“I don’t like this,” Hargraves says.
“You think I do? But what choice do we have?”
Hargraves is quiet a moment. “Okay. I have a female Marine that is rated as expert with the service pistol. We’ll use her and I’ll find someone else. That will give us two two-man fire teams if the shit gets deep. But you are going to be on your own at first.”
“Roger that,” Ryker says.
Hargraves chuckles. “You’ve got balls, Evans. More balls than brains.”
This time Ryker chuckles. “Roger that.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ryker returns to the embassy to wait for his appointment. He could continue to pound the pavement but he feels his time would be better spent returning and working out the details of the meeting. He, Hargraves, and a small mousy man that provides intel on the restaurant discuss the logistics of what they are about to attempt. The fire teams are still being assembled. He only knows that it is going to be three Marines in plain clothes and one of the three female CIA field operatives. With that much firepower he knows if he can hold his own for ten seconds they can handle just about any threat short of a full on assault. And that isn’t likely to happen, otherwise the meet wouldn’t be scheduled for a popular and well known location.
After two hours of talking out the logistics of the meet, Ryker is confident that they are as well-prepared as possible given the uncertain nature of the plan. With some extra time to kill, he tracks Ronnie down in the infirmary where she is sitting in a chair and reading to two of the wounded Marines from a Kindle.
“I’m going to borrow this lovely lady for a few moments,” he announces, stepping up and interrupting.
One of the Marines nods slowly. “Just bring her back. Jack Ryan is about to board the Russian sub,” he mutters painfully.
He smiles and nods. “We won’t be but a moment.” He escorts her out of the ward and into the hall. “That’s a good thing you are doing,” he nods approvingly as they glide to a stop.
“I got bored in my room. I thought they could use some company. You’re back sooner than normal.”
“We have a lead on your father. I meet with the contact in just over an hour. I came back to get ready.”
“Let me go with you,” she begs.
“Out of the question,” he says firmly. “Not only is it too dangerous, I am to meet the contact alone.”
She can feel her blood run cold. “Ryker…”
“Don’t worry. I told you. I’m hard to kill. Plus we are putting some backup nearby.” He takes a quick look around. Other than the security camera, no one will see. He bends down, takes her face in his hands and kisses her gently on the lips for a moment before turning her loose. “It will be okay.”
“But…” Ronnie begins, then stops. So far as she knows this is the only lead they have had since the explosion at the apartment. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
Ryker begins to chuckle. “I sense a certain lack of confidence in my abilities.”
She smiles and looks down, avoiding his gaze. “No. But I have seen what you are willing to do first hand. I don’t want you to have to do that again. Not for me. Not for my father.”
“Don’t worry, Ronnie. This is just a meet in a restaurant. Nothing is going to happen.”
“Then why the backup?”
Ryker smiles. “Because I’m not stupid. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.”
She looks back to his face. “Just be careful.”
“I will.”
She smiles softly, then steps in and holds him tight. “See that you are.”
He smiles and surrounds her with his arms, taking her into a loose embrace. While he would like nothing better than to stand there and hold her forever, he pushes her gently away after only a moment. “The Marines are waiting to find out what happens to Jack.”
Ronnie steps back and smiles sadly. “I should go. It’s not nice to leave them hanging like that.”
“No.”
“Come see me the moment you get back. I will be right here.”
Ryker smiles. “Count on it.”
Ryker doesn’t know who the fire teams are so he can’t tell if they are in place as he walks into Hanaii at 5:20. “Table for two. On the patio.”
“Right his way,” the host says, picking up two menus and escorting him to the patio. The patio is unoccupied save for one table.
The host begins to seat him near the occupied table. “Something a little more private, please,” Ryker says when the host places the menus on the table.
“Certainly,” the host replies before turning and offering a table at the opposite end of the patio.
“Perfect,” Ryker says, taking the chair that places his back to the wall and allows him to see the door. He settles in to wait and watch. The restaurant is nearly empty, as it is too late for lunch and too early for dinner. He watches the man and woman dining at the other table rise to leave. He stiffens, preparing for trouble, but they leave without a backwards glance, leaving him alone on the patio.
At 5:45 Ryker has about decided the “friend” is going to be a no show. The host approaches, probably once again to prompt him to order, so he stands to leave. “I’m sorry. It looks like my friend has stood me up.”
“Are you Ryker Evans?” the host asks.
Ryker blinks in surprise then slowly sits back down. “Yes. That’s me.”
“I have been asked to take your radio and your weapon,” the man says, obviously uncomfortable with the request.
“No.”
“Very well,” the man says, backing away.
