Shadow Ops: Danger's Passion (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 3)

by LS Silverii

  “His partner, Cobra. The Devil’s Own still have him. They’re holding him ransom in exchange for the guns. He’s about in the same shape as Falcon was before he lucked out and died. He’s apparently hanging on by a thread while the FBI and ATF play tug of war over who’ll rescue him.”

  “Did you reach out to Justice?” Hollywood asked.

  “Department of Justice?” Rose’s slight head jerk and twisted mouth showed her confusion.

  “Department of Savage Souls,” Hollywood clarified. “Maybe ask Justice what he knows about this other OMC.”

  “Actually I did. He said not to fuck with them,” Rose said.

  “Where do we come in?” Chase asked.

  “We go get our brother,” Rose snarled, showing her badass ability usually concealed under bureaucratic blouses and silks.

  Hollywood stood. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The tarmac gave Hollywood the craps. It meant heading off to who knew where to do who knew what and twisted his gut in knots. Throbs of pain pulsed through his shoulder—not bad enough to sideline him, but a reminder he wasn’t twenty-three years old anymore.

  As usual, Voodoo sprinted to the Black Hawk with her tactical gear dangling from every Velcro strap and hook. Hollywood waited at the cargo door and helped her get kitted up. He still regretted the earlier dust-up with Voodoo, but he’d come to understand the fiery passion of Voodoo’s Creole culture. It’s what drew him to her, and what would keep him there.

  “Sorry again,” she said. “It’s still overwhelming, but I trust you and will fight heaven or hell to be with you.” Her expression was sincere, almost angelic. Her fair caramel skin showcased a picturesque smile and emerald green eyes. The olive drab tactical coveralls didn’t diminish her beauty.

  “Let’s roll. This’ll be a short hop to Scarsdale,” Hollywood said as he held her heavy bulletproof SWAT vest and Kevlar helmet. Although he hands were sheathed in tactical operator shooting gloves, he lingered before releasing her hand—it just felt perfect in his.

  “Where’s Scarsdale?” she crinkled her nose while fastening her harness.

  “New York, but Rose will brief everyone inflight.”

  Billy Price, the former Delta Force commander and STR’s number two, took his usual position in the chopper. He liked to face everyone and ensure there were no mistakes. Rose was the abstract conceptualizer of the unit—she saw patterns where nothing existed. Billy was her counterpoint—everything to him was in the details.

  The Black Hawk’s cabin glowed in eerie green LED lights. It diminished everyone’s expression and cast unnatural shadows over their faces. Rotors’ whooshed, biting air in mighty strokes as the pilots rocketed the bird northeast towards the Big Apple. Billy craned forward, started to speak but stopped. He made strong eye contact with each operative until they nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Chase, you with me?” he asked. Chase Westin nodded.

  “KC?”

  She blinked and whispered, “Yes.”

  “Voodoo, you with me? Hollywood saw her hesitate, but realized it was more from the intensity of the moment. Her mouth agape, she nodded.

  “Lucky, you with me?”

  Lucky Cavanaugh nodded. “I know ATF fucked this up, but tonight I’m STR.”

  “Hollywood?” He nodded, feeling a rush of adrenaline flood over him that made giving a verbal answer almost impossible.

  “Rose?” Billy asked without looking at her. Face buried in intel and operations plans, she managed to bust a thumb up.

  “Max, you with me?” he asked the SEAL Team 6’er who was along unofficially by request of Hollywood. His growl sufficed for acknowledgement. His thoughts were on the detonation charges that they’d use to force entry.

  “Bandit, you with me?” The Washington DC Metro cop and outlaw biker gang expert nodded.

  The intensity in the cabin was incredible, and they still had over an hour of airtime. Hollywood knew the routine. Billy briefed, the team chewed on it a bit, then Billy briefed again until the briefing became a quiz. He obsessed over every minute detail until STR was actually assaulting the target. Billy was why STR was so successful at executing high-risk operations like this one.

