by Zoe Dawson
Rescuing Piper
NCIS Series
Zoe Dawson
Rescuing Piper (previously published under a pseudonym)
Copyright © 2020 by Karen Alarie
Cover Art © Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
OTHER TITLES BY ZOE DAWSON
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank my beta readers, reviewers and editor for helping with this book, and especially Lisa Fournier. As always, you guys are the best.
To Navy SEALs who never give up, never give in, and are never out of the fight.
Chapter One
Northern Plains, Parwan Province, Afghanistan
A hike into hell was a walk in the park for Lieutenant Junior Grade Dexter Kaczewski and his small team of SEALs. The rhythm, the heat and the years of working together made the first part of the trip rather surreal. Everything worked perfectly. Dex checked to make sure all of his men were together—ten ninja gunslingers, armed to the teeth, invisible. Without night vision, no one could see death approach.
After the UH-60M, a sleek, state-of-the-art Black Hawk, had set them down, the almost-silent blades vibrating the air with a faint whop-whop, Dex had crouched as they piled out of the opening, his heartbeat in his ears. When his feet were firmly on the ground, he’d waited for the dust to settle from the big UH-60M and the world to stabilize after the helos had lifted off. All the guys checked in through their radios, and Dex had signaled the “all go” for the jaunt.
They were going in to look for three Marines, abducted only twenty-four hours ago, who were part of the force currently training the Afghan Armed Forces.
This was a TST, or time-sensitive target, as SEALs categorized these missions. Which pretty much meant they’d play it by ear and make it up as they went, especially once they hit the dirt. The intel was solid and Dex’s superiors figured that a small group of ten members of SEAL Team Three, Task Unit Trident, Bravo Platoon, were enough to do the job.
Hooyah!
“The village is completely dark. No movement in the target area,” Jack said through the comm. Damian “Jack of all trades” Merrick, or Jack for short, was a lean, mean fighting machine; primary breacher, who handled all mechanical and explosive entries; and primary heavy gunner. He also had this uncanny ability to see things that weren’t normally visible. He’d once saved a whole squad from an ambush just because he’d spotted one stone overturned.
“No enemy with guns who want to shoot us? That’s a shame,” DJ said with a short laugh. Jerry Sanders, the resident comedian and the best damn communication and air controller in the business, got his moniker legitimately. Back in the States, Jerry had been a radio DJ before his service.
Dex’s vigilance, heightened by his night-vision goggles, showed every detail in the green environment before him. The village in the distance was their destination. They had been flown in by helicopter and dropped off, or “inserted,” about eleven kilometers away and were currently tippy-toeing their way to the medium-size village that was waiting for them in dark shadows with unknown assailants.
As Dex led them to the final delay point, they had about five minutes to rest and reset for the final push and eventual assault. As he looked around, he realized they were in a cemetery. Several graves were fresh, and after counting over ten new digs, DJ stopped and leaned over to Dex. “LT, hopefully this isn’t a zombie movie, or we’re toast,” he deadpanned. On the teams, “LT” was the universal nickname for all officers in charge and stood for lieutenant.
Dex laughed. “Don’t worry, DJ. Your brain doesn’t even make a meal.”
“Not even a snack,” Reindeer said, and all of them chuckled. Rudolf “Reindeer” Abt served more than just one role. He was their very gifted corpsman—a medic—but he was also a lethal sniper.
“Mmm, brains,” DJ said in a deep, gravelly zombie voice.
“Kennedy,” Dex said softly. Kennedy was already up and moving toward the walls and getting eyes on the compound. Tyler Prescott was Dex’s best friend on the teams, his point man and lead sniper. He hailed from a political family, which was how he got his Kennedy nickname. They were in tune with each other. When Spaceman—Mike Carver, his current ridge boss and chief of his operations—retired after this op, Dex was considering Kennedy as his replacement. He was smart, resourceful and spoke his mind.
Speaking of minds, it seemed his men could read his. These guys were so well-trained and worked so well together. Nolan “Minnesota” Quade, a breacher and sniper, was one of the nicest men Dex had ever met until he was on a mission, then one of the meanest. Roger “Green Bean” Deeds and Peter “Slim Jim” Camden rounded out the group. Kennedy gave Dex the all-clear, and he motioned everyone onward. They moved like ghosts from the graveyard, right on schedule.
After Kennedy entered, Dex poked his head in to check the progress. The compound was empty, and something started to itch—a combat itch that was giving Dex a momentary warning to get the hell out of there, but he felt that most of the time when he was on a mission. It was most likely the feel of close and present danger. On cue, Jack said, “Sir, I don’t like this. It’s too quiet.”
“Anything concrete?”
“No, sir. Just a gut feeling.”
