by Ronie Kendig
“I feel your pain, Culver. I mean, it’s a submersible,” Cell said, emphasizing the word. “Even I’d be safe—”
“Doc said the pressure from the dive could cause complications with your wound,” Leif reminded him. “Sorry, but you’re too valuable to lose.”
“Yeah, you didn’t say that when you choked me unconscious.” The words were muttered but imbued with more than a little resentment.
There was no way Leif could ever live that down. Shame had kept him from apologizing, but he knew he needed to. Friendship pushed him the ten feet starboard to where Cell stood with Baddar and Mercy, talking about what to do down there.
“Barc, I don’t need a tutorial on hacking a Wi-Fi. I got this,” Mercy huffed.
“Right.”
Alisz bumped his shoulder. “Remember, this is what Nonna Kat designed her for,” she said, deep admiration in her words.
His gaze hit Leif’s, then diverted.
Though Leif hesitated, considered forgetting it, leaving it alone, he couldn’t. “Purcell.”
This time, the guy outright turned away. Showed his back.
He deserved that and so much more. “Cell. C’mon, man.”
“Make sure Smiley is monitoring the gauges while you’re working,” Cell said to Mercy.
But Leif had never been one to be ignored. “Cell!”
“What?” His shout seemed to echo across the Seneca as he snapped around, his expression tight, lips thinned.
Surprised at the outburst, Leif glanced down, then pushed himself into his teammate’s personal space. “I’m sorry.” Finally met his gaze. “I’m sorry about Taipei.”
“No.”
Leif frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean no, you’re not doing this.”
“I am doing this.”
“No, no, you’re not. It’s too much like—‘I’m about to die, so I’m clearing my slate to get into heaven.’” Cell moved around him as if he were a part of the cutter, not a person. “Sorry. Not giving you that Get Out of Hell Free card.”
“Pretty sure only Jesus can do that,” Leif teased, though he knew it fell flat. “That wasn’t my intention, but why would that be so wrong? It’d say something about you that I wanted to set things right between us before I died.”
“You’re not dying,” Iskra asserted.
“That,” Cell said, pointing to her. “She is why I won’t let you clear this offense, and it is an offense. When you come back, we’ll talk, Usurper.”
“Getting sentimental now,” Leif taunted, feeling a knot loosen in his chest at the teasing. “Gives me hope.”
“More like a hole in the head,” Cell shot back.
At least he was joking. That said something, didn’t it?
“Okay, ladies,” Manche said as he crossed the deck. “So far, so good. Asset on the inside says there are several notable figures down in the facility.”
“Which means Braun’s intel was legit,” Cell muttered.
With a clap, Manche said, “Alpha”—which was Baddar and Mercy in the submersible, staying in communication with Canyon, Cell, and Alisz on the Seneca—“you’ll be visible on their radar almost as soon as you hit the water, but you have the script, and your pilot, Seaman Jones, will handle comms. Sound travels loud and fast in the water. If you stay quiet and let Jones do his work while you do yours, there shouldn’t be an issue.”
“Right,” Mercy said, giving Baddar a worried look.
Smiley wasn’t so smiley right now, focusing on their orders.
“Bravo,” Manche barked, swiveling toward Leif, Iskra, Saito, and the four Neiothen. “Meet team Charlie, they’ll be going in with you.” He nodded to three operators standing nearby. “As you are aware, those fancy Neiothen devices that allow you to talk to each other without being heard by those outside the comms—well, they don’t work so great three hundred feet below sea level. So once you’re down there, you’re on your own.” His sharp-eyed gaze landed on Iskra. “Though your focus is on finding your daughter, I want eyes out. You know Veratti. You’re likely to pick up on what’s off faster.”
Iskra inclined her head slowly.
“Okay.” Manche clapped again. “Alpha, climb aboard the Thoreau. Bravo, you dive in ten.” The admiral nodded and turned, then stopped. “Viorica, a word?”
Iskra looked to Leif, confusion and concern in her hazel eyes.
