SEAL of My Dreams
Page 13
Thanks to the secret nature of the visit they hadn’t expected a welcoming committee, but death squads were a horrible surprise.
“How many are dead?” The Ambassador looked at Megan as he asked the question.
The answer stuck in her throat, but she pushed it out. “Fourteen unarmed men slaughtered while they slept, several more missing, and every thatched shack burned to the ground as the women and children scattered.”
When news broke of the United States’ interest in Erites, rebel military forces had moved from threats to action and the once peaceful nation erupted in chaos. Last night brought the second attack on established settlements along the southern shoreline in two days, a place long quiet except for the steady thump of work as fishermen dragged nets off the Pacific Ocean.
The Ambassador swore under his breath. “A planned bloodbath.”
“Even way out here, this far away, it will be difficult to keep this news from hitting the mainstream media back home.” Skip Ellison already had his cell out as he spoke.
For a diplomatic liaison Megan found Skip only had a passing acquaintance with the definition of diplomacy. Yes, she was a management officer and not a political appointee with Erites expertise like Skip, but she was also career government. She’d been stationed in Germany and Turkey in her seven years since graduating from college and joining the Foreign Service. She deserved respect and he deserved a good kick. She vowed to figure out a way to give him one without getting her butt fired before this assignment ended.
“Shouldn’t everyone know what’s happening on the ground here?” she asked.
Skip frowned. “How do you figure?”
“People need to know there’s unrest. That the military is out of control.”
Skip stared at her as if she’d started speaking Farsi. “For God’s sake, why?”
Fourteen unarmed men dead. By Megan’s way of thinking that should be more than enough.
The man’s lack of compassion would derail his career . . . at least she hoped that was true. There was a difference between being strong and being a jackass and Skip had no idea where that line fell.
The Ambassador’s voice broke through the beat of silence before she could unleash or otherwise do something to put her own career in jeopardy. “What did you find out about local custom?”
Megan called up her briefing notes from memory. “Tradition dictates the dead be laid out in front of their homes on a special table called a kaku for two days while friends and family visit and bring offerings. The bodies are then cremated and the ashes buried in a cavern-like structure constructed of lava rock on the property by the grieving families.”
But there was so much more and all of it heartbreaking. During those days, the women would sit, rocking back and forth as they sang songs of mourning in their native language. Megan had heard the voices that morning, deep drawling tones in a mix of wailing and pain. She did not understand most of the words but the blinding despair crashed over her. Even now, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the memory of the haunting sound.
“Megan?” Ambassador Templeton’s voice pushed out the haunting sounds of crying women that would not leave her head.
“Yes, sir?”
He finally looked up from his report, his eyebrows still drawn in concern. “We need to get the Secretary on the phone. Tell his office we have an emergency that needs containment and potential intervention. I need immediate access.”
She knew that meant Secretary of State and a lot of relaying and waiting. She agreed but the U.S. reaction wasn’t their only concern. “The Prime Minister’s representative will be here in—”
“That was an order.” Skip delivered his verbal slap then put a hand on the Ambassador’s back and guided the older man into the office.
As soon as Skip slammed the door she exhaled, letting the unspent scream of frustration die in her throat. She bent her knees and felt around under her desk with her foot until she found them. Pink fluffy slippers and the only thing that got her through a late work evening in the office after a day of coordinating meetings and preparing personnel files for the staff yet to arrive.
“Pure heaven,” she whispered with relief as her feet slid inside.
A crash of glass made her jump. Her palm slammed against the telephone keypad when she flinched. Air hiccupped in her lungs then jumpstarted again when the tat-tat-tat of gunfire sent her falling to her knees. Her fingers dug into the mat as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“What’s happening?” Her harsh whisper echoed through her body, rattling her bones as she forced her mind to focus.
“Down, now!”
She didn’t recognize the sharp male voice but heard the panicked edge and heavy accent through the closed door as loud as if he were standing right over her. The pounding and shaking started a second later, as if someone repeatedly threw something heavy against the wall. All the noise rumbled from inside the Ambassador’s office. Wood cracked and crackled as if being ripped to shreds in a grinder.
She curled into a ball with her hands over her head, certain at any moment the house would crumble down around her. She peeked up and saw a switch at the very edge of the underside of the desk. Reaching up, she clicked the emergency button and kept hitting it, unable to stop her finger from tapping against it. Voices called out all around her. She tried to make out the words through the shouting in Eritesan, but the constant slams against the wall blended with barking rapid-fire commands until all she heard was a loud roar.
The Ambassador’s voice rose above the din. “Calm down. Everyone stop so we can work this out.”
The words that followed were muffled. She put her hand behind her ear, straining to make out the conversation but couldn’t. From her position on the floor, she glanced around trying to guess the distance to the door and her chance of getting there without getting caught or killed. The heavy drapes at the far end of the room were drawn, but through the slit she saw gray move across the bright blue sky. She blinked a few times. When the sky seemingly morphed into daytime darkness, she realized smoke filled the air. She couldn’t smell it through the bulletproof glass, but she could see it.