“Your gut is outranked this time. One of those Marine kids belongs to a one-star. We’re going in but keep your eyes open.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Normally, he would heed Jack’s call, but the one-star, General Seth MacDonald, had some pull and Dex knew how the military worked. The general would do everything in his power to rescue his son, even chew on some brass. Still, he’d never liked the sensation of having the grim reaper breathing down his neck. They entered single file, heading for the outlying buildings. After a quick search, Dex sent Kennedy, Minnesota and Slim up a ladder to snipe any baddies from the rooftop.
After ten minutes the compound was secured, but that only made Dex even more uneasy. There was no one here. No sleeping women or children, no old men. No one. He glanced at Spaceman, and his look said he felt it, too.
“You want to abort?” he asked Spaceman.
He and Spaceman had done extensive research on this village, situated just before the Pakistani border. The most likely place they were keeping his brothers in arms was a building in the middle of the village, forcing them to secure three large buildings on the east side to block any egress to Pakistan. If they ran, it would be across open ground.
He stood there for a moment, obviously torn between getting the Marines out or leaving them to their fate. The pressure from the brass was as heavy as a fifty-caliber gun. Dex didn’t
give a damn about flak from the top. He was here in the field and the decision was his. That’s why he got the big lieutenant bucks. Saving those Marines was their mission, but he had to weigh the level of threat to his team. Leaving the Marines to die didn’t set well with either of them. Spaceman had a kid the same age as one of the Marines. His eyes traveled around to make sure he had his finger on the pulse of this op.
“Let’s get those boys and go home,” Spaceman said.
This would be his last deployment, and Dex guessed he wanted to go out with a win.
Dex motioned for Jack, who was right behind him, and met his dark, steady eyes. The man would go into hell if Dex ordered it, but he wasn’t bashful about speaking up. It was clear he was getting the heebie-jeebies from this op.
“Sir…”
“Noted, Jack. Get ready to breach the main building.”
Jack took a breath.
“Jack,” Dex said, order in his voice. “Breach.”
He delayed only a second. With reluctance in each word, he said, “Yes, sir.”
Dex leaned in, listening for harsh language or suppressed shooting, and heard nothing. The walls were sixteen feet high and looked rather new—well, newer than two thousand years old, like the last operation’s buildings. The gate was quite new—he thought maybe forty years old. How nice to see an upward trend in development in this war-torn country. He motioned to Jack.
“Fire in the hole,” Jack said, and they moved a safe distance. The C4 Jack had attached to the door exploded when he set the charges off, and the door flew back and over their heads. As the smoke cleared, they started moving inside. Time always slowed for Dex when he was in combat, and everything seemed to pop out at him in Technicolor. Through the eerie green glow, he saw the bodies slumped in the corner.
The three Marines.
Reindeer, the medic, was already moving and Jack said into the comm, “This bites, sir.”
Spaceman replied, “Ditto.”
Dex knew the moment he saw them, and that itch intensified. Jack swore low and vehemently.
“Dead…uh, LT…recently,” Reindeer said, his voice full of the anger and frustration they all felt. “All of them head shots.”
That’s when all hell broke loose.
“LT! Bug out! Bug out! They’re everywhere. Ambush!” Kennedy shouted through the comm.
But his warning was a split second too late. Gunfire ripped into the room as Dex and the other SEALs hit the deck. Heated pieces of lead bounced and whizzed everywhere. Spaceman cried out in agony and another SEAL, Green Bean, was already there, slinging him onto his back. Without a word, the three of them—Dex, Jack and Reindeer—each shouldered one of the dead Marines into a fireman’s carry. The remaining SEALs returned fire. No words were spoken, but they were all in agreement. Never leave a man behind.
DJ was shouting into the radio, calling in the current cluster and getting the helos there on the double for extraction. Kennedy’s voice exploded on the comm again. “RPGs! Freaking RPGs.”
Dex could hear the rapid fire of their rifles in the open comm. Damn, rocket-propelled grenades. Not good. “Haul ass!” he yelled.
They cleared the door as an explosion rocked the building, dust and debris flying around. More automatic gunfire as Dex turned with the Marine still across his shoulders, pointed his weapon and opened fire, cutting down the bodies in pursuit.
Dex raced for the open compound gate and could see the helos landing a klick from his position. Running straight out, he deposited the Marine into the waiting chopper along with the other two and the wounded Spaceman. But his men were MIA. “Kennedy! DJ! Slim! Minnesota!” Dex yelled into the comm, reacting from the adrenaline. But there was no answer.
Dex turned and ran back toward the compound and saw them pinned down. They were outgunned and outmanned, but he and his fellow SEALs never hesitated. Opening fire, Dex cut down the enemy to the left and Reindeer and Green Bean took care of the enemy to the right. Dex shouted, “Move it!”
Kennedy didn’t budge until DJ, Minnesota and Slim reached Dex, laying down covering fire. “Kennedy!” Dex bellowed, ten pounds of adrenaline drop-loading into his system.
