by Rita Henuber
“First, I want you to know I asked for the Coast Guard’s best flight crew and you’re the ones sitting here.” He looked at each of her crew before he continued. “We know something isn’t right about all of this. The intel is so detailed we’re suspicious. The informant who came to us with this is a reliable source. As to who he got that info from…we don’t know. Our best guess is someone in the cartel is being set up. We can’t be sure.”
“Do you think they could be after us? Take us out in an ambush?” Crenshaw asked, making no attempt to hide his concern.
“It’s always a possibility. Frankly, they’d be foolish to attempt that. They wouldn’t want to risk the kind of firefight or the retaliation it would bring. Bottom line, we aren’t sure what we’re sending you into.”
“Great.” Crenshaw flopped back in his chair.
“We can’t afford not to follow up,” Gray Eyes continued. “If it’s good intel we take bad guys and a whole lot of drugs off the street. We can sort out the reason later.
“Captain Anderson assures me you’ll be able to adapt to whatever you come across out there. You can and will make appropriate decisions.” He raised an eyebrow and stared directly at her. “You won’t be calling in for instructions.”
Olivia gave him a slight nod. She had a rep with crews and COs. They knew she could be trusted to get the job done without loss of men or equipment.
“I want to be perfectly clear on this,” she said. “Besides us, we’ll have a cutter, two of our long range interceptor boats, the hunter plane searching with radar and a rescue helo out there.”
“Yes.” The man leaned back. “Our surface craft run with lights. The people we’re looking for don’t. We’ll have to depend on radar to find them. We have to be on top of a go-fast for our radar to pick them up.” Gray Eyes nodded. “Our onboard lights will tip them to our positions as well as their own radar, allowing them to avoid us.”
“Exactly, Commander. The cutter and interceptors will be traveling in a pattern to herd them into position, allowing you to swoop in and level your guns on them.”
Olivia thought about what he said. Dolphin crews were authorized to employ airborne use of force against the high-speed vessels known as go-fasts. Her bird was specially equipped with machine gun and missile launcher.
“Tell me exactly what you want out of me, my crew.”
“Yeah,” Turner piped up. “You want these guys dead or alive?”
“We want you to bring them in, as alive as possible,” Anderson replied.
Olivia looked at Turner. He liked firing that big-assed gun as much as she liked flying. They had a link when they were in the air and she liked it. She turned to Crenshaw, still a newbie, a by-the-book guy who was more than a little nervous when they got into a hairy situation. But he knew his stuff.
“As usual, you’re authorized to fire at your discretion,” Anderson went on.
“Sweet.” Turner grinned.
The captain turned his attention to Olivia. “You get one refuel. It’s set up at Mayport. You’re priority.” He paused, giving her a hard look. “Under no circumstances are you to extend your RTB time.”
She nodded. When chasing bad guys she’d been known to push her return to base time coming in on vapor on more than one occasion. Once she’d been within ten minutes of her RTB when her gunner went in the water to assist with a family’s rescue. No gunner meant a lighter load. A lighter load meant the helo used less fuel, giving her more time in the air. She went after the drunk boater who caused the accident. He refused to stop. It was the first time she used her slice and dice stop ’em method.
“We have a specific corridor we want you to fly.” He slid the aviation map across the desk.
Crenshaw leaned in to look. “Pretty simple.”
“That’s the good news,” the agent in charge said. “Here’s the bad. We think the supply ship is probably a fishing trawler and is more heavily armed than you. We’d prefer the cutter take on the trawler. We don’t want you dealing with them unless you have no choice. You stay focused on the prime target, the men in the go-fasts. We want them alive. We need them alive. Information they may provide could completely shut the Silva cartel down.”
She stifled a gasp. Silva. The name scribbled on the napkin. The name she’d spent every spare moment researching. Silva…the name of Danny’s killer.
Captain Anderson stood. “That’s it. Be safe out there.”