“Wait! Wait a minute,” Ryker says thinking quickly. He disconnects and pulls the tiny radio out and hands it to the waiter. “If that isn’t enough, then the meeting is off.”
The waiter nods and backs away. Less than a minute later, a man Ryker has been waiting for more than two years steps onto the patio. Ryker reaches into the small of his back and pulls his weapon.
Read on for Book 2
Warrior’s Heart
***
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WARRIOR’S HEART
CHAPTER ONE
Petty Officer First Class Ryker Evans, United States Navy, rises from his chair, his Beretta M9 service pistol held at his side as he quickly strides toward the figure stepping onto the patio of the restaurant. Ryker sees the man register the weapon in his hand and watches as his eyes go wide with fear… … as they should.
Ryker grabs the man, whirls him around and slams him backwards against the concrete wall of the restaurant. “You motherfucker! I’m going to kill you right here!” he snarls into the man’s face while pinning him with a forearm to the throat. He shoves the weapon hard under the man’s chin, pointing it upwards. One pull of the trigger and most of the man’s head will disappear in a spray of blood.
The man stands still, afraid to move. His eyes show his fear, show how near death he knows he is, but his voice is calm. “If you kill me you will never find Dr. Baker.”
Ryker can feel his finger begin to tighten on the trigger as his face hardens. He is the fucking angel of death, here to collect this asshole’s soul, if he has one. “You had better talk fast you fuck.”
The man says nothing, standing stock still with his head his pinned to the wall by Ryker’s arm, his wide eyes staring into Ryker’s. With a menacing growl Ryker pulls his arm back from the man’s throat, takes Baltasar by the back of the head, and slams him face first onto the wooden table and places the gun to his temple, pressing hard. With no windows into the restaurant and a chest-high wall surrounding it, unless someone steps onto the patio from inside the restaurant they won’t be seen.
“You had better start talking!”
Baltasar winces in pain as Ryker pushes the weapon hard into the side of his head. “Is this how the vaulted U.S. military interrogates prisoners?”
“No. This is how one pissed off Navy SEAL interrogates a lying, chea
ting, son of a bitch that caused a lot of good men to be killed. Talk!”
“How do I know you won’t kill me as soon as I tell you what you want to know?”
“You don’t. But if you don’t tell me I will kill you,” Ryker snarls.
Baltasar considers his options and realizes he has none. “I will tell you, but take that fucking gun away from my head.”
Ryker grits his teeth, his mouth working in barely contained rage. He had almost hoped this fucker wouldn’t talk so he could blow his fucking head off. He feels his finger begin to tighten again as he leans in hard, then jerks back, hauling Baltasar off the table and slamming him into a chair. The chair goes over backwards, dumping Baltasar into the floor. Ryker reaches down and hauls the man to his feet, then slams him into another chair, but not quite as hard, causing the chair to rock back but not go over this time.
Ryker knows he is raging out of control, but he can’t help it. Not with his fucker. Two years ago six good men had gone in on a simple smash and grab mission, but only two—he and one other—had come out. All because of this shit Baltasar. He had played them and led them right into a trap.
“Talk!” Ryker snarls, sitting down across from Baltasar. His weapon is still out, pointed directly at him under the table. Gut shooting the bastard would be too good for him… all he needs is an excuse. And Baltasar knows it.
“I know where Dr. Baker is.”
“Where?”
“First I need your guarantee of freedom. I know the CIA is still looking for me. I want them to stop. I want to return home.”
“The only guarantee you’ll get from me is considering not killing you right here, right now,” Ryker mutters, his voice deadly.
“Then kill me,” Baltasar says, leaning back in his chair as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder, wondering when one of your CIA agents will be standing behind me. I would rather die.”
“I can help you with that,” Ryker sneers.
Baltasar says nothing, crossing his arms.
“Don’t press me, Baltasar,” Ryker warns.
Baltasar smiles weakly. “So? Do we have a deal?”
“Like the last time? When you sent us straight into the teeth of a fucking war? That kind of deal? Fuck you Baltasar!” Ryker snarls, jumping to this feet and hauling the man out of the chair. “I think it’s time I reintroduce you to your old pals at the CIA. It will be like old times. I’m sure they will love to talk to you. I wonder… are you the same guy that tipped us to Dr. Baker’s location then told the kidnappers we were on our way? That would be just like you… like what you did the last time. They really enjoy it when one of their guys is playing both sides.”
Baltasar feels his himself go pale. “Wait. Wait! I will tell you everything!” he nearly shouts. He has heard of the interrogation techniques the CIA uses and he wants nothing to do with them. He thought he had at last found a ticket out of his private hell, but this isn’t going the way he had planned at all. “Ryker! Wait! I will tell you! I will tell you everything!”