Kennedy broke from cover and Dex and his men opened fire to cover his retreat. He reached Dex and they all turned for the big UH60. Dex heard the whistle of the RPG, felt pressure and saw a flash as it exploded, the concussion knocking him off his feet, an excruciating pain slamming into his rib cage and waist. All of them were blown backward.
Dazed, Dex hit the ground hard. Through the smoke and dust, he saw the others all lying still. His head ringing, nausea twisting in his gut, he lurched to his feet, crying out at the sharp cut of agony in his side, his hand automatically going there, feeling the blood-soaked fabric. He stumbled over to them, falling to his knees. A second Black Hawk landed, and Marines poured from the open door. Dex slipped his hands under Kennedy’s prone, unmoving form. His heart pumped hard, his body on autopilot. Ignoring the agony in his side, he lifted Kennedy—ah, dammit, Tyler—as men surrounded him. He lurched to his feet and started for the helo as the wet, warm blood of his friend and comrade coated his hands, soaked into his uniform.
He made it to the door. Hands reached for Kennedy as Dex’s knees buckled and he dropped. Someone caught him and hauled him into the chopper.
He grabbed at the medivac guy’s uniform. “Don’t you leave anyone behind,” Dex called.
“Relax, sir. We got you covered,” he yelled above the return gunfire from the advancing rescue team and the insurgents, growling engine and whirling blades.
He turned his head as someone pulled at his shredded body armor and clothing, exerting pressure to his side, making him cry out against the burning, rippling torment ripping through his body.
“Don’t you die on me,” he whispered. “Don’t you die, Tyler.” His jaw clenched as the agony of his wounds melded with his mental anguish. His vision started to narrow and dim as the slashing pain intensified until tears blinded him. He turned his head, kept his eyes on Kennedy’s face—Tyler’s face—as he felt the helo lift and watched as pooled blood ran in rivulets to the open door.
Watched until he was pulled down into a tormented darkness.
Chapter Two
Senate Office Building, Washington, DC
Senator Piper Jones scowled. “It may be true there is plenty of resistance to this bill, Senator Mullins, but my late husband was in favor of this legislation, and I will be supporting it regardless of your opposition.”
“Really, Senator Jones, you were appointed to your seat by the governor of California in an age-old practice of widow’s succession and are merely a seat warmer. Everyone knows you don’t have the stones to get anything passed, regardless of who your late husband was.”
Piper felt a flush of anger rise up her neck and creep up her cheeks as the other senator glared at her from across the short expanse of her desk.
“Just concede defeat and we’ll make this bill stronger and more viable…later.”
Later in a pig’s eye. Piper fingered the antique locket Brad had given her right before he died. Whenever she needed strength, it bolstered her. Senator Mullins and his minions would quash this legislation like a bug. “It’s a minor change in corporate law, Senator, and is more holistic. Brad believed in the battle against corporate abuse strongly. He was a former securities attorney, and the provision, the one I’m pushing in his stead, provides for a company to change its mission from making money to corporate citizenship, which by its very definition is all about social responsibility. What do you have against protecting the common good?”
“It flies in the face of capitalism and corporate freedom! Everything this country stands for.”
“Brad believed in being a responsible capitalist. His bill is the first step to reform that will save our country. He believed deeply in it and I believe it has a strong chance of passing.”
She leaned back, decidedly holding her temper in check just as Brad and her formidable political
family had ingrained in her over the years. She knew how to pussyfoot with the best of them.
Drawing in a slow, deep breath to steady herself, she tilted her chin and tried again. “I’m continuing on with what Brad wanted. That was my mission when I took his place.” She leaned forward and showed Senator Mullins her backbone. I will finish out the rest of Brad’s term. I’ve been proud to serve the state of California and the US Senate as his steward to the best of my ability.” She stared right back at him, refusing to be cowed.
He didn’t like it, and for a split second something quite nasty filled his eyes, but was then gone. Her phone rang, but she ignored it. She wasn’t going to show any sign of weakness or back down from that stare.
“Maybe you’d better find some stones if you’re going to try to squash this. Brad had a very solid constituent and loyal backing. I am resolved on this course of action.”
It was a dismissal, plain and simple. He pointed his finger at her. “I warned your husband not to make an enemy of me, Senator Jones. I’m giving you the same warning.”
“Thank you for that. But I come from a long line of political pundits. I eat, breathe and live to debate.”
“Fine,” he said as he rose, tugged on his white cuffs and collected his jacket. He turned as her phone buzzed again, but she continued to ignore it as he made his way to the door in his very expensive and impeccable blue pinstripe suit.
She picked up the phone.
“Is he gone yet?”
“Almost,” she said.
“Was he blowing hard and issuing threats?”