Her mind raced as she tried to piece together how someone could break into the Ambassador’s office through the security, why no one was answering her emergency call, as the male voices rose again to screaming insanity. The attackers spoke fast and loud in Eritesan and the Ambassador answered in English, insisting the other people in the room lower their weapons.
“No! There is no one else here,” he said in a voice creeping ever louder.
She knew he yelled that information to tip her off. She had to move because sitting there guaranteed getting captured. Gulping in air, she tried to calm her breathing so she could think. She needed to get somewhere and find help.
“Call the Prime Minister.” Strings of Eritesan drowned out the Ambassador’s ragged request. “Call his office. Call—” The Ambassador’s voice cut off in the middle of his pleading. A sudden deathly silence filled the room.
Megan knew it was too late.
Chapter Two
Hal Robertson lowered his weapon and stared at his partner on the two-man recon team. There had been grumblings of trouble for weeks. His SEAL group, a five-man fire team, left Coronado and hit Erites two days before. They divided up and this shift belonged to Clark Beamer and him. Their job was to gather intel for a possible move on the rebel leader.
A mole deep inside the rebel camp had warned of impending concentrated attacks on civilians and a war on the capital city of Maka. The rebels’ long-term plan involved destabilizing the country and destroying the Prime Minister’s existing government—the U.S.-friendly government. Watching now as commandos easily breached what should have been the Ambassador’s secure private residence, Hal mentally shifted the operation from recon to tactical.
He guessed the rebels weren’t the only ones with a leak. The bad guys were getting help from someone and the fires rising in the distance and t
he sudden presence of armed militia walking the streets suggested the coup had started.
Hal needed the entire team moving and the few Marines who arrived with the Ambassador to step up. Americans likely had to be evacuated. Erites sat too far away from any U.S. military base to mobilize quickly. That meant the majority of the work fell to Hal and his men.
Clark slumped down with his back against the stacked stones and glanced up at Hal. They were fifty feet away with limited visibility but out of site from the rebels. “Thought we had until next week to develop a strategy.”
“Someone moved up the time table. I’m guessing word got out about the Ambassador’s arrival and this is a message. Likely a deadly one.” Hal broke radio silence with the pre-arranged signal. Four clicks, silence then four more clicks. “We’ve gotta get those people out the house and hide them.”
A voice barely above a whisper crackled over the radio. “Hotel secure.”
Hal blew out a long breath. “Lock it down. You’ve got guns in the street. You’ll need the personnel there.”
“The hotel gets the Marines and the rest of our team?” Clark smiled as if he relished the odds of two SEALs against a rebel platoon.
“We get the three targets in the house. The rest of our team and a bunch of Marines will handle the rest.” Hal sighted his weapon and saw the woman duck then drop to the floor. “Tell me about her.”
“Foreign service with limited arms training.”
“I was hoping for undercover CIA.”
“Not sure if that would be good or bad.”
Three targets and, at last count, sixteen gunmen. Not the best odds but Hal had experienced worse. “I’m going to get in there. You circle around try to get eyes on that room.”
“And if I have a shot?”
Clark’s sniper skills were legendary. The three people inside that house needed those skills now. “Take it to save the targets. Otherwise, wait for my signal. We can handle the guns here but we’ve got to march these folks out safely.”
“We’ll have rebels crawling all over us.” Clark shrugged. “But I don’t see that as a problem.”
“Right.” Hal smiled then because he knew Clark actually meant it.
Ever since BUD/S training, the twenty-eight week Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL school when almost ninety percent of their class dropped out before completion, Clark insisted those who stayed and survived the nearly four months of training could withstand anything. So far he’d been correct except for one.
Hal adjusted his weapon. “Let’s go.”
Megan slipped her shoulder out of her hiding place and peered around the desk. The door to the office remained closed but the shouting had stopped. She couldn’t even hear a low rumble of voices, which touched off a free-fall in her stomach.
She cleared the throat, trying to fight off the cough tickling her. Smoke choked the room now. A steady stream of gray haze moved through the one-story building. That meant there was an open window somewhere and either a huge lapse in protocol or a situation too horrible to contemplate.
She shifted to her knees, ignoring the hard shaking that moved her body from side to side. She’d keep low, crawl then run. She repeated the plan until it was the only thought running through her mind.
“Don’t stop.” She mouthed the words, surprised when they escaped her lips as a soft groan.
She tried to get a foot under her when something moved in front of her. A face peeked around the doorway connecting the area to the hallway running to the back door and kitchen. A scream raced up her throat but she stopped it in time when the figure put a finger to his lips. Black pants, black long-sleeved tee, black hair. The man almost blended into the dark wall, which she guessed was the point.
Even from across the room, a good fifteen feet away, she could make out his shocking blue eyes. The black watch and razor short haircut shouted military but she’d met every Marine protecting the Ambassador on this mission and he wasn’t one of them. She’d remember that face, lean with a strong chin and a serious frown that comforted rather than scared her.