Though Leif gave her a reassuring nod, he wondered what the admiral wanted to talk to her about. Back at the hub, Manche hadn’t seemed sure what to think of the beautiful operative. A protective instinct rose through Leif as she followed the admiral, who stepped into the wheelhouse. She followed hesitantly, and the door closed behind her.
* * *
“Viorica, I’m going to be blunt.”
Unflinching, Iskra stared at the gruff admiral, a sense of defensiveness coating her muscles until they were pulled taut.
“I recognize that is a name you don’t use anymore.”
Protecting herself had always come first, and until she knew where a person stood in relation to her goals, she would not give them anything. So nodding to this man felt like a flaming betrayal. Yet she did.
“I’m using it on purpose.” His eyes crinkled at the edges and nearly vanished beneath his toothy grin. “If you catch my drift.”
She did—he used the name of an assassin because that was who he wanted on the mission. Iskra lifted her jaw slightly. “I am not that person anymore.”
“Well,” Manche said with more of his gruffness, “I’m afraid we’re going to need her eyes, ears, and skills. You see, there are several factors about this whole situation that don’t exactly blow my skirt up.”
Could this be said with fewer words? Because Iskra just wanted to get Taissia back.
“First, you’re going in there with a brother that I probably know better than you do.”
Iskra narrowed her eyes. He dared—
“I know.” He raised a hand as he sat on a stool bolted into the deck. “You’re blood, so you think that’s stronger. All the same, I want your eyes on those men of his. I might trust Andrew, but I don’t trust the Neiothen.”
Did that include Leif?
“Second, I know you’ve worked with and for Veratti, and you have the skills to eliminate him.” Thick arms folded over his chest, he gave her a hard look. “If you get that opportunity, do it. We’ll cover you. Just get it done.” He certainly did not mince words. “I don’t take what I’m asking lightly either. You’d be doing me and this entire world a favor, so I’ll do you one as well: my asset in the facility has put eyes on your girl.”
Iskra’s heart tripped, and she nearly lurched at him, demanding to know how Taissia was doing, what section of the facility she was in, how many guards there were. Instead, Iskra maintained her composure. Because she had an ominous feeling she was being baited.
“You don’t seem excited. I’m a little disappointed.”
“Disappointed that you cannot manipulate me to get what you want?”
“Manipulate? I just told you we know where your daughter is! How is that manipulating?”
“If it was not, you would have told me her location. In this, to me, you are no different than Veratti.” She lifted her jaw. “So, Admiral, what do you want?”
“Smart girl.” He grinned with those big white teeth. “I resent the comparison to Veratti, but you’re right. I need more of those Viorica skills.”
Already he asked her to kill Veratti. What else could he want her to do?
“I’m not happy about what I’m about to say, but”—he heaved a sigh—“it needs to be said. And there has to be a high level of trust.”
“You do not know me beyond a name.”
“I didn’t say the trust was between you and me, though there is that.” He rubbed his jaw. “What I know is that Viorica is associated with a hard focus to the mission, to seeing it done. To not letting personal feelings get in the way of mission success. Especially over blu
e-eyed SEALs.”
“Leif.” Her mind scrambled out of the wheelhouse, desperate not to hear what he was about to say.
He appeared contrite, sad. “He’s compromised, Viorica.”
Her heart gave a hard squeeze at his words, rejecting them.
“And if somehow they flip his switch again, he won’t even know what he’s doing.”
“That is not true,” she said, angry with him for twisting the truth to suit his agenda. “They can know and resist.”
“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Look how that turned out for Arlen Dempsey.”
Iskra resented the mention of the Neiothen who’d killed himself right in front of Leif. “He was already having instability issues.”
“Right.” Manche roughed a hand over his face. “It’s not like he took off and went hiking in the Sahara searching for answers. It’s not like he nearly strangled his own friend to death—”
“He did not strangle Cell!”
He squinted at her. “I thought you didn’t let personal feelings get in the way.”
