Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Mae Day (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 7

“No, thank you.” She looked over at Jason, who was still under the desk, totally silent and remarkably still. She didn’t want to do anything to distract him, which had been her purpose in talking to Edgar so much. But Edgar’s words only served to make her want to vomit. Mae saw a door that opened to a balcony. “I need air,” she murmured before making her way to it.

  Edgar’s voice flitted over her shoulder. “Of course,” he said solicitously, as if he weren’t holding them all hostage.

  Mae opened the sliding-glass door, noting the oddness of the feature on such a rugged structure. But as soon as the Gulf wind whipped through her hair in a blast of brine, all thoughts of CEO rooms and terrorists fled. If they made it out of here alive, she could handle this view the rest of her life. That thought gave her a sense of serenity. If she didn’t make it out alive, she was okay with this being her last sight, as long as Jason was close. Seeing the blue Gulf waters so deep and clear was absolutely breathtaking. The view was immense, water and sky for as far as the eye could see. Different shades of blue brought an immediate peace to her thoughts. She was almost able to forget why she was here and what was going on.

  And then a fluttering in her peripheral vision turned her head.

  It looked like a parachute flapping to the ground, but she had no knowledge of parachutes or what they would look like. But in her head, the head that so desperately wanted out of this mess, that’s exactly what Mae saw.

  A strange sound came from her. It was a muted, strangled whoop of joy, one she felt a strange need to let out, yet her circumstances dictated she rein it in. Her eyes stayed focused on the base of the crane on the corner of the rig where she’d thought she’d seen the fabric waving. It wasn’t far from where her balcony was. As she focused on that, she saw other flutters.

  They were parachutes. Some landing on the rig, some in the water.

  Her heart soared with joy, and a smile came to her face. They were being rescued.

  Then, the words of Mr. Chase came back to her. There were a hundred and twenty people on this thing. And a bomb set to blow any minute. She needed to get their attention and get them over here to diffuse this thing.

  Looking back behind her, she realized she was in full view of Edgar and Jason. Jason was fully focused on the bomb, the frown on his face marring his features as he examined the bundle of wires and clay in front of him. She would not distract him.

  Edgar, however, was leaning against the bar, looking at Jason with a mild expression on his face. He wasn’t focused on her, but he faced her, so any movement on her part would draw his attention. Thinking quickly, she felt around in her pockets for something. Anything.

  There was lipstick in there. The lipstick itself wasn’t much. She couldn’t write anything big enough to be seen by anybody. But the lipstick was a fancy one with a built-in compact mirror.

  She opened it, and holding it in front of her, flashed it at the parachuters. Any of them. All of them. Somebody had to come over here. Hopefully, they would know something about bombs.

  A head peeked around from the bottom of the crane where she’d initially seen the movement. Her heart pounded as his lips moved before he disappeared. Mae looked around to see where he’d gotten to, and after a minute or two, he appeared below her, scaling the wall.

  Her heart was in her throat as she watched him climb effortlessly up the wall. She had no idea who they were, but he could only be a good guy. Right?

  Chapter Eleven

  Jason was glad when Mae stepped outside, even though there was enough C-4 here to blow a crater in the Gulf of Mexico when it blew. It still made him feel better to know she wasn’t chatting with Dad anymore.

  Now, in the blessed silence of the two men breathing, Jason could concentrate a little better on what he was looking at.

  It was a highly sophisticated bomb connected to a timer he hadn’t seen in practical use because it was a bit complicated for the assholes he’d worked against in the Middle East. But it was widely used in World War II—a pencil timer. Basically, it was a long copper wire inside an aluminum tube connected to a glass vial of sulfuric acid. When the vial of acid was broken, it eroded the copper wire holding the striker back from the detonator. It was akin to something Snidely Whiplash would use in the old Rocky and Bullwinkle show, where the anticipation built until Dudley Do-Right saved the day.

  But Jason was no Dudley Do-Right, and this situation was fucked. As soon as they’d walked in the door, they’d stepped on the vial and let loose the acid. Dear old Dad knew it and was surely anxiously awaiting their demise.

