Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  The radio room, located behind the bridge, was given the go-ahead. The chief radio officer came onto the bridge himself with his headsets on. “Sir? Am I to send any word, a message in addition to the distress signal?”

  “Let them contact you. I’m sure they will.” Wolf told the radio operator.

  Barely two minutes went by when the buzzing in the radio room began. The captain’s cell phone chirped, as did the first officer’s.

  “Do not answer just yet,” Wolf said. “Let them wait exactly five minutes.” He checked his own sat phone.

  One hour and forty-two to go.

  “Where are your other officers, Captain?” he asked D’Ambrosini.

  “I have no idea. Normally they would have checked in with me. I can only assume they’ve been detained,” the captain said in Italian.

  “Where is Maksym?”

  The captain shot a knowing look at Wolf. It had been at Wolf’s instructions the junior officer was hired.

  “Not spoken to him since earlier this evening, since before we left port.”

  Wolf looked out at the distant lights of the African shore, barely visible. “Time enough for that. Time enough.”

  Wolf dialed a number and received an update. “And the women, they are dressed in orange?”

  The captain and helmsman exchanged worried glances.

  “The lights and video cameras are installed?”

  Wolf noticed the captain was trying to send a text message from his cell phone.

  “Give me that,” he demanded. The captain handed over his cell phone sheepishly. The screen read T Dominichello.

  “So you dare lie to me, and attempt communication with Teseo. Where is he?” Wolf demanded, raising his voice.

  “Somewhere on board. I know not where. Truly.”

  “Then you will tell him to come to the bridge or your helmsman will lose his life.” He handed the captain back his phone.

  The young Italian helmsman moved off the stool and stood with his back to the map desk. All of twenty-six, he’d been employed by the cruise line for barely two years, Wolf recalled.

  The captain dialed Teseo’s number. Wolf grabbed the phone from his hands before he could warn Teseo.

  “Yes Captain?” Teseo answered.

  “Your presence is requested on the bridge, Teseo. If you are not here in five minutes, your helmsman will be shot through the head. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Si, si. This is—Lombardi?”

  “Never mind who this is. I am in command of this ship now, and you will come to the bridge at once or your man here will have his brains spread all over the equipment. Don’t test me on this.”

  “Si. I will be there.” Teseo hung up.

  Wolf inhaled and savored the moment. “Now we call the company and let them know what troubles await them this morning.”

  Kyle took the call from Teseo, and then notified Nick and Grady that the time to take back the bridge was now, and promising that his troupe be up there as soon as possible. Moshe was being held downstairs in the jail, with just one guard. The three SEALs were hidden in a cabin that had been evacuated in a hurry earlier, and the door left open. It made good temporary cover for now.

  Mark began to try to reason with Kyle. “You need to get back up there. Everything hinges on that bridge takeover, Kyle. Leave me here to take care of business,” Mark said to his LPO. “Take Armani, here, and go.”

  Kyle hesitated for a second, and then agreed. “You get him out and get your butt upstairs.”

  “I plan on it.”

  Kyle and Armando quietly made their way down the deserted corridor to the crew stairwell and disappeared.

  Mark could see the Israeli sitting on the padded bench, his cell phone chirping on the counter at the duty desk in front of him. The guard was making insulting comments to him.

  “Your girlfriend says she needs to fuck, you little Israeli prick. She misses you, so she’s gonna go find a Russian to get the job done.”

  He could see the panic on Moshe’s face. He looked literally green.

  Mark got ready to dart across the hall when he heard heavy footsteps. Two new guards spoke Russian to their colleague and dragged him to the hallway tearing off down the corridor after Kyle and Armando. As an afterthought, the first guard turned back and fired a warning shot, which ricocheted off the bars, earning him yells from his colleagues. He grabbed Moshe’s phone and threw it against the wall, where it shattered. He pointed at Moshe. “Next time, your head.” Then he turned around and stormed out.

  Mark was stunned. As he waited for them to leave, he texted Kyle to give him the heads-up on the men coming their way.

