by Zoe Dawson
She threw a glance at Kai, her eyes flaring in surprise. New World Order had control of Moonbeam Horizon. God, the potential for loss of life and crushing environmental disaster made her blood run cold. Her mind raced. The U.S. never negotiated with terrorists, so that meant there was going to be an assault. When that was going to happen, she had no idea. But she bet either Rebecca or the director could find out.
“What is the name of the vessel Leary is piloting?”
“It’s stolen…Midnight Madness.”
As sirens blared in the distance, Mak looked out to sea, her gut in knots. The smell of salt and water was heavy in her nostrils, but the beauty of the moonlight on the dancing water was sublime. Below its depths countless fish and mammals lived, while above, the lights of Moonbeam Horizon blurred into a bright star and shone like “The Crystal Ship” Jim Morrison had used in the lyrics when he’d written a song about lost love. The irony of the name of the boat wasn’t lost on her. Her number one priority was to find Midnight Madness and stop Leary.
This had started out with a manhunt for justice for a Marine. Now the scope had moved beyond the Navy to more than a hundred lives and the kind of disaster that this part of California might never recover from.
But it was more than that. Her pledge was always to keeping order within the Navy, protecting its assets and personnel, but her second pledge, one just as strong, was her dedication to protecting this country she loved. Her branch of NCIS was all about fighting terror.
She’d done it during her work with the Shadow Wolves. Terrorists would never, ever succeed when there were people like her getting beyond the fear and horror and fighting with everything they had.
They were going to need the Coast Guard pronto.
Open Ocean, Off the Coast of Santa Barbara
They headed into the waves, propelled forward by the convergence of two currents flowing in opposite directions. The natural wonders of the ocean and the tides created a powerful conveyor belt that dragged them toward the target without much effort. The ocean was completely in control, but recognizing that fact made it much easier and safer to do the impossible.
As lead swimmers, Pitbull and Mad Max checked their compasses regularly, keeping the line of SEALs and EOD techs behind them on track. Ten minutes into the swim, it started to rain, the strong winds picking up an overcast scudding low across the steep seas. It was like being in a huge washing machine.
Saltwater spray washed across them, the RIBs, and the equipment inside, making the swim rough. They heaved upward and over the breakers, careful to keep the boat always on top of the waves.
Lightning shimmered in the distance as the rain continued without abating. His body tingled suddenly, and he looked down. Below him a massive bulk swam, pacing them like a shadow in a dream, indistinct and gigantic. Whale? Shark? There were Blues and Great Whites in this area. He dismissed the shadow and continued moving upslope to the crests and down into the troughs, the swells hissing off into the night. When they broke, they threw powerful white cascades down their arcing slopes, leaving scars of foam in their wake.
The ocean bubbled and roared around them, the air full of spume and spray. The waves were high but not unmanageable, and with the currents they were moving at a good clip. The wind-driven rain and ocean spray were as cold as sleet against his exposed face.
In the distance, the superstructure that was Moonbeam Horizon loomed, and the smell of gas and oil drifted to them on the windblown sea.
Far away the platform looked almost majestic with its twinkling lights, but up close, it seemed incongruent with the natural environment.
As they swam under the spindly rig, the columns that supported the upper platform rose out of the dark and stormy night, water rushing over the lower platform, the heavy scent of wet sea lion drifting to where they were gathering. They lashed the boats securely to the strut with ropes.
“I always knew my knot training would come in handy,” Mad Max said.
Pitbull grinned and flipped Max’s harness to him. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you put your muscle where your mouth is? Last one to the top buys the beer.”
Max grinned back. “You’re on. Plowboy.”
The sea lions were lounging on the struts and pole supports all over the lower portion of the rig, like a steel beach angling down dangerously toward the oncoming waves. Some animals were even above them on the walkway, their barks audible but indistinct over the roar of the ocean.
