Mac attempted to sit up when she heard three distinctive pops from somewhere outside the sick bay area. From an earlier conversation she’d overheard between Miguel, the head of the mercenaries, and Petrović, she knew there’d been some sort of accident in the harbor that was delaying the docking of all the ships. She also knew it was only a matter of time before they cleared that up and she’d be transported to a plane and whisked off to some godforsaken island with Petrović.
She vowed not to let that happen, and again glanced up at the heparin IV, trying to find a way to magically turn it back on. She’d resigned herself to do whatever was necessary to keep Petrović from winning—even if it meant suicide.
The three faint pops she’d heard sounded like gunshots to her trained ear, and she wondered if Petrović was taking care of loose ends now that he was so close to the finish line. No longer necessary to his mission, the crew would be a liability. Since he prided himself on his ability to stay invisible, leaving behind witnesses who had actually seen him out of disguise was not his modus operandi.
She realized time was running out for her. With no options left, not even suicide, she promised herself to never give up on finding a way to destroy Petrović if he managed to escape with her in tow. That revenge might not happen today, but rather when he least expected it. That would mean her acting skills would have to be Academy Award-worthy to gain his trust. Although the thought disgusted her, if she could cozy up to Omar Rashid in Romania, she could pretend that Petrović didn’t physically make her sick. She jerked up, startled when the infirmary door was flung open and the man himself rushed in. She could tell by his facial expression that he was angry.
Good, she thought. Angry men made mistakes.
She waited as he walked over and restarted the heparin drip.
Confused, she continued to stare at him, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling when she noticed a trickle of blood coming from the bandage covering the spot where she’d nailed him with the homemade shiv. But her amusement quickly dissolved when he focused his attention back on her and she saw the unmistakable look in his eyes. A shudder that had nothing to do with the cold metal table made its way up her body.
“Unfortunately, my dear, we are under attack, and several of my men have been killed.” He watched for her reaction.
She tried hard not to give him one. “Under attack by whom?”
“At this point, I can’t say for sure. My guess is the Iranians out for revenge because I betrayed them in Miami.” He paused. “Or it could be some sort of American attempt to rescue you.”
“Why would you think my friends were trying to save me? You’ve already told me there’s no chance of that happening—that you shot down my only hope of getting away.”
He looked saddened by her response. “I never intended to kill you, Mackenzie, but all that’s changed now.” He adjusted the IV flow to a faster rate. “There’s no way I’ll let them take me alive, and unfortunately, if I can’t have you, nobody can. Think of this as a Romeo and Juliet moment.”
He turned away to open the cabinets. When he twisted back around, he held what she recognized as a brick of C-4 with wires of all colors protruding from the top. She watched in horror as he got on his knees and attached it to the underside of the table.
When he was upright again, he looked directly into her eyes. “Insurance, my love. Whoever is coming for you or me will find out the hard way that I don’t play games.”
“Leonardo, this is Miguel. What’s going on up there? Was that a gunshot? Respond immediately,” a voice squawked from the dead man’s handheld radio.
Griff reached down and picked it up just as the same message was heard on the other men’s walkie-talkies. “We have to move quickly,” he said as he pocketed the radio. He then grabbed one of the soldier’s automatic rifle and tucked his own weapon into his waistband. “I don’t know how many are left, but I’d guess at least four or five. Petrović would have spared no expense to get to Mac.” He glanced up at the helm, ready to take out whoever was piloting the yacht.
“Let me,” Ty said, already heading in that direction. “This won’t take long.”
By the time Griff and Ryan started toward the staircase, Ty had rejoined them. “Talk about a chickenshit. Right before I slapped duct tape across his mouth, Captain Diaz swore he was only trying to sell his yacht and had nothing to do with the woman tied up below.”
“So she is below.” Griff took the lead and motioned for the other two to follow him down the steps, gun ready in case there was an army waiting at the bottom.
He hoped he wasn’t leading them all into certain death, but they had no choice. Cautiously, he proceeded down a couple of steps, checking for any sign of hidden combatants.