Olivia was pumped. She couldn’t be in Miami, but tonight she could and would get Silva’s men and drugs. She was also pissed the Miami detectives had never told her about him and his cartel. What else weren’t they telling her?
Forcing herself to concentrate, she did the exterior check with her ground crew chief and covered the pre-flight checklist with Crenshaw as fast as she dared. “I want all of us coming home with no holes, no rips or tears. You will observe all safety rules to the T. I will not be looking at any of your families offering my condolences. Do you each understand?” She turned to look back at Senior Chief Defoe. With only a few days in the service left, she especially didn’t want him getting hurt.
She waited until she heard a “yes, ma’am” from each of the men before she lifted the orange and silver bird off the deck.
Olivia glanced at the illuminated dial of her aviator’s watch. 1:42 a.m. They’d been in the air a little over two hours and had twenty-two minutes of fuel left before their RTB. They were flying north and she could see the sweep of the St. Augustine lighthouse to port. She took another look at the clear moonless sky through the cockpit windshield, slipped her night vision goggles back on and scanned the water ahead as she worked the helo’s controls.
“I’ve got something,” Defoe said. “Check it out.”
Olivia pushed the NVGs up to look at the radar screen.
“There.” Crenshaw pointed to a fast moving blip on the very edge of the scope. “You think it’s them?”
“Oh, yeah,” she drawled. Her fingers tightened around the control stick and she turned the bird southeast toward the blip. In no time they were watching a good image on the screen.
“Guns ready?” she asked, knowing they were. She got a kick out of Turner’s responses to the question. It was a ritual between them.
“Does a bear crap in the woods on a flat rock?”
Defoe snickered his approval.
Pressing speed to 154 knots, she closed in on the boat quickly. By now the men in the go-fast knew they were being chased. Crenshaw watched the radar, waiting for the inevitable change in direction. A fruitless attempt to elude the helo. Ahead she could already make out the glowing wake kicked up by the boat’s powerful engines.
“Here we go,” Crenshaw called out. “The dumb asses are running. He’s turning to his port.”
Olivia didn’t attempt to correct the helo’s direction. She knew they wouldn’t run out to sea. This was a stupid diversion. In order to escape they would have to come closer to land, go overboard and hope to make it to shore.
“Commander, did you hear me? I said he headed out to sea.”
She said nothing, keeping her eyes on the phosphorus trail.
“They’ve turned, headed straight in to shore.” She saw the turn to starboard at the same time Crenshaw called it out.
They were close to BINGO so Olivia slowed air speed to conserve fuel. The last thing she wanted was to abort the chase because of low fuel.
“Call it in, Crenshaw. We’ll need rescue air and seat. These guys have no intention of being taken.”
She listened to him report their position. The rescue helo monitoring their radio had already changed course. Its crew also included a gunner but he was armed with only a light caliber rifle.
Olivia maneuvered to a direct line in front of the boat’s course at an altitude of twenty-five feet. She could and would drop to ten feet in front of them to effect a stop.
“Another go-fast on the screen.”
Olivia glanced at the glowing green screen. The muscles in her b
ack and thighs tensed uncomfortably.
“A thousand yards out. There.” Crenshaw pointed to the blip.
“It’s not our interceptors,” Defoe said. “They aren’t close yet.”
Olivia’s mind worked feverously. Two boats. What were they doing? Attempting a rescue? The second boat should be running, making an escape. She had a visual on the go-fast in front of her. It moved to starboard and she adjusted course to compensate. On the screen the second boat moved at full speed on a direct intersect with the boat approaching her. Her mind quickly ran through possible scenarios.
Ambush.
“Shit!” Her left arm strained at the pitch stick, forcing the helo to climb faster than any manual recommended. The orange bird’s black nose rose, the powerful Turbomeca engines strained to do as she asked. Her right hand worked the cyclic stick, increasing speed and pulling to port at the same time. The turbo shaft groaned. She felt each shudder and vibration of the machinery as if it were part of her. Her left foot jammed against the pedal. The rotors’ whomp, whomp, whomp throbbed in her temples.