Not worried the noise would alert the terrorists as the howling winds and crashing waves drowned out most of the sound, Pitbull, Mad Max and the rest of the team removed their rebreathers and stowed them in the RIB and donned their waterproof night vision goggles. He and Max turned toward the steel post after slipping into their climbing harnesses to begin the ascent up the column as sea lions torpedoed into the channel, disappearing into the depth of the churning water.
“You know there was a huge shark shadowing us,” Max said through the comms.
“Saw that. Could have been a whale.”
“Whales don’t have dorsal fins.”
“Shark?” Dodger asked. “I didn’t see anything. You’re making it up.”
Pitbull’s arms bulged beneath the dry suit, his back muscles and thighs contracting as he made his way up the column. “No, I saw it too,” Pitbull said, smiling at the nerves in Dodger’s voice. He was a stoic bastard, but when it came to sharks, he couldn’t hide his fear of them, even though he gallantly tried. Pitbull liked that about him.
He was leaving his teammates below, climbing faster than Max. Made sense. He was the pull-up king on this team.
“You think it was a Great White? Thousands of pounds of…ugh…fish,” Dodger said, looking down as if he could penetrate the roiling ocean below.
“Are they fish?” 2-Stroke asked.
“Doesn’t matter. If Jugs was here, he’d take him on,” Max said.
“That dog isn’t afraid of anything,” Saint said.
“Cut the chatter,” Fast Lane growled.
Wedging in the titanium hook he carried, Pitbull unfurled the ladder for his teammates. The EOD divers had already disappeared below the surface, hunting explosives. The designated platform tech the last one up the ladder.
Their plan was to get to the understructure’s bracing where an emergency ladder went straight up the side and onto the back of the platform near the helipad. Pitbull was the first one to reach the railing, and through his night vision goggles, he spotted a terrorist guard. Pulling out his handgun, he sighted and pulled off a shot. The guy went down and Pitbull slipped over the railing to the walkway, staying low and moving back to give his teammates room to navigate the platform.
One by one they piled onto the walkway. All nine of them huddled, waiting for Fast Lane. “Pit, Max, Dodger and Saint. Hostages.” It made sense that Saint would go with them. They all had some medical training, but Saint was the corpsman. “Dragon and Kid, helipad and overwatch.”
Kid nudged Dragon with his shoulder, and he grinned.
“Double threat,” Kid murmured.
“2-Stroke, you’re with me.”
“Copy that,” 2-stroke said.
“EOD. Do your thing,” Fast Lane said.
They rose as one and separated into their respective groups. It was time to show the terrorists what happened to them when they threatened U.S. citizens. Foreign or domestic, it didn’t matter. Retribution was on the way.
Coast Guard Vessel, Santa Barbara Channel
Mak watched the mid-sized boat through her binoculars for any movement. Midnight Madness was clearly stenciled in black on the back of the thirty-foot cabin cruiser where two jet skis were bolted to a trailer system. This was obviously someone’s play toy. She could only hope that Leary was on the vessel and hadn’t left the information to the survivor informant as a ruse.
The Coast Guard had jumped into motion as soon as the request was made from NCIS. They had already been briefed on the situation at Moonbeam Horizon and were standin
g by to assist with rescue if needed.
Standing on the deck of the twenty-five-foot B class Defender response boat used mostly for channel security, she searched anxiously. Finally, someone emerged from the cabin. He had a walkie-talkie in his hand and a slicker on to protect him from the elements. It was still heavily raining, but the storm was making landfall and the weather was beginning to shift as the seas started to quiet.
“I see someone. He’s got a walkie-talkie. Looks like he’s in contact with whoever took over Moonbeam,” Mak said. She lowered the binoculars and turned toward one of the two Coast Guard crew. Chris and Paige had gone with her while Kai went with the injured informant to the hospital hoping he may give up the location to their secret base.
“We can’t afford to spook him. If he has a detonator on that boat, he could panic and boom,” Chris said.
“Agreed.” She handed Chris the binoculars and said, “Do you have dive gear on the boat?”
The CG crewman nodded.
