One Intrepid SEAL

by Elle James

  As the helicopter lifted off the roof, Reese sat back in her helicopter seat, buckled her safety harness and went through every scenario that would get her and Ferrence out of this mess. She would not go down without a fight. First, they needed to be on the ground again, where they had a chance of escaping. Then she’d have to convince Ferrence to go along with her plan. Whatever that plan might be. She couldn’t wait for the SEAL team to find her. They might not make it in time.

  * * *

  “T-MAC, TELL ME you still have GPS tracking on Klein and Reese.” Diesel, T-Mac and Pitbull managed to get the hell out of the parking garage before the rebel forces converged on them.

  “I’ve got Klein. Last night, while you were picking your noses, I snuck into Klein’s room and planted a tracker in his watch,” T-Mac confirmed.

  “You have the GPS tracking device?”

  “In my duffel bag back, in the hotel room.” T-Mac stopped and stared at the hotel surrounded by the mob of rebels and civilians. “How the hell are we going to get inside?”

  “Service entrance.” They worked their way around the crowd of rebels converging on the hotel to the back, where trucks were backed up to loading docks, their drivers having deserted the area. The team entered through an open overhead door and slipped down a service hallway.

  Ahead, they saw a crowd of people heading their way.

  “In here.” Diesel ducked into a huge laundry room. T-Mac and Pitbull darted through the door and turned to see who was coming.

  “I’ll be damned,” Pitbull said and opened the door right as the first person in line passed the door. He reached out and grabbed a man, dragging him into the laundry room. The man came in fighting.

  Pitbull ducked a punch. “Buck, it’s me,” he said.

  Buck stopped with his arm half-cocked, ready to throw another punch. “Pitbull?” He glanced around. “Damn, where did you guys come from?”

  “Long story,” Diesel peeked out into the hallway, where more delegates stood, worried frowns on their faces. At least these hadn’t been bundled into a van and carted off to who knew where. “Where’s Big Jake and Harm?”

  “That you, Diesel?” At the back of the group, Big Jake looked over the tops of the delegates’ heads.

  “Bring them in here,” Diesel said.

  Big Jake and Harm herded the dignitaries into the laundry room.

  “I think they’ll be all right in here until the riot dissipates,” Diesel said. “We have to find Klein and Reese.”

  “I thought you had them covered,” Buck said.

  “Until Lawrence hijacked them. He loaded a van full of delegates going to who knows where.”

  T-Mac held up a hand. “I slapped a magnetic GPS tracker on that van as it was driving out of the parking garage.”

  Diesel grinned. “Damn, you’re good. But that doesn’t account for Reese and Klein. We need to get the tracking device.”

  “We passed the utility elevator on our way through. Come on.” Buck checked the hallway and waved to the others.

  The team ran for the elevator, while Big Jake stayed back to warn the dignitaries to stay put until the rioting was over. By the time the elevator had arrived and the five men had stepped in, Big Jake came around the corner and hopped on board. The elevator rose to their floor at what felt like the pace of ice freezing. By the time the doors opened, Diesel had ground the enamel off his back teeth.

  Reese could be anywhere in the DRC. The longer it took to find her, the farther away she could be.

  Inside the suite, Diesel raced T-Mac to the duffel bag and waited for his teammate to dig out the tracking device and turn it on.

  He frowned down at the screen. “It appears as though Klein is right on top of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The tracker is two-dimensional. They could be at the bottom of the building, the top or on any one of the floors.” His frown deepened.

  “What?” Diesel demanded.

  “They’re moving.”

  “As in, driving out onto the street?” Buck asked.

  “No. As if cutting across the city, going fast.” T-Mac turned toward the window. “There!” He pointed to the sky.

  A helicopter flew past the window and away toward the east.

  “Damn!” Diesel pulled his cell phone from his suit jacket.

  “If you’re hoping to get more help, they won’t send any more assistance from Djibouti,” Big Jake said.