  He ran into the hold and Moshe bolted upright, a look of relief plastered across his face.

  “Where are the keys?”

  “No keys. Requires a pass card.”

  “Which I have right here,” Mark said and pulled one out of his vest pocket.

  “Right now, American or not, I could kiss you, Marky Mark,” said Moshe.

  “Kiss me after I get you out. What do I do with it?” He was looking at the door and couldn’t find a place for it to be scanned.

  “On the wall. There is a monitor on the wall. You swipe it like a credit card after you punch in the number two, and then the code, are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “696969.”

  Mark looked at him. Grinning. “That’s an interesting choice of numbers.”

  “Do it, damn you! I’ll explain later,” Moshe yelled.

  After the cell was opened, they checked the corridor and took off to the stairs. Up two floors they heard the spray of automatic gunfire. Mark gave Moshe his extra sidearm, hung back, angling, and when he got a shot, caught one of the men in the back just at the base of his skull. He fell into the stairwell.

  They were sprayed with rounds for their trouble.

  “Can’t stop, it’s all going down now,” Mark said.

  All of a sudden another spray of automatic gunfire erupted and two more commandos fell down into the stairwell.

  What Mark heard next was music to his ears.

  “Mark!”

  Sophia!

  “On our way.”

  They took two and three stairs at a time, made the three-floor distance in under a minute. He grabbed Sophia, who was bloody but looking pretty damned good, holding her in his arms.

  Maksym barked at them, “We need to get to the bridge. Gina is with Armando and headed up there now. Kyle has gone down to the engine room. No time for that.” Maksym handed Moshe the extra automatic. Mark tried to give Sophia his Sig, but she scowled at him.

  They exited Deck 6 and took the outside stairway to Deck 10 so they could see what was going on in the big arena one deck below. They opened the door and stopped in their tracks.

  Christy, Mia and Jasmine sat in the center of the pool area, their restrained hands in front of them, wearing orange jumpsuits. The deck had been lit up for a celebration. The large screen monitor, which normally played Italian hip-hop and pop music showed the faces of the three women. A video camera was set on a tripod, manned by one of the Moroccans. Moshe swore under his breath in a language Mark didn’t understand.

  He wondered if Armando had seen this, and then noticed a flicker of movement to his right, spotting Armando and Gina as they peered around the corner. The bridge would have to wait. Armando must have figured the ladies didn’t have much time and stopped to lend a hand. Teseo was probably being held inside, along with the captain, at gunpoint.

  The rest of the SEAL ladies were in a second group of chairs tucked underneath the balcony, in the shadows. Among them was Libby, wrapped in a blanket, and Sanouk, holding her tight to his chest. Fredo and Jones were trussed up like turkeys, obviously being saved for the main course.

  In an instant, Armando had his semi-automatic trained on a Moroccan gunman who raised a pistol to Christy’s chest some thirty feet away.

  Armando let the round fly, and the gunman’s head explod
ed like a watermelon. Several soldiers guarding the rest of the prisoners made the mistake of leaving their cover, racing out into the open and attempting to return fire. They got sprayed with rounds from Maksym, Moshe and Mark’s automatics. They then trained their guns on several others, popped off some rounds. Moshe hit the videographer, sending the camera and tripod flying to the side. Maksym and Moshe headed through the double wooden doors to check for more combatants inside.

  For a few seconds, everyone waited. Christy and Mia were kicking a combatant who was on the floor, and his weapon skidded along the surface of the pool deck until it landed at Devon’s feet. With both hands still secured, she picked it up and took a firing stance, looking like Nick or someone had been very smart and trained his woman.

  Silence.

  “I count ten down,” Mark said. “I have no idea if that’s enough.” He turned to Sophia, “You stay here and watch with Armando,” he said to her. “Stay in the shadows. I’m going up to the bridge to give Teseo and the captain a hand, if it’s not too late.”

  Sophia nodded. Mark leaned over and gave her a long kiss. “You did really great, Sophia. You’re holding up like a champ. Like you were made for this.”

