Fight Fire With Fire. Page 3

  Riley took off, keeping low and reached the truck. Mortar rounds hit, each impact coming closer. They were hunting for them by destroying anything in their path. He didn’t get it. All for one pilot?

  At the truck, Riley threw open the door, ducked under the steering column and pulled wires, striking them. The engine caught and sputtered, smoke billowing from the exhaust. He climbed behind the wheel and drove to them.

  He jumped out to help Sam. “You drive.”

  “I planned to,” she said climbing in and putting it in gear.

  Sam in, she accelerated before he closed the door. Their speed increased and he leaned out the window, watching their back. “Faster woman.”

  “It won’t go any faster!” Smoke was filling the cab.

  He drew inside to add, “It better, because ugly has brothers.”

  “Don’t they always,” she muttered, shifting gears.

  He saw the truck cornering the street, the gun mount swinging into position. Oh, crap. Law rockets. “Turn! Turn left! Now!” he shouted and she did, the truck fish tailing, throwing Sam against the cab. The mortar hit the crossroad they’d just left.

  “What do you have, a sixth sense?” she said checking the mirrors, never letting her guard down.

  “I saw the ignition flash before it launched.”

  “Good.” She pointed in front of his face. “Now shoot them please.”

  His eyes flared when a stripped down Land Rover barreled toward his side. The gunner behind a fifty caliber machine gun fired, a line of rounds chewing the ground and taking out the tire.

  “Riley, shoot!”

  He leaned out the window and fired, unloading seven rounds in the tires, engine, and driver. The driver fell back, hitting the gun barrel and tumbling out of the seat. The out of control Rover clipped their ass, tearing off wood slats and knocking them sideways. The impact dumped the gunner and Riley experienced a sick feeling as they rolled over a bump.

  Safia struggled with the wheel, turning hard and the truck tipped for a few feet, then slammed down. The tireless wheel screamed with sparks, riding on the rims.

  “That was fun.”

  Armored vehicles swarmed in behind the last, knocking the downed rover and barreling hard toward them. Christ. They’d get blown out of their seats any second.

  “Come on, baby,” she coaxed the smoking truck. “Just a little further.”

  “To where?”

  “There,” she said, nodding to the hills.

  On a high slope, he saw flickering movement, the endless black sky growing lighter as a helicopter lifted over the mountains. It swept near and illuminated a line of trucks and tanks cresting the hill ahead of it. NATO forces. Ooh-rah.

  Behind them, the renegade patrol raced, the convoy grown in size, and he heard the scrape of a tank turret. They were trapped between.

  “Time to bail!” She hit the breaks, and he jumped out, helping Sam.

  She grabbed the radio and shouted into it. He didn’t understand a syllable. A moment later, the gun ships launched duel rockets. The noise deafened as they whizzed past and impacted in the tank’s turret. Orange-red fire erupted, the explosion peeled open the metal, sending chunks fifty feet into the sky. It was close enough that he felt the heat of the flames.

  Shouldering Sam, Riley hurried to the small clearing, the chopper rotors beating the air and smashing trees and grass as the pilot set it down swiftly. Two helmeted men ran toward them. Then above and behind the chopper, two more gunships rose over the hillside and swept forward. The cav-alry’s here. The aircrafts laid down cover fire, and the Marines took Sam, helping him in the chopper.

  He turned to her. “Come with us!”

  She shook her head, the wind tearing her scarves free. “Still have to fight the good fight.” She didn’t smile, then grabbed him close. In his ear, she said clearly, “Ask yourself, why no rescue launch when he went down so close to the border.”

  His muscles tightened and he scowled at her, their faces close.

  “Your radio was enough to track you.” Then she brushed her mouth across his as she forced paper into his palm. “Watch your back, Irish.” She turned away.

  “Safia!” But she was running into the fight.

  A Marine grabbed his shoulder. “Sir, we got to go!” Riley threw himself in as rocket-propelled grenades launched, fifty calibers ripped across the Serb fighters, cutting anything in half. The chopper lifted off. Below, the ground was alive with battle. Flames and smoke stirred.