“And I thought you were an admiral who knew how to read a situation well enough not to make wildly inaccurate accusations.” She drew her spine straight to draw a clean breath. “I will not work against Leif. And that is personal because, next to my daughter, he means more to me than anyone else.”
“You love him.”
She held her ground.
“And you’d do anything to protect him.” He was suddenly very understanding. “So do me this favor, Viorica. Give me your word that you will protect Leif. Even if it’s from himself.”
THIRTY-FOUR
THOREAU SUBMERSIBLE, CARIBBEAN SEA
Cramped quarters was putting it mildly. Mercy had as much room to maneuver in the submersible as she might in a closet . . . with two guys. Correction: two Hulks. Seaman Jones was about six foot and must’ve been bored while deployed because his muscles were ready to explode. And then there was Baddar. The six-two, solidly built Afghan commando had more presence than the sea had water. However, and thankfully, Jones sat in the small cockpit, which was just the front of the long tubelike steel trap.
Yeah, not helping, Merc.
The rest of the submersible was gutted, save benches that lined the hull. They served as a backup in case Leif and the others got in trouble, but their primary mission was to dive and disable. In order to hack the underwater facility’s Wi-Fi, she needed to be close enough to intercept it. Once the Wi-Fi was hacked, she’d upload her worm to disable ArC from launching Risen.
First, she loaded up her Kali Linux virtual machine and kicked off penetration testing tools to see what she was dealing with. She found an access point and attempted penetration. Failed. Huffing, she realized that repeater had been locked down. Of course, Veratti no doubt had multiple access points so that he could have access. She just had to identify which one wasn’t locked . . .
And of course. First one was a fail.
She shouldn’t be surprised, really, since Netherwood was able to implant chips in people’s heads and not have them randomly trigger. Working, she noticed Baddar’s chest swell into her periphery as he inhaled deeply, and eyed him with a smile. “Trying to distract me?”
His usual smile wasn’t quite as bright. “Only if it work.” His tone seemed a bit strained.
“Ah, you’ve been hanging around Leif too much already,” she teased, trying another encryption to get past an access point. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been working, but she felt the air thinning. Her ears popped.
“Looking good, Kitty,” Cell comm’d over a surprisingly clear signal.
Mercy snorted. “Yep, smooth and deep.” She attempted another penetration and saw it making good progress. Would this one actually work? Chewing her thumbnail, she studied the route of the code and the response from ArC’s software. It wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy. But how—
Baddar’s leg bounced like a firing piston.
She angled away from his frenetic movement, but the edge of his tactical pants rustled against her jeans. Therefore her leg. Vibrating it raw.
Ignore it. Focus on the code.
Bouncebouncebouncebouncebouncebounce.
Ignore it. Find the right repeater.
Bouncebouncebouncebouncebouncebouncebouncebounce.
Mercy clamped a hand on Baddar’s knee. “Stop!” She hadn’t meant to sound harsh or slap him so hard that her hand stung. Or to yell. “Sorry.” When his gaze leapt to hers, she startled at his wide eyes. “You—it’s just . . . I need to focus.”
Back to hacking. It was a frustrating trial and error. Since Veratti was going to launch this thing any moment now, they needed an access point that wasn’t locked down.
C’mon, Merc. You can find it.
She shoved her hands into her hair, trying to tame her irritation. The cramped quarters definitely weren’t helping.
“How we doing back there?” Jones called from the front.
“Excruciatingly slow,” Mercy replied, not looking up from her laptop.
“You guys ever been in a sub before?”
“No,” Mercy said, and since Jones could strand them on the ocean floor, she decided not to add that she likely never would be again.
Baddar’s chest again swelled.
She slid him an annoyed glance, though she shouldn’t, but it was really getting to her—not figuring out the encryption, bumping against locked-down repeaters, the tight quarters . . .
He shifted to the side. Away from her. What on earth was he doing?