  “Hardly. I’m a dancer, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember, all right.” He winked at her, and then checked the single ramp of stairs leading to the bridge. He thought it was odd no one had showed up from the bridge itself.

  Armando cut Fredo and Jones loose, which gave him two more sets of hands to free everyone else.

  Mark layered one more kiss and pulled away from her.

  Just then, the door to the bridge opened and a tall man in an overcoat walked outside with the captain, his arm around the captain’s throat, and a pistol to his temple.

  Mark cursed that they didn’t have an accurate, high-powered rifle. The shot was definitely doable. Shots were being fired from multiple smaller boats that formed a dangerous flotilla around them. He could tell that if they didn’t get the situation under control fast they’d be boarded and everyone murdered, not to mention what would happen if the bomb went off.

  Lights and rounds were going in all directions until he heard the welcome crack of a SEAL sniper’s long gun. The man who had terrorized the captain dropped, having taken a round at the top of his head that exited at his feet. The captain fell to his knees first, and then scurried to safety as the terrorist leader slumped in a pile of flesh and blood. Teseo appeared at the doorway next and gave him the all-clear sign, the thumb’s up and a big cheesy grin.

  Mark looked up toward the night sky and saw one of their own. A Navy Seahawk that had come out of Heaven itself. He’d never seen anything so wonderful in his whole life. Then he realized that was what the boats had been firing at.

  That meant there was a vessel out there in the dark that they could call friend.

  He looked out over the now-calm deck and then got a text.

  The bomb.

  Of course, there was still a fuckin bomb to defuse.

  Kyle’s next text nearly broke his heart.

  Stay with the women, offload them if you can. In case I don’t make it, tell Christy I love her.

  Cruisin’ for a Seal: Chapter Thirty

  Bedlam had taken over the ship. The remaining commandos were cornered and beaten to within an inch of their lives. Grandmothers teamed up and tossed unconscious terrorists over the railings. The terrorists were overpowered without a prayer of a way to get loose. One by one they were brought down by ordinary citizens who fought back to reclaim their ship.

  Injured people lay all over the halls. People began to gather in the ballroom, broke into the bar, and started passing out bottles and glasses. Everyone stayed away from the windows, keenly aware there were enemy boats floating all around them. Some of the boats had retreated to the distance, chased by fishing boats from Cape Verde.

  Mark hadn’t seen so much blood in his life, or more people bandaged since the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center. The passengers were emboldened, stubborn, and having the time of their lives. Home videos were made using cell phones, as other passengers held up weapons and posed with unconscious or severely wounded terrorists.

  Sophia ran to him, and he set down his automatic, pulling her tight against him and clutching her hair, while she hugged him so tight he thought maybe she’d squeeze the life out of him. Just then someone turned on the disco, of all things.

  “Christ,” he whispered. “They’re looking for their fuckin’ dance instructor.”

  “My dance card’s full, I’m afraid.”

  “Roger that. Boy, is it full.”

  His cell chirped. Kyle.

  No more snakes on a ship. We do have a fuckin’ bomb to unload. Deck 5, boat 26.

  “Holy shit, Sophia, they haven’t been able to defuse the bomb. We’re going to have to offload it. You stay with everyone else, okay?”

  “What if—”

  “Gotta go, baby. Either way we’ll see each other very soon, sweetheart. Won’t be long now.”

  Holding back tears, he jammed his sidearm into his pants, grabbed the automatic from the floor, and ran like hell. He didn’t dare look back at her.

  He flew down the stairs, one whole landing at a time, until he got to Deck 5. Kyle, Cooper, Tyler and Rory were gingerly carrying the white crate from the lower decks escalator. They crabwise moved down the deck to the front of Lifeboat 26.

  Kyle barked orders. “Cooper, figure out how to lower this thing. Mark and Ty, free the overhead arm.”