  “I’m not calling Djibouti.” He scrolled through his contacts and found the one he was looking for. “I’m calling Marly.”

  “Bush flights, Marly speaking,” a voice answered on the second ring.

  “Marly, it’s Diesel. Please tell me you’re still at the airport.”

  “I am. I just finished filing my flight plan back to Zambia.”

  “File another to somewhere east.”

  “I have to be a little more specific.”

  “Pick a city. I don’t care. Reese and Klein have been taken by Sabando’s brother in a helicopter headed east. I need you to follow them.”

  “They could be going anywhere. By the time you get to the airport, they will be long gone.”

  “We have a tracker on Klein.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Marly said. “Get your ass to the airport ASAP. I’ll have the plane ready to go.”

  “Will it hold six men plus you?”

  “Easily. Why?” she asked. “Did you make some friends in Kinshasa?”

  Diesel glanced around at his teammates, glad they were in this together. “You could say that.”

  “Bring them. I’ll be waiting.” Marly ended the call.

  While T-Mac gathered their equipment into his duffel bag, Diesel shed his suit, slipped on jeans, a T-shirt and the boots he’d purchased when he’d been out the day before. In less than two minutes, he was heading for the door, backpack in hand, carrying his dismantled M4A1 rifle. “Let’s go. We have a damsel in distress to rescue.”

  “Oh, so now we’re in the knights-in-shining-armor business?” Pitbull asked. “Do we get to bring out our weapons for this one?”

  “You bet.” Diesel ran for the utility elevator and punched the down button. Fortunately, the elevator doors opened immediately, and the men piled in.

  On the ride down, Diesel clenched and unclenched his fists, his insides knotted so tightly, he could barely breathe. Why had Lawrence separated Reese and Klein from the dignitaries? And why did he feel the need to take them with him to wherever he planned on disposing of his brother?

  “How are we getting from the hotel to the airport?” T-Mac asked.

  “We’ll get clear of the riot and see if we can grab a taxi,” Big Jake answered.

  Diesel was thankful his team was there with him. They helped to keep him together when he felt like coming apart at the seams. Normally level-headed when going into a dangerous situation, he was completely out of his element now. All because of a woman who’d slipped beneath his defenses and stolen a part of him.

  Holy hell.

  Diesel shook his head. Could it be? Had she stolen his heart in the few short days they’d known each other? Falling in love could not have happened so fast. Before Reese, he wasn’t sure he even believed love existed. Lust? Well, yeah. But love?

  He felt as if someone had sucker punched him in the gut. Was that what love felt like? Why would anyone want to feel like that?

  Reese had been taken away in a helicopter to God knew where. If they didn’t find her quickly, it might be too late.

  The doors opened, and Diesel rushed out. He led the way to the loading docks and down backstreets not already crowded with rioters or rebels. He could hear the reassuring sound of footsteps pounding behind him, and he felt glad his team had his back.

  Four blocks from the hotel and conference center, they were able to hail two taxis. The drivers promised to hurry toward the airport.

  Hurry was relative. In the congested streets, nothing moved fast.

  By the
time the taxis dropped them at the airport, Diesel was so wound up, he leaped out of the cab and ran for the flight line where Marly’s plane sat waiting for them. Marly stood outside of the aircraft, talking to several DRC soldiers wielding rifles.

  Diesel slowed to a more casual walk and waved at Marly. “What’s going on?”

  “These men want to take my plane, but I explained to them we’re about to take off on an emergency flight to save a life.”

  “You are the doctor?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Diesel met Marly’s gaze, and then the soldier’s. “Yes, sir.”

  “And these men?” The soldier glanced over Diesel’s shoulder.

  “All in the medical field.” Big Jake stepped up beside Diesel. “An entire village has come down with the Ebola virus. We’re on our way in to help.” The man towered everyone standing on the tarmac. “Would you care to accompany us?”

  The leader of the DRC soldiers tipped his head up and squinted at Big Jake for a long moment. Then he shook his head. “No, we will find another airplane. Carry on.”

