Honor Reclaimed (HORNET #2)

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

The sand-colored mansion looked empty through Seth’s scope. Tucked into the side of a mountain, facing a desert dotted with little more than scrub brush, it was a very defensible position for anyone inside— if there was anyone inside—which was a major plus for the bad guys. The surrounding terrain did not offer a whole lot of cover for those looking to attack the place—not so great for the good guys.

Flat on his belly behind a natural rise in the land, Seth continued to scan for signs of life.

“Anything?” Ian asked. They’d been lying in the dirt for close to eight hours. Waiting. Watching.

“No. You?”

“Nada. This waiting sucks.”

“You just wish you were in there so you can get your hands on that bomb,” Seth said.

“Yeah, you’re right. Bombs are what I do, so if anyone’s going to handle it, it should be me. Instead, I’m stuck out here in the middle of the desert babysitting you.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a volatile fucker, Gabe would trust you to get closer to the action. Besides,” Seth added and swiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, “I needed a spotter, and you’re surprisingly good at it.”

Ian made a derisive sound. Several minutes ticked by in silence, then he asked, “Think we’re jumping at shadows? If this deal was going to happen, don’t you think it would have happened under the cover of darkness?”

“I don’t know. Siddiqui’s not in control of this. It’s all on Zaryanko’s watch. Maybe he tried to jump-start the deal last night, and things fell through.” Seth rested his forehead against his arm and closed his eyes for a second. He had to look away from the reticle before the image of a crosshairs burned into his retina. “Sooner or later, they’re going to show.”

Ian grunted. “I’m starting to doubt it. We spent the last two days training to raid Siddiqui’s house in Kabul and look how that turned out. We’re sitting here baking our asses off in the middle of the desert, watching an abandoned shithole.”

“Plans change all the time, Ian. You know that, and Tuc’s intel was solid.”

“Yeah, well. Dunno how much I trust that guy.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“List is a short one,” Ian admitted.

“Yeah?” Seth fitted his good eye back to his scope. “Name one person you trust implicitly.”

“Like you’re one to talk about trust, Hero.”

He didn’t have to look at the guy to know Ian’s ever-present sneer was firmly in place. He heard it loud and clear in his voice. “I trust Phoebe.”

“That’s not trust, that’s lust.”

Says the man who wouldn’t know intimacy if it bit him on the ass. Seth snorted, not bothering to argue over it because he’d only waste his breath. Ian wasn’t capable of understanding his relationship with Phoebe.

“You still haven’t named anyone,” he pointed out. “And stop calling me Hero.”

“You plan to harp on this all day, Hero?”

“You are one mean ass mother,” Seth grumbled. “And, yeah, I think I will. Nothing better to do but piss you off until the bad guys show up.”

Ian hissed out an annoyed breath. “Fine. Tank.”

“Dogs don’t count.”

“Yeah, they do. They possess a kind of loyalty most men can’t even fathom.”

All right. He had a point. “I’m talking about humans. I know you respect Gabe and Quinn, but do you trust them?”

Silence.

Seth let him stew on that and then continued scanning for signs of life at the target building. Far as he could tell, there was nobody inside, and the hope he’d had after their final training op was starting to fizzle out. Maybe they were jumping at shadows.

“You,” Ian muttered. “I trust you.”

Startled, Seth glanced over at him. “Why me?”

“You saved my ass, and you didn’t have to, so you get my trust. And that’s why I asked Gabe to let me spot for you. I owe you. Simple as that.”

Seth opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he planned to say, but it didn’t matter because the sound of approaching vehicles saved him from having to answer. He peered through his scope. A line of SUVs rumbled toward the abandoned house, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. “Got three SUVs inbound from the east.”

“Yeah, see them,” Ian said and related the information over the radio. Gabe’s voice came back, telling them to hold their positions and report if they got eyes on The Suitcase.

