Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Ritt (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The 13 Book 2)

by Anne L. Parks

  The lenses of his glasses were cracked. He tossed them aside, apparently not actually necessary for him to see. A prop. Of course, all in place to create the illusion of the stereotypical computer geek. Andrew had played his role perfectly. She never suspected, which probably said more about her than him. He found the in and exploited it.

  “But you were brought up in America. You wouldn’t have even remembered Russia if you had left when you were a baby.”

  “True, and I still haven’t been back. I was recruited while in high school with the promise of returning to my homeland when I completed my mission. I admit, you caught on faster than anticipated. I was hoping to get a few more years of work done, but no matter. I will retire early, and be hailed as a hero.”

  He took two steps toward her, hands in the air. She doubted he was actually surrendering. Her eyes caught sight of the Glock 23 holstered in his jacket.

  “Stop where you are. Place your gun on the floor and kick it over to me. Then get on your knees, and lace your fingers behind your head.”

  He pulled the gun from the holster. She aimed for the spot between his eyes. She was a good shot—top while at the “farm” for training. She made sure to hit the gun range at least once a month, but had been preoccupied that last three or four months, and had skipped her training.

  “You can’t possibly think you can overpower me, Riley.”

  “I don’t have to overpower you,” she said, “I just have to shoot you.”

  He bent over and placed the gun on the floor and kicked it, but it only made it halfway to her. She slowly inched toward it, her eyes never leaving Andrew.

  A couple of people hit the landing behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see what was happening. Too late, she realized her mistake. A large hand wrapped around wrist. Andrew yanked her arm, slammed her hand against the wall. Pain spread throughout her wrist and hand, and up her arm. The gun fell to the floor at her feet. He wrenched her arm back. Grasping her hand, he bent her wrist forward. The pain nearly made her throw up. She was sure she the wrist was broken. She was also sure Andrew suspected it, as well.

  Unable to pick up her gun, she kicked it as hard as she could down the hall. At least he wouldn’t be able to easily get it, either. He swung her around. His fist slammed into her face. Her head snapped back, vision blurred.

  His words floated back.

  You can’t possibly think you can overpower me.

  * * *

  Lance faced his newest teammates. He’d barely met them, had never worked or trained with either of them, and now they were going on a mission together to save the Ambassador. And they were going in blind. Without any weapons.

  “Our vests are in the trunk of the car,” Mick said. “We may not have any weapons, but that will give us at least a fighting chance.”

  They jogged over to the vehicle, got into their vest, and ran toward Ambo’s quarters. Dead bodies of security personnel were scattered around the entrance. Lance would’ve preferred his M-4, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he needed firepower in whatever form it came in. They grabbed as many AR-15’s, Glocks, and extra cartridges as they could off the dead men. There was no remorse. They had a job to do, and these guys didn’t need the weapons.

  Cold? Yes. But necessary. They had a mission to focus on. Dead men were a casualty of war. Save the Ambo. Mourn the dead later.

  The large double doors at the entrance of the Ambo’s building were shot up and hung from their hinges. The attack had been a surprise. Which meant the bad guys were able to get onto the compound without tripping anyone’s meter. Once inside, it was easy pickings.

  Lance glanced around the interior and noticed a barely visible hallway to their left. He’d bet his ass there was a secure room where the video security guys were squirreled away. He nodded for his men to follow him. He pounded on the door, flashed his credentials at the camera. The lock disengaged and the door opened, the barrel of an AR-14 pointed at them.

  “Navy SEAL, we need to get up to speed on what’s going on,” Lance said. The man at the door didn’t move. “Let us in or shoot me, but make it good, because my guys will kill you if you take a shot at me.”

  The door swung open. They stepped inside. The door slammed closed behind them, the lock slid into place. Screens filled the space. Cameras were everywhere, down every corridor, and damn near in every room.

  “What’s your name?” Lance asked the guy.

  “Tomlin.”

  “What happened, Tomlin?” Lance asked.

  “Near as I can tell, they tossed flash bangs into the lobby, caught everyone off guard. Then they came in, guns blazing, taking down everyone in their way. They must have been the first wave. A lot of them were killed—along with a lot of ours.”

  “Where’s Ambo?” Lance asked, his gaze flitting from one screen to the next, trying to gauge how many tangoes they had inside.

  “Stuck in a service elevator. They were trying to get him to his secure bunker in the basement. The elevators are offline, and no one can seem to get them back up and moving. So far, the bad guys haven’t figured out where he is, but it’s only a matter of time before they check the service elevator and find him. If they do—”

  “It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel,” Lucas concluded the thought.

  “What’s your best guess on how many tangoes we’re looking at?” Lance asked. They didn’t have to have an exact number, but having a ballpark figure of what they were up against would at least give them a fighting chance of getting to Ambo and getting him out alive.

  “How do we get to the service elevator from here?” Mick asked.

  The guy pulled up a schematic of the first floor and pointed out the passages to take to get to the back of the building.

  “You got comms we can use?” Lucas asked.

  The guy nodded and grabbed throat comm devices with earpieces. The guys put them on and did a check to make sure they were operational.