He was surprised to find the long hallway completely empty and figured the soldiers who hadn’t drawn watch duty were probably relaxing or still enjoying a siesta while they waited for the appliances to be removed from the harbor.
At the bottom of the stairs, Griff used his two fingers to communicate to his team. Ty moved to Griff’s right and Ryan positioned himself on the other side. Silently, they made their way to the first door and opened it.
The room was empty.
The next one was the same, but when they charged through the third door, they caught two Cubans scrambling for their guns. A couple of quick shots wiped out that threat.
Griff pointed to the next room, and again signaled to get them to follow him. They were almost there when a shot from inside splintered the wood.
They pressed against the wall while Ty threw a tear gas canister through the hole made by the gunshot. Within moments, a burly Cuban man opened the door and began firing with one hand, while swiping his eyes with the other.
Griff aimed and brought him down with one shot. If he’d counted right, that was six of them. He turned to Ryan and Ty and held up six fingers, then cocked his head to get them to advance to the next door.
There were only two doors left now, and the three of them approached cautiously. The first one opened into a kitchen area, and after a careful search that yielded no enemy soldiers, they headed down the hallway to the last door.
Griff’s heart raced as they approached it, aware this had to be the place where Mac was being held prisoner—if she was on the yacht at all. He wouldn’t let his mind add or if she was still alive.
Griff signaled Ryan, who stepped close and attached a low-grade explosive to the door to pop the latch. All three of them turned away and covered their ears as the door blew out into the hallway. Quickly, Griff led the way and raced in, getting his first look at the man nicknamed Dr. Death. About five eleven, Petrović stared back at him with a defiant, almost maniacal expression on his face. The dirty-blond hair and hard eyes that projected evil, even from a distance, were proof to Griff that the man in front of him was indeed Petrović.
And he was holding something in his hand.
Griff homed in on the IV running wide open into Mac’s veins as she lay on the table, unmoving. Panic set in when he saw the steady stream of blood dripping off the bottom of the metal table. He started toward her but stopped abruptly when the man beside the table held up the object in his hand. A closer look told Griff it was a detonator.
“Stop right there,” Petrović said. “You’re Bradley, right?” When Griff didn’t respond, he continued, “As you can see, Mackenzie is not looking so good right now. Unfortunately, the heparin’s causing her to bleed out through her leg wounds.”
Griff did his best to quickly assess the situation, noting that the room only had one door and no windows, presenting a challenge to an easy exit. But his many years of serving in the covert unit told him that there would not be an escape from here. Either he would walk out with Mac in his arms or they would all die today.
Seeing the smile on the arrogant prick’s face, Griff struggled to maintain his cool. He prided himself on knowing when to take out a perpetrator, like he did in Bucharest, when he shot the terrorist while he was holding a gun to a pregnant woman’s head. He’d waited for the exact right moment when the guy let down his guard for only an instant.
But he couldn’t pull the trigger now, not when Petrović could blow them all to hell. “I’m Bradley. And you must be Petrović,” he said in as civil a voice as he could muster. Engaging Petrović in conversation would give them more time to assess exactly what they were up against. After Petrović nodded, Griff pointed to Mac, trying to buy time, trying to figure a way out of this. “You’re willing to kill her?”
“Oh no, Bradley. It’s you who will do that, unless you get both Mackenzie and me off the ship and into my private plane.”
Griff smirked. “You’re asking the impossible.” He raised his gun and aimed directly between Petrović’s eyes, then lowered it when the lunatic leaned over Mac and placed his hand with the detonator above her face.
“Make it happen, or she dies. Look at her. She can’t last much longer. She’s lost a lot of blood and needs vitamin K.” He squinted. “And if you think you can rescue her by taking me out, think again. She’s lying on a brick of C-4, and no matter how fast you shoot, I’ll still be able to press the button.” He held up the detonator for emphasis.