The SUVs trundled to a stop in front of the mansion, and several men with scarves wrapped around their faces climbed out. They all carried M4s, except for one man who appeared to be their leader. He carried a sniper drag bag over his shoulder and motioned with one hand as he ordered his men to secure the perimeter. Then the sniper turned and seemed to look directly at Seth and Ian’s position—but there was no way he could see them, hidden as they were behind the rise, under a camouflage net. More likely, the sniper was just scanning the horizon, possibly searching for Nikolai Zaryanko’s vehicle, anxious to get the trade over with.

Still, a chilling sense of déjà vu clawed across the back of Seth’s mind. He gave his head a little shake. Couldn’t get sucked into the past now.

“Must be Askar,” Ian said, still peering through his binoculars. “Can you get the motherfucker?”

“What’s the range?”

“460 meters.”

“Yeah, I got him. Ask Gabe if he wants to engage them now or wait.”

Ian got on the radio. A moment later, Gabe’s orders came back. Wait. Seth relaxed off the trigger and continued watching as Askar and his men began stacking duffle bags in the sand.

“Holy shit,” Ian said. “That’s a lot of money. Think it’s American bills?”

“Don’t go there. That’s a slippery slope.”

“I’m not.” He sounded offended. ”I’m more focused on making sure that bomb doesn’t end up in enemy hands. If it does, 9/11 will look like nothing more than an appetizer to the main course.”

Not a pleasant thought, but accurate judging by everything they’d learned about The Suitcase over the last few days. “9/11 is why I became a Marine.”

“It’s why I joined Navy EOD,” Ian said, his native New York accent more apparent than usual. “I wanted to blow those motherfuckers from the map. Nobody attacks my city and gets away with it.”

Askar and his men dragged the cash inside, then took up guard positions out in front. And for a long time, nothing happened.

The wind kicked up sand, obscuring Seth’s view to the point that he feared they’d have to risk exposure and move, but eventually, it settled, and he had a clear shot again.

And, still, nothing happened.

For a good hour, they waited, baking in the desert sun. Tensions were running high, and even the guards in front of the property started to fidget.

Despite the heat, a chill scraped claws along Seth’s spine. He lifted his eye away from the scope and glanced over his shoulder. Not two hundred meters away, sunlight sparked off something reflective. He couldn’t see anybody in the waves of heat radiating off the earth, but someone definitely waited out there with something metal. “Shit. We have company.”

“Yeah, we do,” Ian said and lifted his binocs as another SUV rumbled toward the house.

Seth followed his gaze. “Zaryanko?”

“Looks like.”

Seth swung his rifle around and used the scope to refocus on the area where he’d seen the flash. Movement. Slowly creeping forward. Two men. No, three. “We have three tangos on our six.”

“Visual confirmation of Zaryanko,” Ian said. “And he’s got The Suitcase. You said three?”

“We gotta take them out. They’re doing a sweep, looking for something. Probably us. We must have been spotted somehow.”

“We can’t take them out. We’ll expose ourselves.”

“If we don’t, they’ll expose us.” Seth got on the radio. “Stonewall, this is Ace. Be advised, we have three tangos coming up on our six. We have to engage. Do you copy?”

“Copy,” Gabe said after a pause, sounding none too happy about it. “Fire at will.”

Ian grinned. “Got something better. You were a football star, right?” He held up a grenade. “Can you still throw?”

“Fuck yeah. Cover me.” Seth pulled the pin and broke cover to stand and lob the thing. It landed in the middle of the three men, and he dropped to the ground, losing sight of their mad scramble to get away.

Bang!

“Got ‘em,” Ian said as chaos erupted down at the building. “Now it’s show time.”

Seth settled behind his rifle again. Zaryanko’s men had panicked at the sound of the grenade and started picking off Askar’s men. Zaryanko shouted at Askar until a bullet sent him diving for cover, leaving The Suitcase out in the open.

After a quick, assessing glance at the firefight, Askar strode over, plucked the metal case out of the sand, and booked it toward one of the SUVs. One of Zaryanko’s men plowed into him from behind and tried to take the case. He righted himself and pulled out a pistol. The other man backed off, hands raised, having lost his weapon at some point in the confusion.