  The only good thing about it was the fuse was long, and it would take a few hours to erode the copper wire inside the tube to the notch. There was a spot somewhere in the mechanism which was scored, to spill the acid full force down the remaining tube to the detonator. Of course, Jason didn’t know where the notch would be, he could only assume it was close to the actual mechanism of the bomb, or else the length across the room wasn’t even necessary. He hadn’t said anything to anyone because he didn’t want Mae to worry and he’d be just fine never speaking to his father ever again.

  Which, the way things were looking, would be damn possible.

  In addition to the antiquated fuse system, the bomb was booby trapped in half a dozen ways Jason could see. No telling what he couldn’t see.

  If he disconnected the timer, the bomb would go off. If he tried to cut the wire to the detonator, the bomb would go off. Jason was trying to backtrack through all the wires, desperate to find one that would work, but so far, no luck.

  There had to be something.

  Good news was, he had between three and four hours to find it before the sulfuric acid eroded all the copper.

  In the meantime, he was stuck in a room with his dad.

  So, while he worked, Jason went into his head, as deep as possible. Usually, his head was a rather dank place, but it was preferable to his reality at the moment, and he needed to go somewhere to figure out this shit.

  He ran through all the past lessons he’d had in EOD training—all the simulations—finding nothing that actually helped him here. Then he went through all the IED calls he’d gotten when he was actively serving, all the roadside bombs, landmines, and booby traps he’d found to detonate in the field.

  Nothing.

  So his fingers mindlessly worked, tracing wires, as his mind delved into more pleasurable memories. He knew it was a way of giving up, something he found awfully easy to do. Unless he found some sort of divine inspiration, they were all fucked, so he might as well remember the good things while he could.

  Mae.

  Her sweet skin, the soft sounds she made when he made her come, the look on her face when she was lost in sensation.

  Nope. Inappropriate erections wouldn’t help.

  Jason sat back on his heels and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, pretending those weren’t tears in his eyes just now.

  “Give up?”

  He swiveled around to look at the man claiming to be his dad, who looked at him almost jovially.

  “Fuck off.”

  Jason turned back to the mess of wires, resisting the impulse to punch his fist into the mass of C-4.

  “I didn’t think you’d have the intrinsic drive necessary to disarm it. In fact, you’ve already worked on it longer than I thought you would. I’m a little impressed.” The clink of glass told Jason the man was pouring another drink. It was, like, his fourth since they’d been in here, and Jason was surprised he wasn’t drunk yet. “Or maybe you’re just pretending to work on it so you don’t have to face me. Or her.”

  That hit a little too close to the truth. Jason hadn’t given up per se, but he seriously had no clue how to disarm this bomb. None. If he were in the field, he’d have evacuated, taken cover, and detonated it. But he couldn’t do that here. There was no way off this floating oil rig. And no telling what sort of irreparable damage would be done by this much C-4 exploding in the Gulf.

  A click sounded behind Jason, an
d then he heard, “I see my failsafe has arrived. A bit earlier than anticipated, but yay for you.”

  He turned to find a man dressed in black fatigues holding a knife to Edgar’s throat with a Glock 19 trained at Jason’s head.

  Holding his hands up, he knew he was in the presence of the Deltas. As many years as he’d served, he’d never actually worked with one. Not that being held at gunpoint by a Delta was optimal, but relief coursed through him nonetheless.

  “Sergeant Jason Everly, USMC.” Without hesitation, he stood, “This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine—” He started reciting the Creed, as automatic as breathing, in an effort to identify himself as a friendly. Hopefully.

  “Okay, stand down.” The man lowered his weapon and tightened his grip on Edgar, refocusing his attention.

  “Indoctrinated well, weren’t you?” Edgar was speaking around the knife at his throat, oblivious to the danger. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “I knew the services would instill some sense of something good inside you.”

  Within seconds, the Delta Force agent had him trussed up and gagged, immobilized on the sofa. Thankful for the lack of quips, Jason returned his focus to the bomb. A moment later, the Delta guy was behind him.

