One Intrepid SEAL

by Elle James

  “Either way, I doubt I’ll get that meeting with Sabando. I wonder, if his brother takes over, can I meet with him instead?”

  “For the love of Mike!” Reese cursed.

  Ferrence struggled to his feet, bent over and followed Reese as she crossed the room toward the south door.

  More shots were fired, echoing off the walls. Delegates cried out and rushed for the doors, pushing Reese and Ferrence in front of them.

  Two men with guns blocked their path, pointing their weapons toward them.

  Reese pretended to trip, falling into one of the men, shoving his weapon toward the ceiling. She performed her best side kick, aiming for the other man’s hands. His weapon jettisoned out of his hands and clattered to the floor. Meanwhile, Reese fought for control of the guy pointing his weapon toward the ceiling. He elbowed her in the side of the head, knocking her earbud out. Knowing she was running out of time and the other men with weapons would start firing at her across the room, she shoved her thumbs in the man’s eyes and lifted her knee with a swift upward jerk, kneeing him in the groin. The man went down, his grip loosening on the rifle. Reese wrested it from his grip and flung it away.

  His partner lunged for Reese, but one of the delegates blocked him by swinging his briefcase up, hitting him in the nose. Blood spurted, and the gunman’s eyes watered. He went down, clutching his face in his hands.

  With nothing standing between them and the door, Reese grabbed one of the rifles from the ground and rushed forward. She shoved through the door and ran out. While the rebels focused on the delegates and the president still back in the auditorium, Reese ran for the door on the opposite side of the wall. From what the SEAL team said, it would lead to the parking garage below. Reese held the door for Ferrence. “Go down as far as you can and hide. I’m right behind you.”

  Before she could follow him, delegates shoved her out of the way, ran through the door and hurried down the stairs. Then the president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo appeared in front of her. “Who are you?” he demanded in English.

  “Does it matter? If you want to be safe, follow me,” Reese commanded.

  The president nodded and hurried down the steps after her. Reese glanced over her shoulder. The last one through the door above was the president’s brother, Lawrence Sabando.

  She knew it would mean more trouble, but she had to get these people and Ferrence to safety. She’d deal with the troublemakers later. Then the door to the auditorium slammed shut, and no more delegates emerged. Several men dressed in shabby rebel camouflage uniforms rushed toward them.

  Reese ran down the stairs, following the slower moving delegates. At the rate they were moving, the terrorists would catch up and shoot her first. And since the president was with her, she might as well have a bright red target painted on her back.

  All she’d been paid to do was keep track of Ferrence Klein, be his assistant and protect him. Had she known she’d be at the center of a national coup attempt, she might have told the Kleins where they could go with their money. But second-guessing herself wouldn’t get her out of the current situation. She had to use her brain and her fighting skills to see herself through and get Ferrence safely back to the States.

  She didn’t have time to think about Diesel and his teammates, unarmed and at the mercy of the terrorists. But she couldn’t help wondering if they got out all right, or if they were in the midst of the fighting.

  A loud crashing sound echoed down the stairwell. Voices shouted above, and someone fired shots that pinged off the concrete steps.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Reese shouted to the people in front of her.

  The people up front had reached the bottom of the staircase and spilled out into the lowest level of the parking garage. It wouldn’t take long for the gunmen to get to them. They had to find a place to hide.

  “Ferrence!” she yelled, anxious to get to him. Her job was to protect him, and she couldn’t do it with all the others in the way.

  “Over here!” Ferrence shouted. He held open a door marked with red lettering in French and English—Authorized Personnel Only.

  With nowhere else to go but being out in the open in a free-for-all coup, Reese had no choice. “Get inside! Go!” She waved at the delegates and the president as if they were children who were slow to come off the playground. No one seemed to understand the urgency but Reese and Ferrence.

  The squeal of car tires screamed off the concrete walls of the parking garage, heading lower in the building. They only had seconds to get everyone through the door and find some way of locking it behind them.

  * * *

  WHEN DIESEL HEARD Harm’s assessment of the outside situation, he’d immediately told Reese to get out. He walked up to the doors and was barred from entering by the two guards dressed in DRC uniforms. He saw no other way to get past them but to start a fight. As he balled his fists, ready to throw the first punch, gunshots rang out inside the auditorium.

  The guards turned toward the doors, weapons at the ready.

  “What’s going on in there?” Big Jake asked.

  “Shots fired inside the auditorium. I’m going in.” Diesel shoved the guards from behind, pushing them into the melee of the auditorium.

  More shots were fired from similarly dressed guards on the inside. The president of the DRC was running low to the ground, shouting orders like a football quarterback, while the delegates either lay flat on the ground or ran screaming for the doors.

  Through the chaos, Diesel had a hard time locating Reese. Then, he spotted her on the far end of the large auditorium, taking out the two guards blocking her exit. She’d done as he’d told her and made for the south exit. Good girl!

  Diesel would have cheered out loud at her skill and bravery, but bullets flew, and he had to get down or get shot. As soon as he was certain Reese and Klein made it out, Diesel backed toward the doorway he’d entered.