His chest rose and fell raggedly. He stood but was too tall to fully straighten and thumped a broad shoulder against the hull. He hunched, turned. Whacked his head on something. Jerked to the side. Tripped backward onto the bench. Lost his balance.
“Hey!” Mercy frowned, looking at his brown eyes.
Wild. Panicked. He was sweating.
Recognizing his claustrophobia, she tossed her laptop onto the bench and caught him by the shoulders. “Hey. Baddar.”
He shook his head, his gaze roving the hull, the cockpit, the hatch. For an Arab, he’d gone really white.
“Smiley.” Mercy grabbed his face and tugged. When he resisted, she pulled harder until he faced her. “Baddar.” When his eyes found hers, there was still a panic-struck distance. “Hey,” she softened her voice. “You’re okay.” She nodded when it seemed like he was focusing. “We’re here. We’re okay. Breathe.” She deliberately started lowering herself, forcing him to sit back down. “Just breathe. We’re okay.”
“Air,” he managed to say, his expression tormented and humiliated. “I can’t—I can’t breathe. It too small. Too big—I too big. Not safe. I was okay when first we come but no . . . no, I not do this. Too small. No air. I must—”
The words were a torrent mirroring the thrashing of his pulse. It broke her, seeing fear twist his handsome face. Dark eyes once so alive with smiles and congeniality were now haunted by intense fear.
“Baddar.”
A smile. A huff. “Sorry. This not me. I am—air.” His chest rose and stiffened. “I need air. I must have air.” He started to rise again.
She had to distract him. Get his mind off their setting. But he wasn’t listening. So Mercy moved in and pressed her mouth to his.
Baddar froze.
She kissed him again, framing his face with her hands, refusing to let him think about anything but her. Their kiss.
He was a block of ice, cold and stiff. She knew she hadn’t overstepped—Baddar was crazy about her, but it was taking him a long time to respond. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Was this the wrong tac to get him distracted from the confined space?
But then . . . he did respond. Boy, did he ever. His kiss was strong and powerful, urging and sweet. Then he slowed, his kisses more tender with a low, deep moan.
Still holding his face, she eased off and pressed her forehead to his. Realizing that hadn’t just been a tactic. It was a promise that awakened something in her.
He smoothed a hand down th
e side of her face.
“Better?” she asked.
“Hate to break up the love fest,” Jones called, “but we’ve got company.”
* * *
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION NEAR CUBA
Thanks to the engine-powered assist of the SEAL delivery system after their drop-off, Leif, Iskra, and the rest of the teams made quick time.
“Bravo on approach,” Leif relayed to Command through the comms. “Thirty meters and closing.”
“Copy,” came Canyon’s steady voice from aboard the Seneca.
Eyes on the underground cave, the glow brightening as they erased the distance, Leif thought about Iskra. How she’d come storming out of the wheelhouse and stalked across the deck to him after talking with Manche. When he asked what was wrong, she said nothing was going right. Made some vague reference to everyone dying and then went silent. It didn’t escape him that she’d started avoiding eye contact, leaving Leif with a pretty good idea of what Manche talked with her about—him.
Canyon had always said Leif was an overachiever, and admittedly, Leif had spent most of his youth trying to measure up to the Metcalfe military legacy and his brothers. Of course, he wanted to make his own mark, so he became a SEAL. It took one bad mission to get his head off-track, and he’d chucked it all away by joining the Netherwood project. Sad how much he could suddenly recall.
He tensed. Was the implant triggering? He hated knowing that thing was in his head.
When his device on his arm thumped, he released the handle of the SEAL delivery system and nodded for the others to do the same. “Bravo leaving the SDV now.” After activating the remote that would deliver the vehicle back to the Seneca, he slipped off it and started swimming, scanning the cave opening and its lights. Expecting trouble—
“Eyes out, Bravo. Thoreau has enemy contact,” Manche alerted. “We have negative penetration on the Risen program at this time.”
Leif gritted his teeth as he descended, hoping Mercy changed that soon.