  Marly waved to the plane. “You can store your bags in the wing compartment. The sooner we board, the sooner I can get clearance from the tower.”

  T-Mac loaded his duffel bag into the wing, and the men climbed aboard the aircraft. Diesel sat in the copilot’s seat beside Marly, settled the headset over his ears and held the GPS tracking device like a lifeline to Reese.

  Marly started the engine, contacted the air traffic controller and waited for clearance to take off.

  Moments later, they were airborne.

  “Which way?” she asked.

  “East.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t suppose you can be more specific?”

  “Not really. Right now, it appears they are flying due east and they have a sizable head start on us.”

  Marly nodded. “That works for now. I filed flight plans to Kananga, which is due east. Let me know if their direction changes.”

  They passed over farmland, jungle and rivers. Every so often, Diesel would inform Marly of slight changes to their route.

  She adjusted and pushed on.

  By nightfall, their fuel was getting low, and the helicopter ahead of them was slowing. They were about thirty minutes behind the craft carrying Reese and Ferrence.

  “I need to land at an airport, where I can refuel,” Marly said. “There’s one in Kamenbe.”

  Diesel checked the tracker. “They stopped.”

  Marly glanced at the device. “Even if I could land there, I wouldn’t have enough fuel to take off again and get to the nearest airport with facilities to refuel. I’ll have to overshoot their landing area and go on to Kamenbe.”

  Diesel nodded, his fingers clenched so tightly around the tracker, his knuckles turned white. Marly was right. They couldn’t land where the helicopter did, even if they had enough fuel. “T-Mac, you don’t happen to have a parachute hidden away in that duffel bag of yours, do you?”

  “Wouldn’t matter if I did—it’s stored in the wing.”

  “Damn. I hate being so close, but so far,” he said. “Can we at least fly over the landing site so that we can see what we’re shooting for?”

  Marly nodded. “You bet. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not get in range of small arms fire.” She reached into a compartment and extracted a pair of binoculars. “Here.”

  Diesel pressed the binoculars to his eyes. As they neared the location where the green blip was on the tracking device, Diesel glanced out the window.

  The terrain had changed from jungle to huge scars on the land, where open-pit mining craters had been dug.

  He could see the helicopter below. A couple of SUVs were pulling away from the aircraft.

  The helicopter rose slowly from the ground, rising into the air.

  “That’s our cue to get the heck out of here. That chopper has guns on it.” Marly increased the plane’s speed, sending it on its way to Kamenbe.

  All the while, Diesel studied the land, the roads leading into and out of villages along the way. He noted several trucks full of men in military uniforms, carrying rifles and what appeared to be rocket-propelled grenades. The trucks stirred up dust along the roads, heading toward the mine. Diesel wondered if they were part of Jean-Paul’s army or the rebels fighting with Lawrence? Either way, they could stir up more trouble for Reese and Klein.

  Since the helicopter was taking off, and the green blip wasn’t moving with it, Diesel thought it could be safe to bet Ferrence and Reese were still on the ground. Their best plan would be to get to Kamenbe, rent, borrow or steal a vehicle and get back out to the mine, and soon, before they could move the captives again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Reese wished she had on a sturdy pair of trousers and her hiking boots. Dressed in a skirt suit, barefooted because she’d ditched her heels in order to run and jam a door, she wasn’t in any condition to make good an escape.

  What she didn’t understand was why Lawrence had brought them all the way across the country to what appeared to be an open-pit mine. If he were going to kill them, wouldn’t he have done it already?

  She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but Lawrence might not be as bad as she originally thought. Perhaps he only wanted to teach his brother and the greedy Americans a lesson. Reese hoped that was the extent of his plan and that he would then turn them loose.

  In the meantime, she wasn’t counting on it. She had to have a plan B.