  Mark looked up at the large rocker arm type contraption that held the little red vessel in place. Large bolts had been drilled into metal straps, which secured the arm in place for rough seas. Inside a utility box they found wrenches, and both he and Tyler began to crank the big lug nuts as, one by one, they removed ten of them and felt the arm holding the rescue vehicle free up.

  Kyle kicked in the plastic door to the ship he and Tyler’s went back to help them carefully set the bomb across two of the seats. Mark heard the whirr of something mechanical inside. The outside of the box was stained with pinkish spots. After they lowered the device a piece of a black snake carcass fell to the plastic floor of the boat and Mark jumped back instinctively.

  The boat jiggled as Cooper began working the controls attached to a heavy metal beam between decks.

  “We gotta clear the area where she’s going to hit the water. Can someone spray some cover?” Kyle asked.

  Immediately Tyler and Rory started firing over the railing at ships still hovering nearby, and they quickly dispersed.

  Cooper jumped inside the cabin and turned on the power to the little craft. Headlights came on, and low-watt overhead lights flashed on.

  “Thing’s got a starter button. You only got one chance to make it work. It has to be in water or you’ll scrape the hull and dump upside down. So who wants to be captain today? I’m, gonna need a volunteer.”

  Mark knew it was his turn to step up. “I’m going, Kyle. You stay here.”

  “No, I need two men. You wanna come? I’m up for it.”

  Tyler stepped up. “Sir, you let me help Mark. You got a family and I’m single. My turn, sir.”

  “No heroics. Get the boat in the water, get her untethered and get her the hell away from here.”

  “Roger that.”

  Mark ran over and got out the double sets of scuba gear Teseo had left behind, shed his pants and put on the skins and tanks. Tyler joined him, and soon both frogmen were encased in the rubberized gear.

  Mark stood at the controls, hands on the small metal steering wheel, just tall enough to see out of the small Plexiglas window in front.

  “Let ’er rip,” he said. Everyone evacuated, Tyler stood right beside him.

  Kyle was the last one to exit the boat. “Thanks, man. You get out there but not too far. We don’t know how much time’s left, since Teseo never was able to get the guy to tell him, but it’s soon, so don’t fuck with it, get it out there and then take your dive, okay
?”

  “Roger that,” Mark answered. “Now you go tell Christy yourself you love her, ’kay?”

  “And I’ll be there, right next to your girl, partner.”

  Kyle turned to go. Mark said to his back, “Not too close. Just watch your fuckin’ hands, you prick.”

  The hatch door was secured and Mark felt the boat swing out over the dark ocean. A faint pink glow on the horizon didn’t help much, but it gave him a sense of how high he was. Too high.

  The winches groaned and the boat took forever to lower to the water. As soon as they heard the slosh of the ocean on their underside, both men climbed out the hatch and unhooked the cables, sending them back to the hull, where they clanged. Mark assumed the controls inside, pressed the red starter button and the diesel engine sprang to life. They lurched over the choppy water, and then landed in a great big belly flop and splash that blew water into the cabin and all over them.

  The sucker had no maneuverability, and he felt like he was driving a pedal car down a forty-five degree angle dodging parked cars, but soon he got the hang of it and let it out full, bucking and fighting the five-foot waves crashing around them. Some of those waves almost made them feel like they had sent them back to the mother ship, but soon Mark could see the lights of the cabins grow smaller and smaller, until they were the size of a postage stamp.

  “Depending on what’s in here—”

  “You gotta go farther,” Tyler said. “Coop says we gotta get at least two miles out.”

  “See if you can find something to rig up that’ll keep it going. I say we jump ASAP. In five minutes, that should take it out about almost seven miles.”

  They strapped the wheel in place for a trajectory that would take the craft further off the African coast. Then they strapped the gas pedal to an oar they lashed to the seats behind. They had run out of rope and webbed tie-downs to secure it fully flat out, but Tyler found a roll of duct tape.

  “Duct tape is the bomb,” Tyler grinned.

  Winding the tape around the pedal and then looping it back against the lashing, they secured the pedal in full-out position.