  He searched for Safia and prayed she was fast on her feet, yet even after someone handed him headphones, he still couldn’t turn away. The chopper climbed higher, and he pulled his legs inside. A medic hovered over Sam on a stretcher as the aircraft banked.

  Riley fell back against the bulkhead and opened his hand. It was a dollar bill, American. He spread it. In black ink, one word defaced it. Fundraiser.

  Two

  6°21´ N, 134°28´ E,

  Sonsoral Islands, Philippine Sea

  The barrier islands scattered like strings of torn white lace mixed with plots of lush green. This one looked like a Chia Pet growing in the middle of the ocean, Riley thought. Storms had eroded the shore till there was little more than a small stretch of beach maybe seventy-five yards wide, but it dropped off into deep water. The rubber motorboat floated on the outer rim of the reef, and with his hand on the rudder, he idled as he watched the men emerge on shore. At high tide, they could swim over the jagged reef and while Jim Clatt wanted to go alone, Riley was on board the research ship to make sure the boatload of geeks didn’t do anything stupid.

  It was a surprisingly easy job.

  Walking alongside Jim was his twenty-year-old research assistant, Derek. The kid was having a blast sailing on the high seas before his senior year and facing the real world. When the pair turned to wave, Riley tapped his dive watch as a reminder. One hour and the tides would rapidly change. The rip current wasn’t too bad, but getting across the barrier reef would be nearly impossible until high tide. He didn’t think the bone diggers wanted to be stuck there all night. He heeled the rubber boat around on a swell of white water and headed back to the research ship.

  Two hundred miles east of the Philippines and about a hundred south of Palau, the islands were small, mostly uninhabited, a couple acres at best, and during the rainy season, they were a few feet underwater. Riley didn’t know what the pair thought they’d find, but he doubted much of anything could have survived the last round of typhoons.

  Cabin fever, he figured. They needed to be on land. Riley knew if he set foot on solid ground, it would take him another day to regain his sea legs again. He’d rather skip shoving his face in the commode any day. At Derek’s age, it was the reason he’d joined the Marines and not the Navy. Years ago and too old to look back, he thought as he steered the boat alongside the 180-foot white research vessel.

  From the deck of The Traveler, a technician waved acknowledgment, then swung the rail gate aside. After he secured the rubber boat, Riley slung a small duffle across his body, then climbed the steel ladder forged into the hull of the ship. He stepped through the opened gate in time to see his older sister give orders, her Irish accent a wee heavier. It seemed to charm the lads. He wasn’t fooled. Of his four sisters, she was the tyrant of the lot.

  Yet he smiled just the same. Bridget was in her glory. A marine biologist with her doctorate in marine archaeology, she was the head of an expedition to gather data on the effects of the 2006 tsunami on the Pacific marine life. Her fully funded gig came with equipment, technicians, a botanist, an archaeologist, a climatologist, and a ship’s staff. Partnered with her was his brother-in-law, Travis McFadden, an oceanographer. The man smiled an awful lot for someone who stared at weather patterns most of the time, but Trav and his sister had raised three boys, all in college, and from the looks of them lately, they were reviving their twenty-three-year-old marriage like honeymooners. Best not go there, he thought and looked back toward the
shore.

  Because of the depth, the ship was anchored a quarter mile from the reef. Standing at the prow out of the way of activity, he unzipped his waterproof duffle and drew out binoculars, sighting in on the two men. The pair was still inspecting the shore of sea-battered coral less than ten yards deep. A storm had raged across this area only two days ago, what did they think was left?

  He followed them as they strolled toward a towering rock formation half shrouded in palms and betel nut trees and he didn’t lower the glasses until they walked into the forest. Their steps were awkwardly high over the untouched vegetation as Jim swung a machete.

  Then they were gone, swallowed into the darkness.

  Jim Clatt liked that he was probably the first person to be here in centuries. He felt like the only person in the world. Derek was fortunately a quiet young man, his music tastes not withstanding. Jim brushed at the rocks, sweeping powdery white sand and dirt, smiling when the fossil emerged.