“I need a set.”
“Are you certified—”
“I’m a certified master and I teach,” she said, and he nodded, moving to a storage container on the deck.
Chris eyed her, then exchanged glances with Paige. “Way to keep that secret, Littlestar.”
She shrugged. She didn’t talk much about her personal life. It could lead to subjects she wanted to avoid, like her husband and family. On the other hand, Chris did talk. One night at a bar he’d let slip he’d lost the love of his life after the accident that ended his Navy pilot career. The ache in his voice had brought tears to her eyes. Her memories locked up inside her remained hers alone. But his heartache had touched her own, not only for lost love… She cut off that train of thought. There was no time for emotions here.
As soon as he was back with the gear, she ducked into the cabin and changed.
“I don’t think this is the best idea,” Chris said as she emerged.
“We don’t have a choice. We have to sneak over there and subdue him.” She looked down to check the fins.
“Should we clear this—”
Her head jerked up. “We don’t have time, Chris. They’re assaulting the platform right now. If we don’t neutralize Leary, we’re going to lose a lot of people, and the environment may never recover.”
His mouth thinned. “I get it.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
“We just don’t want to break in a new agent,” he said.
Mak grinned, then met Paige’s eyes. She looked pensive, and Mak had to wonder all of a sudden if it was about this particular moment or something else. But Mak’s questions would have to wait until another time. Santa Barbara needed them now.
“What’s the plan?” Paige asked.
“I go over there, slip onto the boat, and kick his ass. Save the day. What else?”
Chris laughed and Paige ran her hand over her hair with a soft smile.
“Be careful,” she said.
She sat on the gunwale and nodded. “He won’t know what hit him.”
She flipped backward into the choppy sea and headed toward the Midnight Madness.
Moonbeam Horizon, off the Coast of Santa Barbara
“Be advised. Multiple explosive devices discovered on the wells below the platform. It will take some time to disarm them.” The EOD tech’s voice was tinny. Pitbull, Max, Dodger and Saint halted their trek to the galley.
“How much time?” LT growled in his impatient voice.
“Uh, thirty minutes, sir.” The tech’s voice quivered. “I’ve already disabled two bombs. Looking for more.”
“Good copy,” LT said. “Listen up. We’re not sure if the hostages have thirty minutes. We’re going in now.” There was a pause, then Fast Lane said, “Pitbull. Check the tangos in the galley. I bet the lead guy is in with them—Ryan Easton. He’s got his finger on the trigger. Make sure you get it off, permanently.”
“Copy,” Pitbull said as he and his three teammates started moving again. They took out a guard on the stairs leading to the galley and continued in close formation, climbing stairs that zigzagged over the surging sea below, Dodger protecting their backs.
It would take time for the other four SEALs to get up to the main deck through the maze of pipes and tanks where the bridge and helipad were located. Stealth was their friend at this point, but every SEAL knew the best-laid plans could all go to hell in moments and turn into a cluster.
Pitbull spied more guards. Two too many. He lifted his fist and they all stopped. Hunkering down, he whispered, “If we take these guys out, they’re going to hear the gunfire in the galley.”
“I see the fuck-up fairy has visited us again,” Max said.
“What’s your plan?” Saint asked.
“I go up, and me and my knife do the talking.”
The three nodded. Pitbull slipped over the railing, never looking down. Painstakingly, he climbed the scaffold-like stairwell, the metal slippery beneath his dive boots. He moved up another few feet, his foot slipping on the salty ocean spray coating the metal. Catching himself, he tightened his grip and, after a few seconds of dangling, muscled himself back up to a solid purchase.
“You okay?” Saint asked through comms.
He gave them the thumbs up and continued climbing to the railing, directly behind the inattentive guard.
Dropping over the edge without a sound, he grabbed the guard around the throat and inserted the knife. He moved through the narrow path that skirted a dense forest of metal casings, gate valves, manifolds, and pipes. Peering around a large pipe, he spied the second guard who was as lax as the first. Terrorists, confident in their control of the rig, were getting bored and sloppy. That was only to the SEAL’s benefit.
