Why aren’t they coming over? he wondered. A squeak on the deck behind him caught his attention. “Hey, what are you—?”
His words died almost as quickly as he did. The man behind him wasn’t another member of the crew, but was instead clad from head to toe in a black wet suit. Before William could do anything, he fired a silenced pistol twice.
William’s bullet-resistant vest stopped both bullets, one of them breaking his collarbone. He staggered back and clawed the Glock from his holster, opening his mouth to call for help as he brought the pistol up—
The black-suited man took one step forward and put a bullet through William’s open mouth, blowing out the back of his skull. The young man from Idaho didn’t even register his own death as he fell to the deck. His index finger, however, already on the trigger of the primed and ready Glock, spasmed enough to discharge his weapon, sending a round into the floor. The report echoed through the yacht and across the water.
“Shot fired aft! Shot fired aft!” Jonas broadcast to all positions. “P-Six, report! P-Five, cover aft deck. Everyone else, remain at your positions.”
Pistol in hand, he left the saloon and ran to the sundeck rail.
Although the back of the yacht had been designed in a cutaway style, with every higher level set farther ahead than the one below it, the staggered tops effectively cut his vision. But if he couldn’t see their assailants, they also couldn’t see him. He climbed down the ladder to the second level, leading with his gun the entire way. Pausing by the right spiral stairway, he tapped his receiver. Just as he was about to speak, he heard the distinctive
“This is P-Five. Have encountered at least three hostiles on the aft deck, right side. Cannot raise P-Six—” Two more shots sounded. “Hostiles may attempt to gain access through the left side of the ship, repeat, hostiles may attempt access through left side of the ship—” The transmission was cut off again by the sustained burst of a silenced submachine gun stitching holes in the ship wall. “Request backup immediately.”
Jonas was impressed by the calm tone of the speaker—it had to be the ex–Las Vegas cop, Martinson. He was about to see if he could move to assist when he spotted the muzzle of submachinegun, perhaps an MP-5, poke up through the open stairwell. It was immediately followed by the hands holding it, then the upper body of a black-clad infiltrator. Jonas ducked behind the solid stairway railing, biding his time. For a moment there was only silence, broken by the soft lap of waves on the hull, and the strong odor of gunpowder on the breeze.
Although he hadn’t been in a firefight in more than a decade, Jonas’s combat reflexes took over. Every second seemed to slow, allowing him to see and react in a way that seemed faster than normal. He heard the impact of the boarder’s foot on the deck, and pushed himself out, falling on his back as he came around the curved railing. His target had been leading with the MP-5 held high, and before he could bring it down, Jonas lined up his low-light sights on the man’s abdomen and squeezed the trigger twice. The 9 mm bullets punched in under the bottom edge of the intruder’s vest, mangling his stomach and intestines and dropping him with a strangled grunt to the deck. As soon as he hit, Jonas killed the man with a third shot to his face.
“This is Lead One. I have secured the second aft deck.
P-Two and P-Three—”
He was cut off again as more shots sounded, this time from the front of the yacht. Jonas looked back out. A second team? he wondered.
And then he realized the plan, and how they had been suckered. “All positions, all positions, they mean to take the ship! Repeat, hostiles intend to take the ship! Lead Two, secure the bridge. P-Three, remain where you are and target any hostiles crossing your area. Will clear from this end and meet you in the middle.”
A chorus of affirmatives answered him, but Jonas was already moving. He stripped the dead man of his MP-5 and slipped three 30-round stick magazines into his pockets.As he stood, a small tube came spinning up the stairway, leaving a small trail of smoke as it hit the back wall and bounced onto the deck.
Dropping the MP-5, Jonas hurled himself back around the other side of the stairway railing, clapping his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth as he landed painfully on his right elbow. The grenade went off with a deafening bang and a white burst of light that Jonas saw even through his closed eyelids. He heard more pistol shots below, followed by the canvas-ripping sounds of the silenced MP-5s firing back. Martinson’s going to get his ass shot off if I don’t get down there, he thought.
Jonas shook his head and pushed himself up, grabbing the submachine gun and checking its load. He figured the stairs had to be covered, so that way was suicide. But there was a narrow space, perhaps less than a yard wide, between the back of the stairwell and the railing of the ship’s main level. If Jonas could get down there that way, he could possibly take them by surprise, and he’d also have the stairway as cover. It might also be suicide, but it would certainly be the last thing they’d expect. He crawled around the stairway again and searched the dead body, coming up with two XM-84 flash-bangs.
Jonas grabbed one and set it for the shortest fuse time, one second. It should go off right as it hits the deck, he thought. He still heard the silenced guns firing below him, so somehow the two trainees had kept the rear team from advancing. He crawled to the edge of the platform, checked that his drop zone was clear, then pulled the pin and let the grenade go, pulling back and assuming the fire-in-the-hole position again.
The grenade detonated. As soon as the shockwaves died away, Jonas rolled to the side of the boat just as a stream of bullets ripped through the floor where he had been. He jumped over the stairway, using one hand to keep in touch with his cover so he didn’t jump too far out and miss the boat entirely. The moment he sailed into the air, he saw a huge problem—one of the assault team had had the same idea of using the stairway for cover, and had moved right under him.
Unable to stop himself, Jonas stuck his feet straight down and tried to aim for the guy’s head. The intruder glanced up, so surprised by what he saw that he forgot he had a gun in his hand for a moment. He had just started to bring it up when Jonas’s deck shoes crunched into his face. Jonas kept going, forcing the man’s head back and pushing him to the deck with the weight of his body. The mercenary collapsed to the floor, unmoving.
Jonas didn’t stop to check him, but stepped on the man’s gun arm, snapping his wrist as he steadied his own MP-5, tracking anything moving on the aft deck. The second team member rolled on the deck, clutching his bleeding ears, his tearing eyes screwed tightly shut. Jonas cleared the rest of the area, then came out and slapped the frame of his gun against the man’s skull, knocking him unconscious. He then cleared the rest of the area, stepping over Hartung’s corpse as he did so. Only when he was sure there were no hostiles lying in wait did he activate his transceiver.
“P-Five, this is Lead. Lock word is
“This is P-Five, key word is
“Take P-Six’s area and defend it. Hole up in the rear saloon, and keep watch as best as you can. As soon as we’ve secured the ship, someone will come and relieve you.”
“Got it. I’ll be going forward by the left side, so please don’t shoot me.”
“If you’re not wearing black, you’ll be okay.” Jonas heard steps coming and raised the gun, just in case a hostile was using the ex-cop as a hostage to get to him. When he saw the stocky Native American come around the corner, Glock first, Jonas held up his hand before the other man could draw a bead on him.
Martinson nodded, and Jonas pointed to the motionless man in front of him and the other one bleeding in the corner of the deck. “Arm yourself, search these two and secure them, then hole up. I’m heading forward. Anyone comes back that doesn’t give you the key word, kill them.”
“Right.”
Jonas headed topside, figuring he’d take the high-ground advantage. Scattered shots came from the bow, and he planned to get the drop on the other team. “P-One through P-Four, Lock word is
“P-One here, key word is
“Affirmative. P-Three?”
“I’m moving up on the right side to cut off their escape route.”
“P-Four? Come in, P-Four?” There was no answer.
“P-Four, if you can’t speak, key any button on your phone once.” Nothing. Shit, he thought. “All right, P-One,