Askar shot the guy right between the eyes.

Jesus. It took a special kind of coldness to shoot an unarmed, surrendering man point-blank like that.

As the body crumpled, Askar broke into a run.

“Have him?” Ian asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then fucking send it!”

The first shot went high, and Askar ducked behind the door of the SUV, using it as a shield as he pulled himself into the driver’s seat. The vehicle's wheels spun, kicking up dust before finally gaining traction. He spun a one-eighty and hit the gas, headed straight toward Ian and Seth.

Ian cursed a blue streak. “He’s found us. Do you have another shot?”

“No. He’s staying low.” Seth adjusted his aim for the driver’s side wheel and squeezed the trigger. The tire popped, and the SUV spun several times before crashing sideways against a dune. Askar scrambled out and over the dune, still gripping The Suitcase.

Seth had him. One hundred-fifty meters, a perfect headshot, one he could make with his eyes closed. Except he did have his eye to the scope and clearly saw Askar’s face as a hot, dry wind whipped his scarf away.

And Seth froze, a chilling sense of familiarity keeping him from pulling the trigger.

“What are you doing?” Ian demanded.

Seth rubbed his eyes with one hand, sighted again, and took the shot, but he was too late. Askar had already claimed another vehicle and was bouncing through the desert at break-neck speed.

“Fuuuck.” Standing, Ian watched the SUV until it was out of sight, then pounded a fist against his leg, sending up a small puff of dirt. “You had a fucking flashback, didn’t you?”

“No.” He couldn’t explain what that had been, but it wasn’t a flashback. “I just…hesitated. There was something familiar about him.”

“Familiar or not, he’s on his way to take that suitcase to Siddiqui. Fuck!” Ian said again and grabbed his radio. “Boomer to Stonewall. Be advised, we are not in possession of The Suitcase. I say again, we don’t have the bomb.”

Sometime during the long stretch of inactivity, Phoebe had fallen asleep in the comfy office chair. She hadn’t thought sleep was possible—with each passing hour, her anxiety level climbed higher and higher. But eventually, exhaustion won out and her eyes closed of their own volition.

Bang!

She started awake, all but falling out of the chair, her arms and legs getting tangled in the blanket draped over her. She was alone in the war room but had only a moment to wonder where Tucker had gone before a burst of gunshots rang out.

Seth.

Heart thundering in her throat, she scanned each helmet cam’s feed, struggling to understand the jerky chaos unfolding in bits and pieces on the screens. Gabe and Quinn were taking fire, shouting military-ese at each other, both of them never looking more alive as when their lives were in imminent danger.

Oh God. Did Gabe’s wife go through this stomach-churning apprehension every time he left for a mission? How did she stand it?

Jesse was taking shelter behind a vehicle, wrapping a bandage around someone’s upper arm while Jean-Luc and Marcus provided cover fire. Seth? No, that was Harvard with the wounded arm, and as soon as Jesse was done bandaging him, he grabbed his gun. The four of them took off in a crouching run toward where Gabe and Quinn were pinned down.

She exhaled an explosive breath and finally spotted Seth on Ian’s camera. He was lying belly down in the dirt, stalled out with his finger on the trigger. He was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do but watch, her nails digging half-moons into her palms.

“C’mon, Seth,” she whispered. “C’mon, baby. You can do this.”

As if her words had reached his ears, he snapped out of whatever memory held him frozen and took the shot, but it was too late. The car he’d been aiming at was long gone.

Then Ian’s voice came over the radio. They didn’t have the bomb. They hadn’t succeeded.

Which meant Siddiqui now had it.

Stomach churning, Phoebe turned away from the screens—and spotted the multiple copies of Zak Hendricks’ original report scattered across the table. She grabbed one of the folders, tucked it into the waistband of her jeans under her shirt, and sprinted for the door.

The team had tried it their way and failed.

And if she didn’t do something now, a lot of innocent Americans were going to die.