  “This isn’t going to be easy, but each one of you has committed. Speed, surprise and violence of action is the only way everyone survives this.” Billy spoke through gritted teeth. “We’re off the radar and unauthorized. FBI and ATF are still ensnared over which team will rescue Cobra. I have no confidence they’ve even laced up their SWAT boots yet. We gotta be in and out—no questions—no prisoners—no questions.”

  No prisoners. Billy had just signed the death warrant for anyone other than the Navy SEAL inside the structure. Hollywood tried to force a smile for Voodoo, but she looked absolutely okay with the notion. SWAT ops were her specialty and where she felt most comfortable.

  “Intel shows Cobra is still being tortured in a secluded structure just north of the city in Westchester County. The Village of Scarsdale sounds quaint, and probably the reason why they chose it. We’re almost thirty miles outside of the city, so no real police presence to contend with. Everything carried is suppressed, except Max’s entry tools. Black Hawks will drop us at our rendezvous point just off the Bronx River Parkway. We’ll finish gearing up, grab detonation cord, water bladders, oh, and C4 and blasting caps just in case, then drive the rest of the way. It’s a few miles off White Plains Road.” As usual, Billy didn’t reference his briefing book—the guy was a machine.

  “Who’s the taxi?” Bandit asked.

  “NYPD Anti-Terrorism Task Force Agent. Personal friend and one of the white hats,” Rose replied with a crooked smile.

  Her CIA career had allowed her to cultivate close relationships with people from every walk. She never knew when it might happen, but always expected to be at even the most remote locations in need of an ally. Like with STR, she made people feel invested in America’s safety.

  “Once boots hit the ground, I want this like we rehearsed it at the warehouse. No freewheeling. By the time we hike the half-mile to the target, I’ll know which room Cobra’s in. No time wasted telling dirt bags to hit the ground—you drop ’em.” Billy’s sharp hand movements and finger jabbing emphasized each point—his intensity would have to level off before they executed the assault.

  “Prep to land,” snapped the young sounding pilot.

  “Roger that,” Rose said.

  “Remember, drive, hike, assault, rescue, and fly. It’s that damn simple,” Billy said, again meeting everyone’s eyes. “We were never here. Understood?”

  CHAPTER 4

  Scarsdale looked like any other upper New York village or hamlet. Except for the blacked out van cruising through, its cargo area filled with secret operations specialists and enough ammo and explosives to overtake the countryside.

  “Five minutes till drop off. I’ll pick up once you signal entry.” The cop brooded behind the steering wheel. Rose reached through the separation panel and patted his shoulder. Hollywood saw the slight grin flash once he glanced back at her.

  “Straight line behind Chase’s navigation to perimeter,” Billy said.

  Everyone nodded.

  “I give signal and we separate into two-man elements to scout outside of location for threats before entry. Intel advises there are no bikers or dogs outside the stash house.”

  They acknowledged.

  “Max gets us in, and we get Cobra. Easy, right?” Billy’s gaze met stone stares that focused beyond his words and onto the mission.

  Hollywood studied the intensity in Billy’s eyes and the hard chiseled look etched over years of doing jobs most people would never imagine. He flipped a switch, and the whirl and hum of his night vision goggles sprung to life. Billy’s expression looked tenser under the green glow. He looked to Voodoo, who hadn’t donned her helmet yet.

  “You better get with it. Once that damn Marine hits the ground, we’re going to bolt through the woods like
lightning.”

  “I heard that,” Chase growled.

  Voodoo tried to force a laugh, but averted eye contact to check her submachine gun’s suppressor.

  She struggled with the strap of her helmet and Hollywood swatted her hands aside.

  “Let me help,” he said, securing the clasp, his fingers brushing the underside of her chin. She drew closer and her scent, that rich, musky scent he knew so well brought his senses to full alert. She met his gaze and his thoughts drifted back over the last few weeks…

  Hollywood’s thoughts drifted back over the last few weeks with her—just the two of them at her home along the banks of Turtle Bayou, Louisiana. There hadn’t been the heart-pounding risk of adrenaline-fueled adventure. There actually wasn’t much excitement beyond watching gators sun atop the logs. It was another world from this one. He chewed on his bottom lip—this wasn’t even her world. She was here because of him.