  “The north end of the building has been breached,” Big Jake said into Diesel’s radio headset. “I repeat, the building has been breached.”

  “We need weapons,” Buck lamented. “Without them, we’re useless.”

  “Do your best to get the delegates to safety,” Diesel said. “There are only a few gunmen in the auditorium.”

  “There are a lot more people with guns rushing the north entrance,” Harm said.

  “Get into the auditorium and block the entrances,” Diesel said, heading for the north door where he took out the gunman, and used his rifle to jam the doors shut.

  “That might mean taking out some of the DRC military guys,” Buck said.

  “Do what it takes, otherwise this event will turn into a serious international incident,” Big Jake said.

  “Roger,” Buck replied. Harm, T-Mac and Pitbull chimed in.

  A moment later the outside doors burst open, and the team stormed in. They only took a few moments to disarm the guards inside, and then they locked the doors from the inside.

  Within seconds, voices shouted from outside, and people banged on the metal doors.

  “We have to get the delegates out of here, before they try blowing the doors open,” Diesel said. “I’m going for the south exit. Pitbull, T-Mac, come with me. The rest of you, herd the dignitaries to the south exit.”

  “Where’s Reese?” Buck asked.

  “She made it out, and I’m guessing she headed down the stairs to the parking garage. I haven’t heard from her. She might have lost her comm.”

  “There were rioters pouring into the garage on the north side,” Harm said. “They were swarming the streets like ants. Without weapons, we’ll be lucky to make it out of this alive.”

  “Don’t be a Debby Downer, Harm,” Big Jake said. “We’ll make it, and these delegates will, too.”

  “Not this one,” Buck hovered over a man lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “No blood. Looks like he suffered a massive heart attack.”

  “Do what you can for those who’ve been injured,” Diesel said, “but get those
who can move up and out of here as soon as we clear a path.”

  “Where’s President Sabando?” Big Jake asked.

  Diesel’s heart sank. “He must have made it out with Reese and Klein.” Which meant he’d draw the fight to him and Reese. The rebels might not be discriminating when shooting at the president. Reese could become collateral damage.

  Diesel crossed to the south exit, took a deep breath, unlocked the door and peered out. Several terrorists dressed in ragged camouflage uniforms were crowding into the stairwell leading into the garage.

  One of them spotted Diesel and swung his rifle around too late.

  Diesel rushed across the hallway, pushed the rifle up toward the ceiling and punched the man in the throat. He fell, clutching at his shattered windpipe, gasping for air. The man behind him spun and fired off several rounds without first aiming. The bullets hit the wall. Diesel hit the shooter, knocking him backward and down the stairs, taking out two more men already on their way down. That sent them tumbling to a heap at the landing, their weapons flying to the side.

  Before they could scramble to their feet, Diesel, T-Mac and Pitbull had their rifles and were pointing them in their faces.

  Diesel left the others and continued down the steps. T-Mac and Pitbull would spend a few precious moments tying their wrists and feet with the zip ties T-Mac always kept handy.

  Diesel hurried downward, listening as he went. He could hear the squeal of tires and the sounds of footsteps pounding on the concrete floors at the upper levels, but he couldn’t hear the sounds of voices from the fleeing delegates or Reese.

  He worried he’d come the wrong way, except the rebel fighters had been on their way down, as well. They had to be after someone. From the sound of footsteps on the stairs below, there might be some of the rebels getting too close for comfort to the woman he’d made love to the night before. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Now that he’d found the feisty, former MMA fighter, he didn’t want to let her go. She was everything he could ever want in a woman—independent, strong and determined. Only a confident woman like her, familiar with the military life, stood a chance of making a relationship with a SEAL last. Perhaps he could find a way to make something between them work—if only he were given the chance.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reese rammed the pointy heel of her shoe into the doorjamb and closed the door hard, hoping to slow her pursuers. When she turned to survey the room she found herself in, she frowned. Pipes hung from the ceiling, and machines filled the room. These were the heating, air, water supply and other mechanical devices necessary to operate a huge hotel and convention center.

  In the middle of the room, Lawrence Sabando faced off with his brother, Jean-Paul, the president of the DRC.

  “If the rebellion is successful,” the president said, as he poked a finger at his brother’s chest, “you will be responsible for this country’s disastrous fall into chaos.”

  “Better than being ruled by a tyrant,” Lawrence responded. “Your time is finished as president.”

  “The country isn’t stable,” Jean-Paul argued. “Having an election will cause great unrest.”

  “We are brothers, but we must do what we must.” Lawrence held out his hand, as if to shake his brother’s.

  The president’s eyes narrowed, but he took his brother’s hand.

  Lawrence gripped his brother’s hand and shook it. “A man must do what a man must do.” Before Jean-Paul could pull his hand free, his brother twisted his free arm up behind his back and pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket.

  Reese was too far away from the two men to interfere with what was happening.

  Jean-Paul cried out, “What is this?”

  “I’m taking the country back for the people.”

  “You do not know what you are doing.” The president stood on his toes to relieve the pressure on his arm. “My army will slaughter your rebels.”