  Then just as quickly, Jim felt a ripple of unease move down his spine that wasn’t there a moment ago. Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the fossilized snail. The air was suddenly very still. He glanced back toward the ship, yet through the dense foliage, he could see only splashes of white shore and blues skies.

  “Derek?”

  When he didn’t respond, Jim looked to his right. A few yards away, the young man was frozen, staring into the forest.

  He didn’t look at Jim as he said, “There’s something in there.”

  “Impossible. Monsoons would drown anything out.”

  But he knew Derek was right. He could almost smell it.

  Sweat pearled on Jim’s temples and the base of his throat, rivering with gravity into his tank shirt. He let go of the brush he’d been using and slowly reached for the spade. He felt a measure of relief when his hand closed around the handle. It was short and folding, but heavy. His gaze darted to the undergrowth, then the tops of the wildly twisting trees. No animals in sight. Not even a bird.

  Then what was out there?

  Paranoid, he touched the waterproof walkie-talkie Riley insisted he take along. He hooked it on his waistband, then shifted back on his haunches, his gaze flicking over the darkness. This was the only clearing on the island they’d found. The rest was dense and too thick to even move through without chopping away half the jungle.

  He heard something dart to his left, barely a whisper of sound and he flinched. Yet nothing moved. Not a single leaf. But he’d heard it. Creeped out, he felt like he was in a slasher movie and blindly he shoved his belongings into his waterproof bag, taking the fossil rock. He glimpsed at Derek. His student was moving forward on his hands and knees.

  “Derek no,” Jim whispered hotly.

  “There’s an animal in there, Dr. Clatt. I saw something.”

  Jim frowned and eased toward him, the shovel primed. He watched the forest, then whispered Derek’s name and shoved the machete across the rocks and sand. Derek tilted to reach it, then held it like a baseball bat. He inched forward, and with the curiosity of youth and lacking all caution, he stood. He took a step.

  Jim rose slowly. “What did you see?”

  “Just movement, might be a lizard.” He swiped the machete, clearing away nearly five feet of brush.

  Jim stepped slightly away from Derek and advanced, pushing fronds aside. He drew the flashlight and flicked it on, focusing the beam into the darkest area. Derek’s steps crunched on the dry, dead fronds and they stilled.

  “I think we need to leave.”

  “Why?” Derek asked.

  “If there is anything alive in here, it’s never been in contact with humans.”

  “But what could be here? Dr. Bridget said the islands didn’t even have monkeys or iguanas.”

  “Regardless, we’re here and the good doctor is not.”

  Movement shot to the far left, this time stirring leaves. For an instant, Jim thought someone fired an arrow, the beam of movement was so fast and straight. He met Derek’s gaze, but damn if the kid wasn’t beaming.

  “New species?”

  “I doubt it and get that look off your face, we’re not investigating.” Jim reached for the walkie-talkie. “Back away.”

  Derek obeyed, thank God. Jim grabbed the waterproof sack and slung the strap over his head, the small shovel still primed to strike.

  Derek inhaled. “It’s close.”

  “I know.” Jim felt the presence, indistinguishable but definitely there. “Keep moving, but go slow.” He couldn’t take his gaze off the jungle.

  Then between the fronds and branches, nearly blending into the foliage, he saw it.

  One golden-brown eye stared back at him.

  Riley watched his sister approach, smiling. In her forties, she had the beam of a good life radiating from her, and he wished he knew her secret. Her passion about her work eluded Riley. He was a little jaded now, he got that, but while one mission nearly killed him, another nasty mess had the CIA kissing ass any way they could. It left Dragon One not only debt free, but at their disposal. Riley wasn’t keen on that. He trusted very few and the Company wasn’t even in the running. From his experience, they lacked a decent moral center.

  As she neared, Bridget pulled her frayed slouch hat low. It was one of his old desert booney covers from his tour in the Marines. She was never without it considering she had the hair and skin of a true Irish lass. Fair and freckled. Even a tube of sunscreen hung from a belt loop on her shorts.

  “Thanks for humoring them,” she said, inclining her head toward the island.