  “EOD?”

  “Yessir, but this one’s beyond me. If I were in the field, I’d clear everybody out and detonate. This is a bomb to dispose of, not disarm.”

  “Timer?”

  “Best I can tell, we have minimum of two hours, maximum of three. He used a pencil detonator.”

  A dark, bushy eyebrow rose, and Jason simply shrugged. “WWII technology. Simple, but effective.”

  Index finger to his throat, the Delta Force guy started speaking to his team. “We have two hours. Get the Cutter here, now, but get these hostages off first.” Turning back to Jason, he nodded, clearly not having time to shake hands. “I’m Ghost,” he said, and motioned vaguely around him, “My team. What do we have?”

  He knelt and looked at the device with a low whistle. Jason gave him the rundown, and Ghost did pretty much what he’d done—traced the wires gently with his fingertips as he tried to mentally straighten the spaghetti.

  “Why don’t you get Mae and find a Zodiac to get on? Y’all should get out of here,” Ghost said in a low murmur.

  “Can you disarm it?”

  “I can give it a shot.” Ghost zoned in on something over Jason’s shoulder, and then said, “We’re calling a bomb expert.” Pulling something out of his pocket, Jason watched as he set up a mini-tablet of some sort.

  “We’re Skyping?” He waved to Mae, who was on the balcony watching silently through the glass.

  “This guy is brilliant with bombs. Hands down.”

  The window of the tablet opened, and a dark-haired guy Jason immediately recognized as more Special Forces showed. Something about the way they held themselves—almost like giant cats, feral predators totally in control of everything—sent a chill down Jason’s spine. Without preamble, he said, “Show me.”

  Ghost held the tablet up and showed the bomb to the guy, slowly moving it around the mess of wires and then to the tubing that ran from the bottom of the bomb to the doorway where Mae had stepped on it.

  “How long ago was the pencil broken?”

  “About two hours,” Jason filled in as Mae came to his side. He put his arm around her and drew her closer, imparting as much comfort as he took from her. Just knowing she was here with him now was something he couldn’t put into words. But he needed to get her out of here now that there was a way off.

  Another Delta operative came to the doorway. “Cutter’s here, hostages are disembarking. We’re taking off in ten.”

  Ghost looked at the man. “Take her. We’ll stay and get this taken care of and meet you at the rendezvous.”

  “Roger that.” The man came and reached for Mae’s elbow. She resisted, turning into Jason’s body.

  “I want to stay.”

  “Baby, you need to go. I’ll find you, I swear it. It’ll be okay.” He motioned to the video where the guy was looking at the spaghetti mess of wires with a pensive look on his face. “This guy will tell me what to do, I’ll do it, and we’ll have dinner tonight. My treat. We’ll find a great Thai place on the coast or something.”

  Ghost was watching their interaction, as was the other guy in the room. “I’ll take care of her, I promise.” Turning back to Ghost, he said, “There’s a Jayhawk coming to pick up the hostiles in about fifteen.”

  “Roger that.” Turning to Mae, Ghost softened his voice. “I know you don’t want to leave, but Fletch here will take good care of you. I’d trust him with my own Princess. And I’ll get your man off here, in one piece, safe and sound. Promise.”

  Mae nodded once, squeezed Jason’s rib cage so hard he felt popping, and looked up at him with wide eyes full of tears.

  “Promise.” He couldn’t resist kissing her, just in case. He couldn’t live an eternity in the afterlife if he hadn’t taken the opportunity to taste her lips one last time. She clutched him as if his thoughts were her own, only releasing him when he reluctantly pushed her away. “Now, go.” His voice was hoarser than he meant for it to be. But when she left, he managed to rein it in.

  The man on the tablet spoke. “That was rough, man. I know it was, but we need to focus. Now, I’ll tell you this is one hairy motherfucker. But there’s a chance. And here’s what we’re going to do. Make sure there’s no oil pumping in case this thing blows. There should be emergency shutoff valves everywhere.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mae had been on the deck of the Coast Guard Cutter for almost an hour, watching the action take place on the oil rig. First, a giant helicopter had landed, and lots of men in black had been loaded on it, including Edgar. She cringed at the thought, thankful Jason hadn’t been raised with that man in his life.