  “Okay, thanks for dressing me—now focus on the mission,” Voodoo said patting his cheek.

  She was right—time to focus.

  “Deploy,” The NYPD cop called as the wheels crunched quietly across uneven ground before cradling to a rest.

  Chase jerked open the sliding door. The interior dome and taillights were all deactivated with one switch to avoid detection. The team vanished into wooded terrain exactly one half mile from the Devil’s Own. The driver would wait at the drop off site until radioed to move in for extraction.

  * * *

  The pace was quick. Voodoo’s pulse rose. She exhaled through pursed lips and controlled the heavy breaths. A light mist of sweat formed over her brow and across her upper lip. She usually kept herself in excellent condition, but the last month of running and gunning with the STR had left her without much time to train.

  “You okay?” Hollywood whispered from behind her. His hand helped steady her across fallen logs and natural terrain arraigned in unnatural ways.

  She nodded, the reflective cats-eye band wrapped around her bulletproof helmet bobbing up and down. She was familiar with foliage and fauna—but this was man-laid obstacles.

  “Target ahead. Team up and spread out,” Billy spoke quietly but sharp into the tactical headset system. “Intel says Cobra unchained in northeast corner. Too much activity inside to gather more. He’s still alive.”

  Voodoo willed her heart rate to settle. She was surprised the others couldn’t hear it thrashing beneath her SWAT gear. She shortened her steps and edged close to Hollywood. They both took a knee in the tree line just before the fifteen-yard clearing leading to the structure. The ground was moist, and the cold mush saturated her TDU pants.

  Billy’s instructions warbled through her headset, but Voodoo was busy studying the building’s single story ranch-style layout. A home/business hybrid build, the features were hard to distinguish. The windows she could see through the NVG were boarded up with shutters fastened across them. They would cover Max and Bandit as they moved in to set the detonation charge for an explosive entry. That door looked sinister and unbreakable—but she’d heard Max was the best at getting SEAL teams in.

  “Team 3, move to breach,” Billy ordered.

  Voodoo’s peripheral vision caught the stalking movements of the Navy officer and the DC Metro cop. Her Colt 9mm submachine gun was level aimed with elbow on knee. She made a face as the pressure drove the other knee deeper into the soggy soil. The low light scope provided images as though it were daylight. She scanned the boarded up windows and around the yard for bikers or dogs but saw no activity.

  “They’re almost done. We’ll move in stack once they give the signal.” Hollywood’s eyes were wide, like crazy wide open, and his tongue pressed the front of his mouth as he spoke.

  “Driver notified, and slow roll into position,” Billy chimed over the headsets.

  “Hear that Voodoo?” Hollywood’s words struggled.

  He was sweating heavily. She noted that the shoulders and hip area of his coveralls were drenched and discolored. It was April in New York—not that hot.

  Her eyes still pressed against the rifle’s scope, she breathed, “Baby, you okay?”

  He leaned to catch his balance though already kneeling. “It’s like Pakistan again.”

  “It’ll be all right. We got to rescue Cobra,” she replied.

  “To do that we have to execute everyone in that building. That’s what we did to the Chechens who tried to escape the Moscow Theater—armed or not. It’s a fuck of a thing to live with. I don’t want you to carry it with you.”

  “Kinda late, hero. Billy gave the rally signal. Lets roll.” She nudged him, chuckling, trying to assure him she’d be fine.

  He recognized her low laugh as a coping mechanism to process the stress of handling horrible situations. Personally, he buried his in silent suffering.

  “Right. Time to focus on Cobra—just watch each other’s back.” Hollywood rocked forward.

  Voodoo followed as they quickly breached the fifteen feet of open space between woods and structure. Team 1’s Chase and KC emerged like fog from the trees. They stacked behind them at a forty-five degree angle to the door. Rose and Billy arrived carrying the protective blast-proof shield. Rose positioned it in front of Hollywood.