  “It gives me a break from that heavy metal noise Derek is so fond of.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Try living with that every day.”

  She was referring to his nephews who enjoyed head banging music. It just gave Riley a headache. “You really don’t need me here, Bri.” After two weeks, he was little more than an extra pair of hands.

  She glanced, blue eyes soft with concern. “Getting antsy?”

  “Not really, but security on a research ship?”

  “I wanted you near me, Riley. I missed you.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and he swept his arm around her waist. With four sisters, she’d practically raised him, letting him tag along as a kid. He’d probably be dead on the streets of Belfast if it wasn’t for her, but he knew this went deeper. It had taken him two years to recover from a mission that put him in a coma along with several broken bones and a gunshot to the chest that barely missed his heart and lungs. According to his buddies, he’d drowned, but he barely remembered any of it.

  “Your job attracts the wrong sort of people. Why do you insist on chasing such danger—” She stopped herself, let out a breath, then said, “I worry . . . we all do. I thought this might be a nice break.”

  And show him a different life, he thought. He was wise to his sister. “You’re hoping I won’t go back to Dragon One? It’s my job. I can’t freeload off you forever.”

  She cocked her head, a hand on her hip. “Do you know what an electrician makes in the states?”

  “Yes I do, but installing lights isn’t as rewarding. Besides, I’ve been on a couple missions since then.”

  “I know,” she snapped, then softened. “I know. But I keep seeing you in the hospital in traction, machines helping you breathe, tubes running everywhere. You’re lucky to be alive and I thank Logan for that. A doctor on sight saved you.”

  He knew he owed Sam and Logan more than he could repay. “But I’ve got better equipment now.” He bent his knee, the surgical scars still plump against his tanned skin, but beneath the stitches were hydrogel kneecaps and titanium rods that replaced shattered bones. “Want to arm wrestle?” He flexed one bicep like Arnold.

  She elbowed him. “Don’t tease. It was hard on us all.”

  He squeezed her, pressing his lips to her temple. It was the first time she’d really spoken about it. “I’m sorry.” His family was close knit, and yet he was only just learning the effect his injuries had taken on the Do
novan clan. His teammates were just as coddling. He put up with it because he wasn’t in any hurry to return to work and focused his attention on more leisurely activities these days.

  “I’ll say this once—”

  “Once? Since when?”

  She crossed her eyes and made a face, then sobered, facing him. “Don’t take so many risks with your life . . . and I never thought I’d say this, but shoot first.”

  He chuckled to himself. “Now there’s me Belfast girl.” She laughed, then her assistant called to her, and she moved away.

  Riley checked his watch, waiting for signs of Jim and Derek. Then he heard his name and turned.

  “You have a call.” Bridget clutched his satellite phone.

  Riley tensed. No one but the team knew he was here.

  “I was hoping there were no SATs in range for that to be of any use.” It wasn’t like this part of the world was a threat to humanity. There wasn’t anyone else around for nearly a thousand miles.

  “Kate said it’s rung four times in the last hour.”

  That can’t be good. Frowning, he took the phone, holding it to his chest. “Is it a female?”

  “No, me handsome boy.” She patted his face. “It’s not.”

  “Then you should have hung up.”

  “Who left it turned on?” she said, already turning away and waving over her head.

  He put the phone to his ear. “Riley Donovan isn’t available for at least another three weeks.”

  “Really? Is she blond or brunette?”

  Riley smiled.

  “Neither,” he said to Sam. “A redhead, and we’re related. Don’t go there.”

  Sam chuckled, then said, “Had enough sun and sea? Ready for work?”

  “Not especially.” But he admitted he was bored silly.

  “We have a hand me down job.”

  Instantly Riley’s radar went up. “Whose?”

  “The State Department, more specifically, the Bureau of Diplomatic Security.”

  The law enforcement agency charged with the security of diplomats and just about anyone traveling abroad on State Department business, DS agents were assigned to a hundred-fifty-some foreign offices around the world. They used their diplomatic connections and with in-country police and Interpol, tracked and apprehended international fugitives who posed a threat to U.S. national security and dignitaries.