“Too late pal,” Ryker sneers. “You had your chance and you fucked up. Just like when you double-crossed us.”
“Ryker! Please!”
Ryker jams his weapon hard into Baltasar’s kidneys. “Now we are going to walk out of here nice and easy. One sound, one false move, and you are dead man. Got it?”
“You won’t shoot me in a crowded restaurant,” Baltasar says with more bravado than he feels.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You see, I’m here as part of the embassy staff. I have diplomatic immunity,” Ryker lies softly into Baltasar’s ear as he steers him through the restaurant, shielding his weapon from view with his own body. He sees two couples, his undercover backup probably, rise from their meals. “Get my radio,” Ryker says loudly enough for them to hear, but never stops walking and returns his attention to Baltasar. “It would so be worth being kicked out of the country to get to kill your worthless ass.”
As he steps out on the street the two men are right behind him. “One of you drive while I keep this asshole company.”
CHAPTER TWO
Ryker is in a towering rage as he paces about in his room. He has turned that fuck Baltasar over to the CIA to let them sweat the details out of him, but knowing that Baltasar is in good hands doesn’t make him feel any better.
He and Michael Henry had made a pact when they had escaped the jaws of the lion. As the only two surviving members of that failed mission they had promised that if the opportunity were to present itself they would settle the score for Baltasar’s treachery. He had him! He had him and he didn’t pull the trigger. But this mission is too important to throw away their only potential lead for some personal…
He hears the knock on his door and takes several deep breaths, calming himself before opening it. Ronnie is standing there, a smile on her face.
“They told me you were back. I thought you were going to come and get… Ryker, what is wrong?” She hasn’t known him that long. Just over a week. But she can tell instantly that something has gone wrong. Terribly wrong. He has the look on his face that he has when the shit is hitting the fan. A look she knows well after he saved her ass. Twice.
“Nothing,” he grumbles, stepping back, silently inviting her to enter.
“Bullshit. What happened?”
“I met the contact. He wanted to play games so he and the CIA are in—aggressive—negotiations at the moment.”
“They’re torturing him?” she asks in shock.
“Unlikely. Not yet anyway. At the moment they are probably just sweating him. Torture can be counterproductive. The subject will tell you whatever you want to hear. There are better, more subtle ways to get people to talk.”
She doesn’t like the sound of that either. “But there is more to it than that, isn’t there?”
He looks at her. Dr. Veronica Baker, daughter to the kidnapped Dr. Julian Baker, the man he is looking for, is not only a brilliant geneticist, but obviously a good people reader as well. “Yes. I know him… and let’s just say that I owe him something.”
She has never seen him like this. Even when their life was hanging by a thread, he was calm, cool, and in control. But now, here in his room, he seems totally out of sorts. “Ryker. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
He takes a deep breath, trying to let the anger go. “The man’s name is Baltasar. He is a CIA contact. A couple of years ago we were on a mission to snatch a senior al Qaeda member hiding in Batroun. Baltasar tipped us on his location. We were going to go in, bag him, and then squeeze him for intel. Baltasar set us up. They knew we were coming and we walked into a buzz saw. A lot of good men died. I swore that if I ever found that bastard again I would kill him.”
“Wait. I thought you told me you were a search and rescue guy.”
“I am.”
“But, why…”
“Ronnie, I can’t tell you everything. SAR is what I do, but it’s not all that I do. Not all that I have done.”
She tries to get her mind around what he is saying. “How many? How many were killed?”
“Four. I and another guy escaped. We left three men behind—the other died before we could get him help. Mike, the other survivor, still doesn’t have full use of his left arm… and probably never will. He was a hell of a southpaw pitcher too. Maybe good enough to go pro. But not now.”
“And you?” Ronnie asks quietly. “What about you?”
“Me? I got off light. Nothing more than cuts and abrasions.” Ryker stares into nothingness for a moment.
He still hasn’t fully forgiven himself for leaving those three men behind, especially after their bodies were paraded around on television like fucking trophies. You never leave a man behind. Ever! But he had been part of the fighting retreat back to the beach trying to get Brennon out while he was still alive, him and Michael dragging the man between them. But it had been too little, too late, and he had died before they could be picked up.
“I’
m sorry Ryker,” she says, and she means it.
“Yeah. Me too,” he replies, before flopping into a sit on his bed. “I wanted to kill that son of a bitch so badly.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because he might lead us to your father. I couldn’t take the chance of scratching off our first good lead.”
Ronnie relaxes a bit. The Ryker she saw when he opened the door scared her a little. But the old Ryker seems to be back. She sits on the bed beside him. “I know it must have been hard. Thank you for not killing him.”
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