“Can the blades take it?” Crenshaw’s breathing sounded like he was running a marathon.
“We’re about to find out.”
“Muzzle fire from the second go-fast,” Turner called out.
The go-fast a few yards from them exploded into a ball of flame reaching fifty feet into the night sky. The helicopter rocked in the turbulence from the blast’s percussion. Olivia let loose every profanity she knew as debris struck the helo. She and Crenshaw struggled for long moments before they had full control again.
“Way to go, Commander,” Defoe shouted when she leveled the bird and turned to a position that would allow Turner to fire on the second go-fast.
“Permission to fire?”
“Granted. Make it count,” she ordered.
The missile whooshed away. Good. He’d gone right for the big stuff.
“HITRON 9 fired on and missile away,” Crenshaw told Jacksonville OPS in rapid-fire speech. She heard “All craft assist HITRON 9” in response.
Turner fired a volley from the machine gun for good measure. She watched tracers zip off into the night. They all watched as the second boat exploded into its own fireball.
“BINGO in seven minutes,” Crenshaw said, switching on the helo’s high-powered search light.
Olivia turned her full attention to the water and flew the prescribed pattern to locate survivors. The Dolphin’s autopilot could be used for this but with so much debris she preferred to control the stick. Floating with chunks of the boat were heavily taped plastic bags.
“What’s your ETA?” she asked the rescue helo.
“Ten minutes,” the pilot snapped back. “Will my swimmers be going in the water?”
“So far that’s a negative,” Crenshaw replied.
“Hold,” Defoe shouted.
Olivia held the helo’s position stationary, waiting for instructions from her senior chief.
“Starboard, two o’clock.”
“I see him.” Crenshaw worked the searchlight to center on the man. “Shit. There are two of them. One is floating face down.”
Olivia brought their altitude down to thirty feet. Crenshaw captured the two men in the beam of the powerful light.
“I’m going in,” Defoe announced.
“The fuck you are,” she yelled back.
“Rescue will be here in seven. I’m going in.”
“That was an order, Senior Chief.”
“BINGO in three minutes,” Crenshaw said.
Olivia looked back at her senior chief to see him removing his shoes. “You’re not equipped for a rescue.”
He didn’t answer as he checked the straps on his safety vest.
“I’m taking us up to fifty feet.” Even Defoe wouldn’t be foolish enough to attempt a jump from that height.
“Suit yourself, ma’am, but I’m going in. One of those guys is alive and I intend on keeping him that way.” He removed his headgear, ending any effective communication between them. They locked eyes for a moment. No use battling him, he was too bullheaded.
Olivia took the helo down to twelve feet above the water. She would have gone lower for Defoe but there was too much debris. Lower would churn it up and possibly injure the survivors and her senior chief.
“Swimmer away,” Turner called out when Defoe jumped.
Crenshaw relayed the information to rescue. “Swimmer in the water and we are BINGO. Put the pedal to the metal, rescue.”
“Take it easy, L.T.,” she snapped. We aren’t going to drop out of the sky. BINGO means I have three minutes of fuel before RTB. I intend on taking every second before I leave my man in the water.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Olivia rose to fifty feet and watched Defoe take several powerful strokes to the victim floating face down. He rolled him over and even at this distance they could see the man’s face was gone.
“Jee-sus.” Crenshaw grimaced.
Defoe was already on his way to the second man. He reached him and gave a thumbs up signal. They had a live one.
Turner dropped a floating flare to guide the rescue helicopter.
“Three minutes past BINGO, Commander.”
She turned the helo toward Mayport and fuel.
Crenshaw relayed details to the rescue helo. “Keep us informed on your pickup. Tell our senior chief to stay put at the hospital. We’ll be picking him up as soon as we refuel.”
Olivia gave him an approving nod.
After long minutes of silence, the radio came to life. “We have visual on your man and the survivor.”
