8:46 p.m.
For the past fifteen minutes, Hardy had stood at the corner of the first warehouse, peering at the shipping vessel docked about one hundred meters away, while his team remained out of sight by the SUV. Parts of the ship had light pouring from it, while the entryway to the ship was dark. The boarding ramp was in position. No traffic could be seen coming or going. The entire dock was absent of people. The quietness gave Hardy an eerie feeling. Cliché as it was, the thought that came to his mind was, too quiet.
Hardy spun to his right and pulled the Vortex Solo monocular away from his eye. Striding to the SUV, he stowed the monocular in a pouch on his tactical vest. Cruz was the first one to quiz him.
“How does it look?” She was dressed in black tactical clothing, including black boots and a black bulletproof vest. Her MP5 rifle was slung and she was resting her arms on the weapon.
“It’s quiet. There’s no one on the dock and no one in sight on the ship.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not there,” said Dahlia. She had a bulletproof vest on over her clothing. A black knee-length blazer covered the vest. Her weapon was slung, while she made last minute checks of the rifle.
“We have to assume they’re on board.” His eyes encompassed Cruz and Dahlia. “You two are Bravo team. Cruz, you’re in charge.” He moved his thumb back and forth between Charity and him. “We’re Alpha team. I’m taking point. Dahlia, you bring up the rear of the column.” He glanced at each of them. None of them has an established call sign. “We’ll use our names for ID purposes—Cruz, Dahlia, Cherry,” he pointed to himself, “and Shepherd. Let’s keep our communications to a minimum. Got it?”
“Copy that.”
“Roger that.”
Charity nodded.
Slipping his fingers inside the bulletproof vest below Charity’s neck, Hardy pulled her closer. “I hope you’re not bashful, Cherry, because I want your lips glued to my butt. Do you understand?”
Charity nodded her head, knowing he was speaking in the figurative sense.
“I mean it. When we get in there, I want you close at all times.” He swung his head to the right to include the other women. “I don’t want anything to happen to any of you on this mission. We get in…we get Abby…And, we get the hell off that ship. Abigail’s safety, and the safety of this team, is our primary focus. We can call in support and deal with those bastards later. Are there any questions?” Dahlia and Charity shook their heads, but Cruz opened her mouth to speak.
“Have you given any thought to what would happen if Abby is not on that ship?”
“What do you mean?”
“That ship is the sovereign property of the government of Egypt. If we storm it and don’t find anyone but Egyptian nationals, we could create an international incident. If we shoot any of them,” Cruz closed her eyes and shook her head several times, “I can’t imagine the fallout from that.”
Hardy had been thinking about the consequences as soon as he learned of Egypt’s possible involvement in the kidnapping. He was not a politician. He had proven that in the Situation Room in D.C. No, Hardy was a soldier, who put the mission above his personal needs. Risking his career, his freedom, his life to save Abigail, a friend, fell within both his patriotic and personal jurisdiction. He had no right, however, to expect his teammates to share his sense of duty and endanger their futures. “If Abby’s not on that ship and this whole thing goes sideways, I’m ready to accept the consequences.” He took a hard look at each woman. “If anyone does not want to go with me, I understand and I won’t hold it against—”
Dahlia stopped him. “What the hell are you talking about? You woke me from a sound sleep in New York to tell me you need my help. Then, you make me fly to Denver and Los Angeles, where we knock over an antique store. If you think I’m going to walk away now, when we’re so close to finding this girl,” she twirled her index finger at the side of her head, “you’re not firing on all cylinders, Hardy.” She expelled a breath of air and shook her head.
The corner of Cruz’s mouth curled upward into a half-grin. “My words may not be as eloquent as Dahlia’s, but…I’m going where you’re going.”
Charity never wavered. “I told you before. I’m seeing this through to the end.”
Hardy smiled and felt a lump growing in his throat. He wanted to express his gratitude for their devotion, but the compressed timetable of the mission did not allow for it. He did allow himself a few moments to regard each one, however. They were classy and beautiful women—intelligent, highly skilled and faithful compatriots. And, we make a damn good team. Hardy drew his pistol. “All right, let’s move out.” He took the lead with Charity behind him.
The team moved along the backside of the warehouses, until they were even with the ship’s boarding ramp. Scurrying down a narrow alley, they came to the corner of the front side of the warehouses and stopped, squatting at the corner of one building. Hardy took out his monocular and surveyed the ship one more time. There were no signs of life. He tapped the communication device in his ear. “Overwatch, this is Shepherd. Do you copy—over?”
