He turned away, silently telling her that this conversation was over.
But P.J. wouldn’t let herself be dismissed. “Daryl, you don’t have a lot of choices here. I know I can—”
“No,” he said tightly. “I choose no. You’re going back to the ship.”
P.J. felt sick to her stomach. All those things he’d said to his sister, to his family, to her—they weren’t really true. He didn’t really believe she was his equal. He didn’t really think she could hold her own. “I see.” Her voice wobbled with anger and disappointment. “Excuse me. My fault. Obviously, I’ve mistaken you for someone else—someone stronger. Someone smarter. Someone who actually walks their talk—”
Harvard imploded. His voice got softer, but it shook with intensity. “Damn it, I can’t change the way I feel!” He reached for her, pulling her close, enveloping her tightly in his arms, uncaring of Lucky’s and Greene’s curious eyes. “You matter too much to me, P.J.,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry, baby, I k
now you think I’m letting you down.” He pulled away to look into her eyes, to touch her face. “I care too much.”
P.J. could feel tears flooding her eyes. Oh, God, she couldn’t cry. She never cried. She refused to cry. She fiercely blinked her tears back. This wasn’t just about Harvard’s inability to see her as an equal. This was more important than that. This was about his survival.
“I care, too,” she told him, praying she could make him understand. “And if you try to do this alone, you’re going to die.”
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “That’s a possibility.”
“No. It’s more than a possibility. It’s a certainty. Without me, you don’t stand a chance of getting into that building undetected.”
He was gazing at her as if he were memorizing her face for all eternity. “You don’t know what a SEAL can do when he puts his mind to it.”
“You’ve got to let me help you.”
Blue’s voice came on over their headsets. He sounded strangled. “There is no change in orders. Repeat, no change. Senior Chief, unless you are pinned down like Bob and Wes, and are unable to move, you must return to the ship. Do you copy what I’m saying?”
Harvard flipped on his microphone. “I read you loud and clear, Lieutenant.” He turned it off again, still holding P.J.’s gaze. “You’re going with Crash.” He touched her cheek one last time before he pulled away from her. “It’s time for you to get out of here.”
“No,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I’m sorry, but I’m staying.”
Harvard seemed to expand about six inches, and his eyes grew arctic cold. “This is not a matter of what you want or what you think is best. I’m giving you a direct order. If you disobey—”
P.J. laughed in his face. “You’re a fine one to talk about disobeying direct orders. Look, if you can’t handle this, maybe you should be the one who returns to the ship with Lucky and Greene. Maybe Crash is man enough to let me help him get Joe out of there.”
Tall, Dark, and Dangerous Part 2 Page 19
