Kilo

 

Motherfucking fuck.

“The redhead’s on board.” And she was gonna fucking jump. “Oscar Tango Mike. Heading top deck, starboard, forward cabin balcony.” Stepping back into the cabin, I shut the slider.

“Negative,” November clipped. “Patrols at your nine o’clock. Top deck with fourteen heat signatures. Hold position.”

Fuck his hold position.

“Moving.” I climbed over the crates and hit the cabin door.

Cracking it, I took a quick glance of the corridor.

Voices, Spanish, close, no visual.

Goddamn it.

Quietly closing the door and locking it, I climbed back over the crates and hit the slider. “Exiting cabin. Taking the balcony to aft deck stairs. Need overwatch.”

“Working with only satellite heat signatures. Yacht’s Wi-Fi and internal security system are offline with the storm.”

“Do what you can. Going for the redhead.” I opened the slider.

“You have visual?”

I glanced up. Still holding onto the gunwale, she stood a deck above me. “Yes.” Fuck, woman, do not fucking jump yet.

“Updating Alpha. Do you have a visual on Carlos?”

“No.” If I yelled loud enough for her to hear me, I’d give my position away, then we’d both be screwed.

“Heat signature directly above you.”

No fucking shit. “Moving to aft deck companionway. Keep an eye on that heat signature that was above me.” I needed to get to her before she fucking jumped.

“Copy. Clear to stern, starboard side. Move.”

“Roger.” I ran down the side of the boat and hit the stairs. The wind kicking up, the boat fucking pitching, I broke sightline at the top of the stairs and quickly scanned the deck for tangos. Empty, but lights were on inside the main cabin. I ducked my head back down. “Top deck heat signature locations?”

“Spread out,” November replied before rattling off locations I could barely fucking hear.

“Repeat,” I ordered, pressing a hand over my ear.

“Port and starboard cabins, aft and bow salons. Three directly ahead of you.”

I glanced over the top of the companionway again. Lights on inside, the deck dark, they were a fishbowl, and I was out of time. “Clearing the deck.”

“Roger.”

I cut across the deck, and just as I hit the narrow walkway leading to the balcony, the fucking boat came alive. Exterior spotlights, interior lights. Sun, top and upper decks, she lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

I ran.

Too late, November’s warning came through comms. “Motion sensors back online. Hold position. Repeat, hold position.”

“Too fucking late.” I’d already tripped them. “I’ve been made.” The redhead came into view. Barefoot, her back to me, her hair soaked but her dress somehow dry, she clutched that fucking tote and looked up at the spotlight above her. “Exfiling with the redhead. Closing in on her position. Need to get portside to the tenders. Relay sitrep on the tangos.”

“Tangos on the move, both port and starboard. Patrols coming up the aft deck stairs. Alpha and Blade are on their way back to the heliport. Take cover.”

Where the fuck was I supposed to take cover? “Negative. All running, deck and nav lights are on. No cover. Exfiling. Get me to those tenders.” I closed in on the redhead’s six.

“No clearance.”

She threw her fucking leg over the side of the boat.

Dropping my MP7 on its sling, I lunged.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, grabbing her around the waist, I spoke against her ear as I pulled her back from the edge. “Remember my voice?”

Her back arched, her arms came down, and she slammed her fists into my thighs as she fucking bucked like I’d electrocuted her.

“Easy. Easy. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

November issued a warning through comms. “Helo incoming, ten tangos converging on your six. Fifty seconds.”

Fuck.

I yanked my dive mask off the top of my head and spun her around.

When she caught sight of me in full dive gear, she went fucking rigid.

“Forty seconds,” November clipped.

Out of time, taking in the large bruise on her temple, noticing the life jacket that was shoved into the tote bag still hanging from her arm, I downloaded fast. “We’re going in the water. You’re gonna breathe through the mask and hold on to me. Point your feet before impact. Don’t swim. Don’t fight me. Just breathe, and let me do my job.”

Ignoring her terrified expression, I slid the mask over her face as carefully as possible, adjusted it, and repeated my instructions. “Don’t panic. Don’t kick. Don’t fight me. Keep that mask on, and don’t let go of me once we’re under. Got it?”

“Thirty seconds,” November warned.

She barely nodded.

I scanned my six. “Do you need that bag?”

She pulled it closer.

“Copy, but the life vest goes.” Yanking out the PFD that would slow me down, I tossed it overboard before taking her tote from her and swinging my rucksack around. Quickly unzipping it, I took out the spare air Blade had thrown in, tossed her bag in its place and zipped everything shut.

November’s voice came through comms again. “Ten seconds. Get out of there, Kilo.”

I locked an arm around her back and pulled her flush as she flinched hard. “Ready?”

Carlos’s men cleared the aft deck and came running at us.

“Exfil, exfil, exfil!” November ordered.

Shots whipped past our heads.

Pivoting as I shoved her behind me, I grabbed my MP7 one-handed and returned fire until those fuckers ducked.

Then I shoved the spare tank under my right arm, grabbed her from behind and leveraged us over the side of the fucking boat.

For two seconds, we were freefalling.

Then we hit the water, a firestorm of bullets followed, and her hands went to the mask in a panic.

Fighting the dive, she kicked.

Holding my breath and her, I let us sink.

Three meters, four, five.

Buoyancy hit our rate of descent, we slowed, she started to shake from the cold, and I moved.

Spinning her to face me, grabbing one of her wrists, I put her hand around my neck, and let go of her to throw on my fins.

Then I fit in the mouthpiece for the spare air, wrapped her other hand around my neck and her bare legs around my waist.

Following the boat’s nav lights, I dove under the hull.