Her crew said nothing, listening to the radio chatter as they headed to Mayport. Another fifteen minutes passed, and they were close to setting down for fuel.
“Carver, what does your senior chief eat for breakfast?” the rescue pilot asked. “He refused the basket until we had both the survivor and body aboard.”
“Is he aboard now?” she said crisply.
“Sure is, and says he’s fine.”
He won’t be when I get finished with him, she thought. It pissed her off he’d disobeyed her order and deliberately risked his life. He could have waited for rescue. Not only had Defoe put himself at risk, they’d been fired on. Her biggest fear—maybe her only fear—was her crew being injured. She never wanted to face grieving family members, knowing only too well what it felt like to be one.
“What’s the status on the survivor?” she asked.
“Medic says he’ll make it.”
Good. Nothing would make her happier than to see that SOB behind bars.
“The boat we fired on?”
“Rescue boats searching. Nothing yet.”
They all knew there wouldn’t be. To have one survivor was nothing short of a miracle.
At Mayport she ordered a quick fuel. Enough to pick up Defoe at Shands Hospital, where rescue was taking the injured man, and return to Cecil Field. She couldn’t wait to get to Defoe. The longer she thought about it, the madder she was with him for risking his own life. She fully intended on ripping him a new one.
Olivia requested and received clearance to land on the hospital’s heliport. Lights illuminating the landing area cast an eerie glow on the mist from the nearby river. Rescue landed only a couple of minutes before her, and she could see Defoe standing next to the big helo, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Her anger bubbling over, Olivia didn’t bother with her normal soft landing. She slammed down, idled the engines and was up and out of her seat in an instant, pushing past Turner to get to Defoe.
She had the senior chief in her sights. Ten feet from him she started yelling, out of anger and to be heard over the big helo’s engines.
“You arrogant bastard. I’ll see you hanging by the short hairs on the station flagpole tomorrow.” She was on him and saw his color wasn’t so good. Crap.
“Are you hurt?” She wrenched open the blanket draped around him looking for signs of injury.
“Piece of debris hit me i
n the back. I’m pretty sore,” he answered, watching the removal of the injured man they’d rescued. He took her arm, moving her aside.
“Damn it. Senior Chief, what were you thinking? Get inside and get checked out.”
He shook his head and grinned. “I’m fine. Getting too old for this shit though.”
The rescue crew maneuvered past them. The man in the basket reached out and grabbed her arm in a death grip.
“What the hell?” She was in no mood for this kind of crap. She tried to pry the scumbag’s hand away but he had a grip like a vise.
“Help me,” the man moaned.
“Let go of me you son of…”
She was sucker punched in the midsection. At least that’s what it felt like. All the breath left her. She stumbled into Defoe. Crenshaw reached them and peeled the man’s fingers from her arm. Her world spun out of control.
Rico.
Shit. She didn’t even know his last name.
Chapter Four
For the first time in her life, fear owned her. Olivia fought to catch her breath. The man she’d spent the night with was a drug dealer. What if he was the one who had…No! She couldn’t go there. If he’d killed Danny she would have known, felt something. But she’d gone to bed with a criminal. How could she explain this? Everything she’d worked for could be destroyed. Her career in the Coast Guard ruined. She wanted to scream. No. What she really wanted was to kill the SOB.
Crenshaw broke Rico’s grip and she stumbled full against Defoe who encircled her in his arms. To her surprise, she let him.
Trembling, she struggled to control her emotions. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it over the rescue helo’s rotors.
“Ma’am, he’s gone now,” Defoe yelled. He pulled back from her. “You okay?”
The look of concern on his face pushed her back from the edge.
“Yeah,” she stammered, “yeah. I wasn’t ready for that.”
She moved away from Defoe to see Crenshaw and Turner watching her with equally concerned looks. What could she say? Tell them she’d spent a night wrestling between the sheets with a drug dealer. Fucked him? Damn. Her stomach did a 360.
