His pulse pounded as his veins flooded with adrenaline. It was damn unconscionable that those bastards had taken a boatful of people hostage. There was only one way this would end tonight—with the innocents onboard rescued. The gunmen killed.
The hostages had been on the yacht for four hours—held captive for three. They’d be tired and scared, possibly injured, and his team would do what they could to reassure them. They needed to get on that damn yacht and end this.
Troy propelled himself forward, easily moving through the dark water. While a night dive might terrify some people, this was what they trained for. He couldn’t see his teammates but knew exactly where they were. He and Raptor were approaching the yacht from the port side. Ethan and Grayson would board the vessel from the starboard side, and Jackson and Logan would breach the ship from the back. They’d have the easiest time with a ladder right there, but the others would throw ropes onto the yacht and rappel up. The yacht was significantly smaller than many of the ships they’d conducted training scenarios on. Large cargo ships could take hours to clear. But a yacht of this size? These assholes would be dead before they knew the SEALs were even there.
The team reached the target and surfaced, the ocean quiet around them save for the occasional sound of the slapping of water against the ship. It was the calm before the storm—both literally and figuratively. A storm was moving in tomorrow, but the night was perfectly serene. And while everything on the yacht was quiet at the moment, all hell was about to break loose.
“SITREP,” Blake said over the comms channels.
“This is Everglades; we’re in position.”
“This is Hurricane; we’re in position.”
Blake looked over to Troy, and he nodded. “No tangoes on deck. Let’s do this,” Blake said. “Move in!”
Troy flung a rope and hook up over the railing of the yacht. The lights of San Diego were shining in the distance, but the biggest show of the night was about to go down right here. Not that anyone but the passengers would be watching.
Blake flung his own rope up as well, the metal of the hook clanking against the railing. Troy gave his rope a tug, ensuring it was secure, and then the two men were scaling the side of the ship. There was a cabin window to his left, but Troy made sure to avoid it, not wanting to be seen. Although he’d love to see what was happening inside, he couldn’t risk it. The element of surprise could potentially save the victims’ lives.
“This is Hurricane. We climbed the ladder and are on the back of the ship.”
“Roger that,” Blake said.
Troy didn’t hear anything as he continued climbing, and then he was up and over the railing, landing on the deck as well. He pulled off his face mask, his gaze sweeping the area, and glanced over at Blake, who was doing the same. Each team would search a different side of the yacht, moving through the cabins and rooms. Logan would remain on the deck, and Jackson would head toward the control room and take over.
“This is Raptor. We’re on deck.”
Troy removed his pistol from his waterproof pack. He had a knife on his person as well, but with such close quarters, it was likely there’d be hand-to-hand combat. Especially if there were hostages close by. Nobody wanted bullets ricocheting off the walls and harming a passenger.
Grayson’s team checked in as well. “There’s blood on the deck,” Grayson said. “There’s a trail leading toward the side of the boat. It looks like someone either jumped or was thrown overboard. I don’t see a body.”
“Damn,” Troy said.
“It’s clear where we are, but I do see some bullet holes,” Raptor said. “Let’s move in.”
Troy held his pistol and crouched down, jogging across the deck toward the door. Earlier the team had reviewed the schematics of a similar yacht. There was a dining room, kitchen, and multiple cabins, in addition to the control room and deck. There weren’t that many places to hide, which was both good and bad. They’d easily find the gunmen, but it also meant the hostages would potentially be in harm’s way.
In a sense, breaching a large cargo ship was easier. If the crew was locked away in a separate area, it was easier to take out the bad guys. There was no large holding area on a ship of this size. Since no one was on deck, it meant the passengers were all stashed in the cabins or rooms below.
They paused at the door to the interior of the ship, Raptor holding his weapon at the ready as Troy moved in. He stealthily slipped inside, Raptor right behind him. The corridor was empty, but they heard voices coming from a cabin.
Silently, they moved closer. One of the gunmen stepped out of an open cabin door, looking in the opposite direction from where they were. Without a sound, Troy moved forward, snapping the guy’s neck before he even knew Troy was there. A woman whimpered from inside the cabin, and he froze. Had he been spotted?
He looked back toward Raptor, who was hovering by the door. Raptor signaled to him, and then breached the entryway, Troy right behind him. There was one shot as Raptor took out a gunman, and then Troy was looking at a frightened woman sitting on the cabin floor. Her wrists were tied together, and she looked pale and shaky, appearing to be around fifty or