  Opening the door, he wished them luck and told them he would pass information. They thanked him, and headed back down the hallway and into the lobby.

  Lance stopped at the end of the hallway, and stuck his head around the corner to gauge the activity in the lobby. A man entered, sauntered through the destruction as if proud of the lives he had taken. When he looked up, cold rage flooded Lance’s veins.

  Orlov. The RRA member who had tipped of ISIS that a SEAL team was sent to Palmyra. He was the reason Ripper had died.

  Lance was going to capture or kill the fucking Ruskie, and at that moment it didn’t really matter which.

  He ducked back around the corner and faced his men. “I have eyes on an RRA fuck who took out a brother SEAL last week. He’s my target. You two continue with the original mission, Find Ambo and get him to safety. We clear?”

  “Copy, boss,” Mick said and slapped Lucas on the back. “Looks like it’s you and me.”

  “Just like old times, huh?” Lucas snickered.

  “Yeah, like two weeks ago,” Mick said, chuckling.

  They fist bumped Lance, and the three rounded the corner. Mick and Lucas crouch-walked to the hallway Tomlin had shown them on the schematic. They disappeared out of sight.

  Lance searched the area for his target. Orlov was kicking the foot of someone on the floor. Then he shot the person in the head. Screams filled the air. Civilians dropped to the floor and covered their heads.

  “Tomlin, can you see the blond fuck in the lobby that just shot someone?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tomlin answered.

  “I need you to keep him in your sights. I have a feeling he’s going to try and bolt. There’s still too many civilians around for me to get a clear shot off.”

  “Got him.”

  Lance walked over dead and injured bodies that littered the lobby. Orlov looked up and locked eyes with Lance. Raising the barrel of his Krink, he aimed the Russian assault rifle at Lance. A few rounds burst form the weapon.

  Lance ducked to the side, rolled, and was up on
his knee, AR-15 aimed at Orlov. A woman jumped up and ran in front of him out of the building. The distraction was enough for Orlov to turn tail and run, disappearing into the stairwell.

  “Fuck!” Lance bolted across the lobby and stood with his back flat against the wall next to the stairwell door. “Tomlin, where is he?”

  “Going down the stairs to the basement.”

  Lance pulled the door open and followed the Russian down the stairs. “What’s in the basement?”

  “Parking garage,” Tomlin said.

  “You have cameras in there?”

  “A few,” Tomlin said. “But not as many as the main building. I can’t see everywhere.”

  Of course not. Lance hated being blind, but some eyes on Orlov was better than none, and he had to take what he could get.

  “He’s trying to find open vehicles,” Tomlin said. “So far, he’s not having any luck.”

  “What are his chances of finding something?” Lance asked.

  “Pretty good, if he gets close to Ambo’s armored vehicle. They keep the keys inside for quick getaways.”

  “Like the Embassy coming under attack?” Lance asked with an edge to his voice.

  “Just like that.”

  A voice broke over comms. “We’re at the elevator. It’s between floors. We have doors open, attempting to pull Ambo out,” Mick said.

  “Is he injured?” Lance asked.

  “Seems to be unharmed—so far.”

  If they were able to get Ambo out without incident, it would be a miracle of epic proportions. But if anyone could do it, Lance had every confidence the Marine Raider and the PJ could do it.

  Now he just had to get his shit in order and make sure this Russian fucker didn’t get off the compound.

  Chapter 14

  Riley lifted her forearms in front of her face, and blocked the next punch. Her left fist hooked around to Andrew’s side and slammed into his ribs. He stumbled back a few steps. An uppercut to his jaw snapped his head back.

  He roared to life, eyes dark with rage, and charged toward her. She planted her feet in a boxer’s stance. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his head into her abs, and drove her backwards. She slammed into the wall hard. All the air in her lungs rushed out. She tried to suck in a deep breath.

  Still bent over, Riley thrust her fist up into his face, drove her knee into his midsection. He pushed away from her, gasping for air. She took advantage of the temporary reprieve to catch her own breath.

  No way was this asshole going to get the upper hand. Ripper’s face appeared before her, the wide grin she had come to expect from him brightened his face. The countless jokes about going out with her, being her boyfriend, and the marriage proposals that always resulted in howls of laughter from everyone within earshot. He was one of the good guys.

  One of the few men she allowed into her heart. She had loved him like a brother. She would feel his loss forever.

  The click of the Glock’s slide locking in place snapped her back to reality. Andrew had picked up her gun while she was distracted and was aiming it straight at her.

  He took a step toward her, and wiped blood from his split lip and a cut just under his eye. “I have to admit, you surprised me. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  She frantically looked around her for the gun she had kicked away. It lay on the floor about four feet from her. Could she get to it before he got a shot off?

  “I mean, I know you work out every day, but I always thought it was those girlie elliptical workouts. If I’d known you were a boxer, I would’ve shot you when I first saw you.”

  Now or never.

  She dove for the gun. A shot reverberated through the enclosed space. Pain sliced through her side. Heat spread across her midsection and chest.

  Fuck that hurts.

  She hit the floor, and rolled as another round whizzed past her head and hit the tiled floor sending pieces of clay into the air. She grasped the grip of the gun in her left hand, raised it, lined up her shot and pulled the trigger.