  The entire team crouched into a tactical go position. Voodoo’s thighs burned and she was more than once tempted to lean against the wall for support. She gazed past those stacked in front of her, hunched with arms bent and hands coddling weapons like their very own infants. Her pulse drummed in her ears. Breaths clutched between her lungs and mouth to fill her throat with an unnatural pressure.

  “Driver in position?” Billy whispered.

  “Check,” said the NYPD cop.

  “Fire in the hole?” Billy asked.

  “Check,” replied Max.

  “On my count of three we grab Cobra and get the hell out.” Billy’s voice never varied form, totally under control. Voodoo once again felt the confidence of operating with the best and baddest operatives in the world.

  “One. Two. Three. Go,” Billy ordered.

  Detonation cord combined with water-filled plastic bladders created a shape charge concentrated on removing the lock that secured the metal door. With the force of the blast concentrated to do the job but avoid mass casualties, it blew one hell of a hole through the front door.

  Voodoo’s pulse picked up as she saw Rose snap to attention holding the ballistic shield. With her handgun stretched around to the front of the bulletproof barrier, their leader shifted toward the door. Billy quickstepped next to her with a battering ram in case there was anything left to the door—there wasn’t.

  Billy traded his breaching equipment for a HK MP5 compact rifle and nestled behind Rose and the shield. Voodoo stuck close to Hollywood and felt KC inches behind her in the tactical stack. Rose spun around the open threshold.

  Gunfire erupted.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rose went down.

  Voodoo scanned from left to right to avoid the effects of narrowed tunnel vision. She crunched close to Hollywood. She never saw Rose’s body blow backward, but Hollywood halted, held up his left fist. Everyone stopped. Voodoo peeked around him to see Billy launch a series of Def-Tec 25 flash bangs through the front opening. Through the walls, Voodoo heard the deafening sounds. The gunfire stopped. Billy dragged Rose’s body away from the opening.

  “Move,” Hollywood commanded.

  Voodoo pushed off with her right foot, lifted her weapon to eye level and sped through the fatal funnel. No time to think about Rose. Billy would tend to her. Voodoo’s focus was on watching Hollywood’s back and locating Cobra—whatever stood in their way.

  Voodoo and Hollywood took a straight line from the front door toward the hallway to the right rear of the structure. Chase and KC streamed fast behind them and rolled to a series of rooms toward the left rear corner. Max and Bandit followed last and secured the main room by the front door. Except for Rose and Billy, everyone flowed according to the plan.

  Heavy
metal music pumped hard and heavy, so loud Voodoo felt it against her chest. She hesitated as Hollywood smashed a hollow core door with his boot. Access into the dark hallway was granted. Music pounded in her ears. If there were instructions over the tactical headsets, she’d never hear them—so stick to the plan.

  The walls were lined with flags and banners bearing satanic images and the Hell’s Own logo. A few leather vests with club patches hung from hooks. Known as colors, the vests represented membership and position in the club. Bikers valued their colors more than life itself, would fight to the death for them.

  Voodoo’s view remained sharp through the NVG. She saw a barrel emerge from the first door to their left.

  “Gun! Left door!” She called.

  Hollywood didn’t redirect his weapon. She crouched beside him and opened fire into the doorjamb about four inches from the frame and opening. She felt Hollywood’s body tense. He lurched to the right. A wiry frame with more hair than flesh and bones fell out halfway into the hall.

  Six more doors stood between them and the target room where Cobra was being held. Clearing the rooms wasn’t their mission—getting to Cobra was. Voodoo’s tunnel vision began to close tight on the very last door. Experienced enough to recognize it, she blinked and again scanned left and right. It was a simple but effective technique to avoid becoming so focused on one thing that you missed other threats.

  A serrated blade led the charge from the third room on the right. Apparently unconcerned about bringing a knife to a gunfight, the biker’s eyes flashed wild through her NVG. The deadly blade reflected light. She began the smooth pull of her gloved finger against the trigger. A blast of light washed over her NVG vision—Hollywood had dropped him and his knife.