Dammit! Griff had been trained to shoot for the “T,” with the eyes being the horizontal part and the nose and mouth the vertical line. Although that shot would definitely kill Petrović, it didn’t guarantee a “no reflex” reaction. He couldn’t take the chance of that reflex allowing Petrović to push the button.
There was only one way to keep that from happening. Only one shot would prevent Petrović from pushing the detonator, a direct hit to the medulla oblongata, the part of the brainstem that controlled involuntary actions. Griff had seen training videos with sharpshooters aiming directly for the sweet spot under the nose and above the lips, but he’d never actually witnessed it or done it himself. He’d always scored high on his marksmanship reviews, but he wasn’t confident enough in his ability to take that chance.
His gaze settled on Mac, and although he couldn’t see her face, she was still not moving and was probably unconscious, sparing her from the fear that faced them all. He took a step closer to Petrović, who responded by holding up the detonator as a reminder of what he was capable of doing.
“You know I would never jeopardize a member of my team, so for now, you win. Turn off the IV, and I’ll radio the authorities to begin working on your demands, although they can’t do anything until the ships are able to get into the harbor.”
Petrović frowned. “That should be soon, Bradley. For now, we’ll simply have to wait.” He pointed to Ty and Ryan. “Have your men lay down their weapons.”
“Turn off the heparin first.”
Petrović hesitated momentarily, then reached up and turned off the valve that regulated the IV flow. Griff nodded to his teammates, who placed their weapons on the ground as instructed.
“And give her vitamin K.”
Petrović shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid you’re not in a position to give me orders. Mackenzie is my trump card, so no vitamin K just yet.”
Ryan moved up beside Griff. “From the way he’s holding the detonator, be aware he may have added a kill switch,” he said, his eyes never leaving the detonator in Petrović’s hand.
“Very clever. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
Although Griff didn’t know much about explosives, leaving all things bomb-related up to Ryan, who was the expert, he did know what a kill switch on a detonator meant. Instead of stopping the action, it actually activated it once the bomber’s hand left the detonator. If Petrović did have a kill switch, it wouldn’t matter one way or another if Griff was able to sever the brainstem. As soon as Petrović dropped the detonator, the bomb would go off.
Griff was getting desperate now, trying to decide what his next move should be. None of his choices guaranteed a good outcome. Not being a doctor, he had no idea how long Mac could live after losing all that blood, but now that the heparin was no longer running, he figured a few more minutes wouldn’t make that much of a difference.
“What’s it going to be, Bradley?”
“We wait,” Griff replied. “Why is it so important to kidnap her? Surely a man like you, with all your power and wealth, could have any woman of his choosing.” He knew that was laying on the bullshit, but he was trying to get Petrović to relax a little, maybe let down his guard.
“I think you already know the answer to that one. You judge me, yet you’re no different than me. You stand ready to risk your own life, as well as those of your teammates, for the woman you love. Rather ironic, don’t you think?”
Before Griff could respond, Ryan moved closer. When Griff glanced his way, the bomb expert shook his head, a signal that there was no kill switch, and then touched his finger to the spot under his nose.
“It’s up to you whether this ends well, but if your friend takes another step, I’ll blow us all up. I know Mackenzie will eventually learn to love me. That’s why I haven’t already killed her.”
Petrović’s eyes darted to the unconscious woman on the table, and kill switch or not, Griff knew he had to act quickly. He lifted his Glock and took aim. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the sound of the gunshot pushed the air from his lungs, and he gasped. As if in slow motion, he watched Petrović drop to the floor, a confused look coupled with shock spread across his face. The detonator landed right beside him.
Ryan was the first to react and ran to grab the device. “Shit! No kill switch, but it has a timer…and it’s activated.”
Ty pushed Petrović out of the way with his foot. Griff rushed to Mac and checked her pulse. It was weak and thready. Not good! He opened the cabinets, grabbed a new bag of fluids, and switched it with the one loaded with heparin. Then he bandaged the wounds on her legs, but the blood still seeped through.
With the new fluid now dripping wide open into her vein, he searched for the vitamin K. When he found the vial, he drew the lifesaving medicine up in a syringe and injected it directly into the tubing.