“Shepherd, this is Overwatch. I’m reading you loud and clear—over.”
“Give me a situation report—over.”
“All is quiet,” replied the officer, watching the ship. “I saw movement near the bow ten minutes ago. Your entry point has been clear for more than an hour—over.”
“Copy that. We’re moving out. Do not engage, unless necessary. You’re our eyes first, and foremost. Do you copy—over?”
“Copy that, Shepherd—over.”
“Keep your eyes peeled. We’re moving out in five—Shepherd, over and out.” Stowing the monocular, he counted down from five and signaled to his teammates.
In single file, Hardy, Charity, Cruz and Dahlia sprinted across the dock. Hardy hit the ramp at full speed. He bounded up the ramp and closed in on the entryway to the ship. Darkness was the only thing he could see beyond the opening. Coming to the doorway, he slowed before he stopped and held up his left fist. The three women were stacked behind him. Their rifles were aimed at the ramp and their eyes were fixed on Hardy, waiting for his command. He crept closer, while retrieving his Surefire flashlight. With nothing to hide behind, there was no best way to enter. He pressed the button on his flashlight. Taking less than a second to scan the immediate area inside the ship, he shut off the light. He repeated the procedure once more before waving his team forward.
Once aboard the ship, Hardy turned left and led his team down a wide walkway toward the bow. There was light ahead. The walkway was wide enough to bring the wooden crates onto the ship. Overhead lights provided enough light to see. Coming to a large room, Hardy stopped his team before surveying the room, making sure no one was in it. He entered and signaled for Cruz and Dahlia to go wide, while he and Charity went straight. They encountered two more rooms and repeated this movement each time.
Arriving at the fourth room, Hardy halted his team. Not as much light was coming from the room. Drawing up alongside the doorway, he could see why. Wooden crates filled most of the room on either side of the main walkway. Jackpot, thought Hardy. He signaled for Cruz and Dahlia to go left, while he and Charity would go right. Everyone knew what to look for—crate number fifty-seven with an approximate dimension of five by four by four.
Once in the room, the two teams went their separate ways and searched for the crate. Fifty-seven crates did not seem like that many; however, identifying and crossing each one off the list took a long time. The crates were jammed together in groups, resulting in aisles between each group. There were many places where someone could be hiding. Plus, the beams from their flashlights could alert someone of their presence. Hardy used the light sparingly, employing the ‘flashing’ technique, while Charity located the number. Halfway through their search, Cruz’s hushed voice came over his earpiece.
“I’ve got contact.”
Dahlia: “I’m on it. Watch my back, Cruz.”
“Copy that.”
A man in a black leather jacket and black pants had entered the room, coming from the bow of the ship. He had a lighter in his hands, trying to ignite the cigarette between his lips. An AK-47 rifle was slung around his neck and hung in front of his chest. He was engrossed in his task and never noticed the figure slinking from behind him.
Hardy and Charity stood still, their ears straining to hear the next communication. He was hoping Dahlia could take down the target without making a sound. He glanced at Charity and could see the whites of her eyes. Coming from somewhere in the room, he heard a heavy weight landing on the floor.
Dahlia had crept between two crates and hid, waiting for the man to pass. When he did, she stepped out from behind a crate and kicked him in the back of the knee, sending him into a kneeling position. The man dropped his cigarette lighter and reached for his rifle. Dahlia drove the butt of her rifle into the back of his head and he fell forward, motionless. She slung her rifle, grabbed the man by the collar and belt buckle, and dragged him out of the walkway and into a dark area of the room. “Target neutralized,” she said before re-joining Cruz.
Hardy exhaled the air he had been holding and he and Charity continued identifying the crates.
Both teams finished their searches and met up near the doorway closest the ship’s bow. Hardy’s eyes shifted back and forth from Cruz to Dahlia. “Did you find it?” They shook their heads. He stared at the floor. Has this been a wild goose chase? Were there fifty-seven crates here? He cranked his head around and peered toward the bow of the ship. I don’t want to go any deeper, if we don’t have to. There’s no telling how many men are on this ship. He focused his attention on the crates. “Let’s double back and check everything again.” Cruz and Dahlia nodded.
The teams split-up and re-traced their steps. When Hardy and Charity came to the third grouping, he stopped and examined it. Walking around the grouping, he shined his flashlight on the gaps between the crates. He stopped and motioned to Charity. Following the beam of his flashlight, her eyes opened wider and her eyebrows shot upward. Hardy extinguished his flashlight and tapped his earpiece. “Cruz, Dahlia, we found the crate.”