He moved, staying low, his shoulder brushing switches and pressure gauges. Through the night vision goggles, Pitbull had the advantage. He swung around to the guy’s back, keeping his gaze focused for any quick movement. Only several inches from the guy now, Pitbull lunged and took him out in one quick thrust.
They had an unobstructed path to the galley.
3
Coast Guard Vessel, Santa Barbara Channel
Mak smoothly navigated the water beneath the choppy waves, silently getting closer to Midnight Madness and her oh-so-convenient swim deck bobbing in the water. The slap of the boat at anchor was nothing but indistinct sounds.
When she got to the cruiser, she pressed her hand against the hull and looked up through the watery canopy. Leary was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone below deck or was in the cabin. Taking the chance, she swam to the swim deck and easily hoisted herself up onto the steel platform.
As quietly as possible, she removed her mask and fins, then peeked over the stern, shivering slightly. Nothing. No movement. But then there was the sound of metal clashing inside the cabin. She looked around the vessel and her heart climbed into her throat. The walkie-talkie was sitting next to the detonator. She glanced out to sea, the lights of Moonbeam Horizon still bright. Rebecca had said there were SEALs assaulting the rig. She had to wonder if Pitbull and his excellent teammates were on that structure. What were the odds…
She pulled her sidearm and stepped up into the boat, heading for the walkie-talkie and the detonator.
Before she’d taken three steps, Leary emerged from the cabin and lunged for the detonator.
Moonbeam Horizon, Off the Coast of Santa Barbara
“TOC for Fast Lane.”
“Go for Fast Lane.”
The four of them froze on the catwalk, waiting for the information from the Tactical Operations Center.
“Be advised. There is a terrorist subject in the channel with a possible detonator. NCIS and CGIS are on scene.”
“Abort mission?”
“Your call, Lieutenant.”
Pitbull wasn’t sure who from NCIS was in pursuit of the tango, but if it was Makayla Littlestar, he was confident she would get the job done. Apparently, Fast Lane was too.
“L
et NCIS and CGIS do their thing. Mission is a go. Out,” Fast Lane said.
Pitbull looked back at his teammates and nodded. He rose and they headed for the galley. The door wasn’t secured. Ducking under the glass, Pitbull and Max went to the other side of the door.
“Breach,” he said, and they entered. “Everyone get down,” he shouted as he, Max, Dodger and Saint took out the five NWO terrorists amid the screams and cries of the packed galley.
One of them ran into the kitchen, pulling a female hostage. He had a walkie-talkie. Easton. Pitbull went after him, and as soon as he cleared the door, he focused down to the tiny real estate of the guy’s forehead.
“Detonate! Detonate!” Easton screamed into the walkie, his words cut off as Pitbull put a round between his eyes.
He dropped and the hostage cringed away from the body, her eyes round with terror. He motioned her over.
“We’re the U.S. military,” he said. “You’re safe.” The woman ran at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged the stuffing out of him. Her body shook against him, and he projected as much calm as he could. “You’re safe,” he murmured again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome, ma’am. We need to move.”
She pulled away and he saw that her name patch read “Princess.” He smiled. He rather liked that he was a white knight.
He ushered her out into the galley. Max was already funneling the hostages through the door and hurrying them down the metal stairs where a boat had pulled up to take them to safety.
“LT and 2-Stroke are pinned down!” Kid’s voice came over the comm. “Overwatch is under fire!”
Pitbull motioned to his teammates. “I’ve got it,” he said.
He rushed to the stairs that led up, taking out any obstacle in his way with the business end of his weapon. Gaining the main deck, he headed for the highest vantage point, stairs up to the derrick. Taking two at a time, his breathing heavy, he went straight to the railing where he could see down to the bridge and the helipad. His teammates were caught on the platform side of the bridge between a large force with Dragon and Kid taking heavy fire on the drilling floor deck.