  Andrew’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed across the wall behind him. Macabre art. His body slumped to the floor.

  Riley lay back on the floor. The cool tiles felt good against the hot blood draining out of the bullet hole in her side. She turned her head to the side.

  Andrew was still. Lance would make sure her name was cleared. It didn’t matter what happened to her now.

  Lance. That would be the only regret she would allow herself. She’d really wanted to see where things could go with him. But, as she had long suspected, love didn’t appear to be in the cards for her. She knew she was in love with him, as impossible as that seemed. Especially for someone so dead-set against the concept.

  But it had happened, and she guessed having felt that kind of love for even a short time was better than never having loved at all.

  Jesus, here I am at the end of my life and I’m nothing more than a cliché of every romance novel ever written.

  Darkness edged closer and closer until she finally closed her eyes and drifted away.

  * * *

  Tires squealed as Lance burst through the door and ducked behind a cement pillar. A black SUV with dark windows was screaming down a lane at the back of the garage. Lance crouched down and ran in the direction of the exit. That was the only place Orlov could go. Out was the only gateway to his freedom.

  Lance was going to do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen.

  The SUV turned down the aisle next to him. Lance stood and lifted his AR-15 over the top of the car he was behind. He popped off a few rounds that did nothing more than send paint chips flying through the air.

  “Shit!”

  There had to be a way to stop this shithead before he got out of the garage. If he had his usual arsenal, he could toss a grenade under the vehicle. At least there was the potential that it would roll onto its side. Then Lance could drag Orlov out and beat him to a bloody pulp before turning him over to interrogators.

  “Tomlin,” he spoke into his comms. “Is there a barrier at the garage exit?”

  There was a brief pause before Tomlin said, “No. The closest barrier is the side exit Ambo uses to get on and off the compound.”

  “Make sure all the barriers are activated.”

  Lance started running toward the exit again. Orlov was getting close to getting out of the garage.

  “I can’t get it to activate from here. Remote must be down.”

  “Fuck!”

  “You can do it manually at the guard shack.”

  Two problems. There was no guarantee Orlov would go out the side exit. If he headed for a different exit, there would be no way for Lance to get to it before Orlov was able to bust through the gate and leave.

  Of course, there was also no guarantee Lance would be able to run to the guard shack before Orlov got there.

  He stood and weaved through the cars towards the exit. He still had the advantage of having damn near a straight shot to the exit while the SUV had to go up and down aisles to get there. That slowed Orlov down…a little.

  The risk now was Lance had to stand up to run as fast as he needed through the parked cars which made him a mark. If Orlov got a shot off, Lance was a nice big six-foot-two target for him. A moving target. Another advantage for the Russian.

  The SUV turned the corner and had a straight lane to the exit. Lance poured on the heat. HIs lungs burned. Legs pumped. He held AR-15 upright. He was screwed if anyone took a shot at him. It’d be impossible for him to return fire.

  The exit loomed large ahead of him. He was almost there. The SUV tore past him and up the ramp to the exit.

  “Where’s the guardhouse when I get out of here?” Lance huffed into comms.

  “Go left. He’s going to have to weave through the cement barriers. They will only slow him down a little. They aren’t much of a challenge to weave around.”

  Lance hurdled over the cement barrier and had eyes on the shack. The squeal of tires filled
the air as Orlov took the turns at high speed.

  Please roll…please roll…

  Lance grasped the handle to the guard house and yanked the door open. The body of the guard fell out, head and chest riddled with bullets. Out of his peripheral vision, Lance could see the SUV racing towards the gate. Gaining speed.

  “Where’s the fucking button for the barrier?”

  “On the panel. Right side. Big red button.”

  Lance slammed his fist down on the button. The front end of the SUV passed in front of him. The barrier slowly rose and locked in place.

  Orlov had to be pushing over sixty-miles-an-hour. The front bumper slid over the top of the barrier. The tires hit the long metal spikes sticking out of the rounded portion under the top edge of the barrier. Momentum lifted the backend in the air and the vehicle toppled over, and landed on the roof.

  Lance darted out of the shack and ran toward the upended SUV. Two men ran toward him. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Mick and Lucas. Relief flowed through him.

  He rounded the backend of the SUV, and stopped at the back passenger door until Mick and Lucas got to him. Guns aimed at the driver’s door. The impact crushed the roof of the vehicle. The windows had blown out and the door frame was mangled. There was no way to get the door open.

  Lance, Mick, and Lucas squatted. The airbags had deployed. Lance pushed the bag out the way. Orlov lay in a heap along the interior roof. Running his fingers along the man’s neck, Lance felt a faint pulse.

  Orlov was alive.

  “Tomlin,” Lance said. “We’re going to need extraction equipment to remove this asshole.”

  “Help is on the way.”

  “Thanks for your help, man.”

  “Anytime.”

  * * *

  The wail of sirens grew louder the closer they got to the compound. Lance, Mick, and Lucas backed away and let the emergency team do their job.

  “Ambo?” Lance asked Mick.

  “Got him out safely.”