  “Not if you tell them to back down,” his brother replied.

  “I will not.”

  “Then you will die, and our people will elect a new leader.”

  Reese couldn’t believe what was happening. As if they didn’t have enough problems outside the door to the room they hid in. Inside could get just as messy. Reese had to do something before the situation spiraled out of her control. “Uh, sirs.”

  Ferrence stepped forward, closer to the two men than Reese. “Maybe we can talk this out peacefully.”

  Lawrence swung his gun toward Ferrence. “All you want is to get your hands on our minerals. You don’t care about our country.”

  “I care about getting out of this alive,” Ferrence said. “As I’m sure your brother does.”

  Reese glanced around the room at the frightened dignitaries. “Look, there are a lot of people in here,” she said. “Could you take your argument where others won’t be hurt?”

  Lawrence snorted. “Foolish woman. Other countries have hovered like vultures, preying on our natural resources, raping the lands of what is ours. The people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo deserve to be free of oppression from my brother, from the countries that would force our people into slavery, and make our children work in the mines from the day they learn to walk to the day they die. This ends now.”

  A shot rang out.

  Reese dropped to the ground. Only, the sound came from behind them. Pounding sounded on the door, and then the door burst open, her shoe having done little to keep the rebels out.

  Three men rushed in, pointing rifles at the dignitaries huddled in a corner.

  Lawrence said something in Lingala and then waved his gun toward the hostages. “You will follow these men out of this room and into the van waiting in the parking garage.”

  Reese glanced around the room, looking for anything she could use as a weapon.

  Lawrence’s eyes narrowed. “If you do not do exactly as I say, my men are instructed to kill one delegate at a time to gain your compliance.” His gaze settled on Ferrence and then Reese. “Who will be first?”

  Reese held up her hands. “I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t shoot these people.”

  “I’m not arguing,” Ferrence said. “You want me to go into a van? I’ll go.” He started for the door and stopped when a man blocked his path.

  Reese gasped when she realized it was Diesel, standing on the other side of the threshold. “Don’t try anything,” she called out. “They have their weapons trained on the delegates.”

  Diesel ducked back out of the doorframe.

  Seconds later, a shot was fired, whizzed past Reese’s ear and splintered the doorframe, inches from where Diesel had been standing a moment before, but was now gone.

  Reese gasped and held her breath, praying the bullet hadn’t ricocheted off the door and hit Diesel.

  “Stay close together,” Lawrence said.

  His men shoved their rifles into the backs of some of the dignitaries, herding them out of the room and into the garage.

  A dark van skidded around a corner and came to a stop, steps away from the door.

  When Reese stepped out of the room, she shot a glance around, searching for Diesel. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “Don’t try anything, or we will shoot the delegates,” Lawrence called out in English, and then in French.

  More rebel fighters filled the garage, surrounding them. Outside on the street, sounds of gunfire made it feel like an all-out war was going on.

  “You will not get away with this,” the president said. “My men will kill you and your rebels.”

  Lawrence shook his head. “Not if I have you as a hostage.” He pressed the handgun to his brother’s head. “Get in the van,” he called out to the delegates.

  One by one, they climbed into the van, until it was packed with people. Then four armed men climbed in with them.

  When Reese and Ferrence started to get in, Lawrence stopped them.

  “No. You two will come with me and my brother.” Lawrence nodded toward a group of men. �
�Follow me.”

  A mob of armed men gathered around Lawrence, his brother, Reese and Ferrence. Together, they reentered the conference building. In their strange little huddle, they walked down the long hallway, passing other members of their rebellion, until they reached the elevator bay.

  Lawrence touched the button with the barrel of his pistol.

  When the door opened, Lawrence shoved his brother in first, holding tightly to his arm, with his gun pressed to his head. He turned and nodded toward Reese and Ferrence. “Get in, or I kill my brother, and then I’ll kill one of you.”

  Ferrence and Reese entered simultaneously, and five of the rebels crowded in behind them, all carrying wicked-looking guns. The doors closed.

  “Take us to the top, brother,” Lawrence said. “I know you only reserve the best with the people’s money.”

  “I don’t have my key,” Jean-Paul said.

  “Then I suppose you will die.” Lawrence pressed the gun harder to his brother’s head and started to squeeze the trigger.

  “Okay, okay, it’s in my pocket. Don’t shoot!” the president cried. With his free hand, he pulled his key card out of his pocket, waved it in front of the control panel and hit the button for the top floor.

  As the elevator rose through the building, Reese wondered when and where this would end and whether Diesel had been hit. If this was the end for her, she wished she could see him one last time.

  Reese wouldn’t let this be the end for her or her client. She’d been to hell and back and survived. She’d be damned if it was all for naught. She had to think she was in this position, at this time, for a reason. And that reason was to get her client out of hot water and get herself back home.

  When they emerged from the elevator, Lawrence urged them to climb the stairs to the rooftop, where a helicopter touched down in front of them.

  Lawrence waved Reese and Ferrence toward the helicopter. Once they were inside, he shoved his brother into a seat. Two other guards climbed in and pointed their rifle barrels at Reese and Ferrence.