  As she watched, the decks of the rig swarmed with activity. Hostages were offloaded, more operatives worked to secure the deck of the rig, everyone scurrying around with a purpose. But no Jason.

  They then jumped into the water and disappeared. All was silent. The Cutter’s engines revved and started to move away, and Mae frantically watched the rig grow smaller and smaller. She never saw Jason and his khaki pants and t-shirt again. He hadn’t been one of the ones to jump ship, and she could only assume he was still in there, disarming the bomb.

  Why he had to stay, she had no clue. He wasn’t in the Marines anymore. Why would they make him stay and diffuse something when the other more capable men were there?

  Unless they weren’t more capable. He was EOD in the Marines, which meant he had a background in bomb stuff, so maybe he was the resident expert. The idea that her quiet, unassuming, totally-controlling-in-bed man was an expert in bomb stuff made her head spin.

  And then a massive fire ball engulfed the rig her eyes were trained on, followed by the ear-shattering boom and a heat wave that knocked her off her feet and back against the wall of the ship.

  It took a minute for Mae to realize what had happened, even as she watched the flames pour out of the oil rig. The Cutter she was on picked up speed, and the whole thing got smaller and smaller in her vision.

  Mae began screaming for the Cutter to stop, they needed to go back. But nobody heard her. A man dressed all in navy blue came to her, wrapping a blanket around her, and tried to lead her away, but she fought him off. She couldn’t go.

  “Fletch!” he yelled, calling the man who’d brought her here. He appeared, and his face softened as he looked at her. Striding over, he took her in his arms, even as she still fought him.

  “They’re fine. They got off the rig before it blew,” he murmured in her ear as he stroked her back in a reassuring gesture.

  “H-how do you know?”

  He tapped something in his ear. “Because they’ve been talking. They jumped ship right before it blew. They’re swimming to a Zodiac and will meet up with us shortly.” His eyes were so kind and understanding, Mae wrapped her arms ar
ound him and held on tightly. He seemed so sure, she could only believe him, and she clung to the reality he presented. “How long have you and Jason been dating?”

  “Not long, But I know. He’s it.”

  “Yup. That’s the way it works. You want to head to mess and see if they have any coffee?”

  “I want to wait where I can watch.” The flames rose high in the sky, almost dwarfed by thick plumes of black smoke. The acrid smell was reaching her nose, and Fletch wrinkled his face.

  “We need to not be huffing this stuff. Come on.” He didn’t give Mae much choice as he led her inside. He was right, though. The smoke was making its way over to them from the oil rig, and it truly smelled awful.

  She only hoped she wasn’t smelling burning flesh as well. Her imagination was working in overdrive as Fletch led her inside the ship. He gently pulled on her arm, tugging her into a common area with a couch. A few guys got up and made room for her. Grateful, yet feeling bad for displacing them, she smiled wanly.

  “You don’t have to move,” she croaked out weakly.

  “The adrenaline’s going to crash your system any minute now, Miss Torma. You’ll want to lie down.” Fletch motioned for her to do just that. As if he’d told them to, her muscles suddenly felt drained.

  “But I want to wait for Jason.”

  “I’ll make sure you get woken up when he gets here.” Fletch’s face was kind, and she appreciated it. The voices of other men in the room were a low murmur, just background noise for her. As Mae closed her eyes, she realized how exhausted she was.

  She’d just rest for a minute.

  **

  Mae woke to someone shaking her shoulder. “Ma’am? We’re there. It’s time to debark.”

  What? Where was Jason? Fletch said he’d wake her when Jason got here. He was supposed to be here. She couldn’t formulate any thoughts besides those. She sat up on the couch, and the first words out of her mouth were, “Where’s Fletch?” He’d lied to her. He said he would wake her when Jason was here.

  The guy who had woken her simply shrugged. “I don’t know, ma’am. All those guys were picked up by helo about thirty minutes ago.”