Ducking low, he ran in a line straight for her. Crouched and soundless. Focused and determined. He reached her before she could lift her hands to fend him off.
Then he balanced in front of her, right at the small opening under the desk. “Lieutenant Commander Hal Robertson, U.S. Navy.”
Relief raced through her, zapping every ounce of strength as it went. “You’re a SEAL.”
It wasn’t a question because she knew. The steely determination, the absolute lack of fear. He walked into a disaster, his gaze constantly surveying as if he were analyzing and dissecting every move and every exit.
“Yes, ma’am.” He lowered his weapon as he stared straight into her eyes. “You are?”
“Megan White.” She held out her hand.
He folded her cold fingers in his palms, heating them with a gentle rub. “Are you hurt, Megan White?”
“Scared witless.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Understood.”
Right behind the relief came a rush of guilt. She’d hid under a desk while her boss fought off who knew how many men. “The Ambassador?”
“Wait here.” Hal stood up and stalked, not stopping or landing even one loud footstep, on his way to the office door.
She guessed then he’d had the building under surveillance. He knew where to look and the layout, which she hoped meant there were others out there ready to move in for a rescue. Scrambling out of the tiny hole and using the desk as a shield, she watched him. Long and lean, he moved with the grace of a jungle cat with the air crackling around him. His body in perfect control. His mind centered on the door.
She heard a knock and a faint voice. “Clear.”
The tension across Hal’s shoulders eased as the barrel of his gun slowly shifted toward the floor. As she stood up, the office door opened. Panic crashed into her, nailing her to the floor. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She doubted her heart pumped one ounce of blood.
Hal nodded in the direction of the blond-haired man with the matching haircut who stepped into the doorway. “This is Chief Petty Officer Clark Beamer.”
A violent shaking overtook her body. The cold seeped through every pore until her back teeth tapped together. Somehow she forced out two words. “The Ambassador?”
In a move so quick she almost missed it, Hal glanced at Clark then back to her. He shifted his position until he stood next to Clark, blocking her access and view into the office. “I’m sorry.”
Her mouth dropped open. She could feel it and couldn’t stop it. “He’s dead?”
Clark nodded.
When she tried to push through and see for herself, Hal grabbed her arms. His firm grip didn’t bite into her but didn’t let her move either. “It’s better you don’t look.”
Through the wall of their joint broad shoulders she could see pieces of broken furniture, splashes of blood and a huge ragged hole on the far side where the wall once stood. Papers and glass covered the floor and she could make out the tip of a man’s shoe lying sideways in the corner.
Hal walked her backwards, his gaze scanning the room behind her as he took her out of viewing distance. “Others are coming. We need to leave.”
She shook her head, trying to pull her mind back to the present and away from the grinding loss that threatened to envelop her. “Skip?”
Hal frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Skip Ellison, the diplomatic envoy.”
Hal looked over his shoulder but Clark didn’t say anything until Hal gave him a curt nod. “There’s only one body but a blood trail. They likely took Ellison with him.”
“We have to help him.” She reached up and grabbed Hal’s arms. “Skip is a weasel, but no one deserves—”
“Agreed.” Hal shifted until she stood at his side with her hands still clenching at one of his arms and focused on Clark. “Follow the trail and check in. I’ll take Ms. White—”
“M
egan.” Hal smiled this time. The grin left as soon as it came, but the impression stuck with her. Under all the gruff no-nonsense beat the heart of a man with dimples and a mouth to die for. “Please. And where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.” Hal turned and talked with Clark in a voice too low for her to hear. Whatever it was Hal said had Clark threading through the demolished office and disappearing into the street beyond. Hal turned back to her. “Ready?”
Dizziness slammed into her. She tightened her grip to keep from sliding to the floor. “I don’t know if there’s anywhere safe in Erites anymore.”
“There is.” He loosened her death grip in his arm and held her hand.
“You sure?”
“With me.”
The boast stopped the room from spinning. “You won’t hear an argument from me.”
“Hold on here.” He put her hand on his waistband and positioned her slightly behind him. “It lets me have full range of movement in case I need to get off a shot.”
The thought of more killing made her stomach heave. “Okay.” Her fingers curled into the material and she felt nothing but firm muscles and skin radiating warmth through his shirt.
“One question before we go.” He glanced down. “What’s with the pink shoes?”
“It’s either these or impossibly high heels.”
He nodded, his mouth stretched into a grim line but his voice filled with amusement. “Bunnies it is.”
Chapter Three
Hal guided her through the room to the far hallway. Gun up and ready to pounce, he intended to get them out through the kitchen and through a planned zigzag of small homes and dirt alleys. He had to take care of a few problems first.
He stopped. Since Megan had a death drip on his pants and her body plastered against his back, the move slammed her into him. “Megan?”
“Yes?” Her whisper blew across the back of his neck, causing a blip in his concentration. But the real problem was the way she tugged on his pants. She’d hiked them into danger territory.