“Where the hell are they then?” Troy asked.
The CO came storming into the locker area. “We just got a new SITREP. The San Diego PD informed us that two guests jumped overboard before the boat left San Diego Bay. The couple told police that multiple armed gunmen stormed the yacht before taking it out to sea. They saw at least three but believed there were several more, some of who were hidden onboard before the shit hit the fan.”
“Jesus,” Jackson said. “Weren’t there military personnel stationed on the pier? Even though it wasn’t a military vessel or Navy-owned property, the admiral was there and had been threatened.”
“Affirmative,” Commander Hutchinson said. “Both men were taken out with tranquilizer darts. The gunmen then boarded the yacht and took it over. The police officers who were first on the scene found two sailors on the ground on the pier. They were taken by ambulance to the Naval Medical Center. The two passengers that jumped overboard were cold and are being treated for hypothermia but are otherwise in good condition, everything considered.”
“So we still don’t know the number of tangos,” Blake said.
“And no one can get hold of the captain?” Troy asked.
Their CO frowned. “He hasn’t responded to radio communication. Multiple civilians on the ground called 911 after they heard gunshots, but as far as I know, there’s been no communication from the ship itself. The PD has their hostage negotiator trying to get them on the radio. The Pentagon’s not waiting around though. We’ve been ordered to move in.”
“How many hostages?” Jackson asked.
“We’re still waiting for word on that,” their commander said. “NCIS should have a count for us but haven’t provided a final number. There was an event planner running the anniversary party. She’d have the numbers, but it’s believed she’s aboard the yacht, too.”
Troy rubbed a hand over his chest. Butterfly was an event planner—his redhead from the beach. Although he’d looked up a few wedding planners over the past several weeks on the off-chance he could find her, it had proven harder than he thought. Who knew there were so many damn wedding planners around San Diego. Plus, with their week-long deployment to Somalia and grueling trainings, he hadn’t had a hell of a lot of free time. He’d half considered enlisting his sisters in the hunt, but then he’d never hear the end of it. His jogs on the beach where he’d seen Butterfly had proven fruitless as well. He’d gotten plenty of exercise and sunshine, but he sure the hell hadn’t seen her.
Not that his redhead would be aboard a yacht the admiral was on. That would be too much of a damn coincidence. And as he’d discovered, there were a hell of a lot of event planners in San Diego. Still, he couldn’t ignore the strange feeling flooding through him.
What if his girl was the one in danger? She wasn’t his, that was for damn certain, but hell. Uneasiness washed over him nonetheless.
“You okay?” Logan asked, zipping up his own wetsuit. He attached his underwater compass to his dive suit and glanced over at Troy.
Troy realized he’d paused in the middle of gathering his gear. That wasn’t like him. Normally on a mission, he was one hundred percent laser focused. His dive chronometer was sitting on the bench beside his own compass. He needed to get his mind back in the game. Focus on the task ahead, not a woman from weeks ago. “Yep,” Troy affirmed. “I’m good.”
“Guess we’re not taking the Zodiac,” Blake said, scrubbing his hand over his jaw. Zodiac inflatable rubber boats were used by SEALs in BUD/S training or for transporting men to beaches. The team would be chasing after heavily-armed men in the middle of the ocean tonight though.
“Negative,” the CO said. “There’s an MK-V SOC waiting for you. Gear up, and we’ll send you in. The Coast Guard vessel pulled back, and San Diego PD has a bird in the air watching from a distance. No more shots have been fired, and we’d like to keep it that way. As far as we know, no civilian lives have been lost. We need to get on that damn boat. The full moon means we’ll be easy to spot in the water. You’ll stop at a safe distance and dive.”
Troy nodded. They were already putting on their wetsuits. The SOC, or Special Operations Craft, would transport the team relatively close to the yacht. Thankfully, they’d be able to move fairly close undetected now that the sun had set. If they knew the passengers were safe somewhere onboard, they’d be able to pull right up beside the yacht or rappel down from a helo and take it over. They couldn’t risk the civilian lives though. A silent approach was necessary in this case—then they’d board, search, and seize the ship.
“We’re waiting on the final word? It sounds like negotiations haven’t happened.” Troy said.
“Affirmative. We have clearance from the Pentagon to move in. Your number one priority is taking out the armed men and taking control of the yacht. We’ll call in a medevac if necessary for any passengers who are critical. Otherwise, you’ll be bringing the boat back to San Diego Bay escorted by a couple of Navy boats.”
“Hell of an anniversary party,” Ethan muttered.
“And what about the ship’s captain?” Blake asked, his gaze narrowing. “Do we have any intelligence on him?”
“He’s clean,” their CO said. “He was vetted to ensure the admiral’s safety given the circumstances.”
“He’s a civilian?” Jackson asked.
“Yep,” Grayson said. “But there are a number of Navy officers on board in addition to the admiral.”
“He should’ve just taken a damn Navy boat,” Blake said. “Anniversary party my ass. He’s been receiving threats for a month. I can’t believe they went through with this