While he was doing that, both Ty and Ryan dropped to the floor and located the C-4 under the table.
“We got trouble,” Ryan said. “Not only is this on a timer, the bastard’s wired it like a land mine. If we lift Mac off the table, we all die.”
“And we’ve only got eight minutes until it goes off,” Ty added.
“Son of a bitch!”
At that moment, Mac opened her eyes. “Griff?”
“I’m here, Mac. We’re all here. Save your strength and try to sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be stateside and eating one of those greasy cheeseburgers you like.” He wished he felt as confident as he was trying to make her feel. Waving off his two teammates, he pointed to the door. “You guys get off the boat and start moving the other freighters as far away from this yacht as possible. I’ll stay behind to try to disarm the bomb.”
“You?” Ryan asked. “We all know you’re the best at just about everything, but even you have to admit that I’m the bomb when it comes to explosives. They don’t call me Boom for nothing.”
“I can’t ask you to risk your life.” Griff dropped to the floor. “Tell me what to do.”
“No way I’m taking a chance on you blowing Mac up.” Ryan shoved Griff gently out of the way. “I’ll need a light and something sharp.”
Despite his reservations, Griff knew Ryan was right. There was none better when it came to explosives. He turned to Ty. “Go topside and begin clearing the boats around the yacht.”
Ty shook his head. “I’m staying.”
Griff was rarely at a loss for words. As his heart swelled with pride, he nodded. “Do your thing, Ryan. And God help us all.”
“Already found them,” Ty said, dropping to the floor and sliding under the table with Ryan.
“Watch and learn, pretty boy.” Ryan grabbed the scalpel from Ty.
Ty directed the light to the top of the bomb, which was now showing seven and a half minutes on the timer.
With nothing else to do but wait, Griff was besieged by all the things that could go wrong. The best scenario still had Mac in critical condition and bleeding out. Even Ryan’s cockiness couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice. But he was willing to put his life on the line. So was Ty.
After a few minutes of total silence, Griff crouched down and whispered, “How much time?”
“A little over four minutes. This is like brain surgery.”
Before Griff could react, Mac opened her eyes and moaned. Straightening up, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, trying desperately to think of something to say that would keep her calm. But he’d never been good at showing his emotions, had always used his training and skills to show what he meant. “I’m thinking about getting a dog. I need for you to help me pick one out,” he blurted, mentally slapping himself for the absolutely lame attempt.
His self-critique was verified when he heard Ryan mutter, “What the fuck?” from under the table.
“Are we going to die?” Mac asked, her voice painfully weak.
So much for easing her fears. “Not to worry. I’m right here with you. Petrović is dead. He can never hurt you again.” Griff bent down closer to her face. “I love you. Always have,” he whispered, but she had already drifted back into unconsciousness.
“Hurry up, Ryan,” Ty said. “Two minutes left.”
“Shit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“There are two red wires and I can’t be sure which one to cut.”
“Jesus, Ryan, if ever there was a time to be sure, this is it,” Ty said.
“Done!” Ryan shouted triumphantly as he slid out from under the table.
Griff heard him, but it didn’t register. “Done?”
Ryan was on his feet, shaking Griff by the shoulder. “Did you hear me? The worst part is over. Now for the ultimate test.”
“I thought you disarmed it,” Griff said.
“We still have to get her safely off the table. There may be a backup charge that we can’t see,” Ryan said.
Griff released her restraints. While he held her upper body, Ryan and Ty placed their hands under her lower half.
“On three,” Ryan said.
None of them breathed until she was a few inches above the metal table and then lowered gently to the floor.
“Yes,” Ty said. “Now, how in the hell are we going to get her off this ship without alerting the Cuban authorities? I don’t have to tell you how badly she needs medical attention.”
“I know just the way to do that,” Griff said. He reached into the pocket of his wetsuit and pulled out the transponder Captain Livingston had given him for emergencies. “Let’s get her up on deck and ready for transport. Help will be arriving soon.”