  The helicopter was met by two Land Rovers. Lawrence, his brother and two soldiers climbed into the first with the driver. Rebel soldiers nudged Reese and Ferrence with the barrels of their weapons, herding them toward the other SUV. Now would be a good time to fight her way free, but she didn’t have shoes, and the rebel fighters didn’t appear to have a sense of humor. They’d probably shoot rather than ask permission. Reese and Ferrence climbed into the back seat with one of the fighters. Another fighter sat in the front, turned around in his seat with a pistol and pointed it at Ferrence’s chest.

  “I hope we don’t hit any major bumps along the way,” Ferrence whispered.

  “Quiet!” The soldier beside Ferrence hit him in the jaw with his elbow.

  Ferrence pressed a hand to his jaw and closed his mouth. They drove several miles, deeper and deeper into the maze of open-pit mines. The sun had long since descended from its zenith, now casting long shadows, as it raced for the horizon.

  The vehicle in front of them finally halted in front of what might once have been a white tent. The white canvas was stained a muddy red from the dust kicked up by vehicles and mining activities.

  Rebel fighters crowded around the tent, shouting something in Lingala. Lawrence ushered his brother, whose hands had been bound behind his back.

  A cheer went up from the fighters, and shots were fired into the air.

  Reese cringed. All it took was one careless fighter to swing a weapon their direction, pull the trigger and boom. Reese held her breath as she was escorted into the tent. Once inside, a rebel fighter bound her wrists in front of her with a strap and bound Ferrence’s behind his back and forced him to kneel so that they could bind his ankles. Apparently, a woman in a skirt suit wasn’t as scary as a man. Reese counted her blessings. She was one step closer to escape. She could easily untie Ferrence’s restraints, and he could return the favor, as soon as their captors left them alone for any length of time.

  “I don’t understand why you have brought me here. If you’re going to kill me, why not get it over with?” The president had been bound much like Ferrence, his wrists behind his back. He sat on the ground, with his knees drawn up and his ankles tied together.

  “I want you to see what you have done to this country by your actions or, rather, inaction. You have sold this country to the devils.” Lawrence glared at Ferrence and Reese. “The Americans will know, too, what price our people have paid. When the sun rises again, you will see.”

  Lawrence left the tent and gave brief orders to his men in
Lingala.

  From the shadows on the outside of the tent, Reese could tell there were two rebel fighters left as guards, one on either end. The two guards inside the tent sat on boxes, facing them, their rifles resting on their laps.

  As the sun sank below the horizon, the interior of the tent went from gray to black. The inside guards stood, stretched, said something in their language and headed for the tent’s flap door.

  Outside, they spoke to the guards on the front and then left.

  As soon as the inside guards left the tent, Reese tore at the bindings on her wrists with her teeth, working the knots in an attempt to loosen them. She stopped when one of the two guards standing outside ducked his head into the tent and shined a flashlight at the captives.

  Reese raised her hands to block the glare.

  The guard stared at her suit and snorted. He then left the tent and said something to the other guard, and they laughed.

  Reese hoped her skirt suit gave them some form of entertainment that would keep them occupied long enough for her to tear the knots loose. There were several SUVs outside the tent. If she could get to one of those, she and Ferrence might have a way out—if she didn’t get lost in the maze of roads through the mining operations.

  Reese struggled with the strap, but no matter how hard she tried to pull with her teeth, the strap wasn’t coming loose. She’d looked around the tent, while there was still light left from the sun, but hadn’t found anything that appeared to be sharp enough to cut through the leather. If she could get to the wooden crates the guards had used as seats, she might be able to rub the straps against the coarse edges of the wooden slats.

  Someone outside the tent lit a fire, giving just enough light for Reese to find her way. Not sure if the campfire would silhouette her movements against the tent, she crossed the dirt floor on her knees, a little at a time, until she was next to a crate. Thankfully, the boards it was made of were rough-hewn and provided a serrated edge to rub her bonds against.

  “What are you doing?” Ferrence whispered.

  “Trying to get us out of here,” she answered.