Betrayed (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 9) (26 page)

Bautista didn’t bother looking at the team members for their reactions, mainly because he didn’t give a shit what they thought about this. He had a score to settle, Perez was an ongoing threat to Georgia, and he was going to help the HRT make sure the traitorous bastard could never threaten anyone ever again. If that meant using lethal force, so be it. Even if it meant he had to be the one to pull the trigger.

“’Kay,” Tucker answered in an even tone, taking it all in stride.

After the briefing and Q&A period, it took a couple of hours for the team to detail a plan, get suited up and ready their equipment. They all rode to the airfield in silence, Bautista wedged into the back of a van between Rycroft and Briar.

He could still feel Cruz watching him from the other side of it and studiously ignored him. Didn’t matter if Cruz still had a problem with him. If they wanted to survive the upcoming assault, they’d all need to have their heads on tight and leave personal differences behind.

Truthfully he wasn’t too concerned about Cruz staging some kind of “accident” during the op. Cruz was a professional, had to be disciplined or he never would have made the elite unit in the first place.

Two specially equipped Blackhawk helos were waiting for them on the tarmac when they arrived, their rotors turning slowly and the crews ready to go. It felt surreal, like he’d stepped back in time, about to go on a mission for Uncle Sam. Strange, to be working for him again after all this time, on the legal side of things.

Shouldering his assault rifle and gear, he followed the others to the first bird, paused to hang back with Georgia and Briar. They’d be going with the sniper teams and DeLuca to insert at a different LZ, while he and Rycroft landed closer to the mansion with the assaulters.

He flicked a glance at Briar, who must have realized he wanted some alone time with Georgia, because she grinned. “See you when it’s all over,” she said to him, reaching out to slap his shoulder before walking for the other helo, leaving him alone with Georgia.

With the camo paint covering her fair skin her pale blue eyes were even more startling in the lights of the airport. “Bet it’s been a while since you fast roped into an LZ,” she teased, a grin curving her lips.

“Yeah. What about you?”

Her smile widened. “Not as long for me as you might think.”

He marveled again at her self-assurance and skill. He could probably spend a lifetime with this mysterious woman and never learn all her secrets.

And damn, he’d give anything for that chance.

Needing to touch her, he reached out to cup the back of her head, her golden brown hair concealed beneath a black knit cap. “You be safe.”

It drove him insane that he couldn’t be at her side for this, but at least she’d be in the background, providing overwatch and cover and not directly involved with the assault. That eased his worry a little.

Her smile faded. “You too. Because you and I’ve got unfinished business to deal with as soon as this is over.”

“Bautista, any day,” Rycroft called out over the rise of the noise as the helos powered up their engines.

Pulling her toward him, he captured her lips in a hard, fervent kiss. “See you soon.”

Within minutes he was sitting in the Blackhawk with Rycroft and the HRT boys. They lifted off and flew through the darkness to the target area. Perez’s compound was isolated, far away from the other big mansions the area was known for.

That was no accident. He always liked having a buffer of land around his property, to provide extra privacy and security.

The pilots went into a low hover. One by one, they slid down the thick rope to the ground and immediately fanned out into a tight circle to provide security for each other. As soon as Tuck gave the signal, the helo lifted and flew back toward the airport.

When the sounds of the rotors disappeared into the distance, the music of insects filled the vacuum of silence. Bautista focused on the lights of the target property, way off in the distance. He glanced over at Tuck, awaiting instructions.

“Move in,” the team leader murmured into his comm.

They moved in two diamond formations, quickly crossing the shadowed part of the lawn toward the main gate. Perez would have motion detectors in place, Bautista just didn’t know where.

About sixty yards from the perimeter fence line, Tuck signaled for a halt. Everyone stopped and dropped to one knee, keeping watch around them. Bautista knew they were waiting for word that the power had been cut. His pulse quickened as he waited there, perspiration building beneath his ballistic vest.

Ahead of them, the lights suddenly went out around and inside the building.

Rycroft’s voice was clear through the earpiece. “Power’s disabled.”

“Go,” Tuck ordered quietly.

Bautista got up and ran after Bauer, the big former SEAL eating up the remaining distance to the fence. They had ninety seconds before the generators turned on the auxiliary power source.

He scanned the fence line, all his senses on high alert. This was what he lived for. What he craved. The adrenaline high, the thrill of the hunt. It felt good to be in action again, the rush like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

Up ahead he caught movement in his NVGs. Tuck was out front with Evers right behind him. One of them fired, dropping the guard. Two more shots rang out in quick succession as more HRT guys took out some of Perez’s security.

Twenty seconds later they were lined up at the entrance they’d chosen. At Tuck’s signal Evers blew the charge on the lock and blasted the door open. They charged inside as a unit, fluid, deadly.

Three more targets appeared around the corner. The HRT dropped them all. They kept moving forward, Bautista directly behind Bauer, and Rycroft behind him.

Where are you, Diego, you piece of shit?

Didn’t matter where he’d gone. They’d find him.

They cleared the first room and headed to the next, working their way toward the rear of the house, which faced the ocean.

Shots rang out from down the right-hand hallway, exploding the tile floor and sending up a spray of marble shrapnel to pepper the wall. Cruz took the shooter out.

Their boots barely made any sound on the polished floor tiles. Faint rays of moonlight spilled in through the tall, wide windows overlooking the ocean at the back of the house, off the kitchen/great room.

No sign of Perez.

A warning buzz started up at the base of his spine. Where could he be? There was no way he’d escaped the premises or made it to the water without one of the sniper teams seeing him, and no one had reported any movement.

They cleared the entire floor and were standing next to the office before the lights suddenly came on. Bautista and the others pushed the NVGs up on their helmet mounts, their eyes quickly adjusting to the sudden brightness.

“Moving upstairs,” Tuck reported, likely speaking to DeLuca, who was back at the mobile command center.

Where the hell are you, Perez?

Bautista stayed in the office, mind racing to try and figure out where his former boss might be hiding.

And as he scanned the office one last time, he saw it. The corner of an area rug in the office was rumpled.

Bautista headed straight for it.

“What?” Rycroft asked, following him inside the room.

Going with his instinct, Bautista bent and pulled the rug aside. Sure enough, he found a door beneath it.

“Son of a bitch,” Rycroft muttered, then quickly called the team back in. While two guys provided rear security, they assessed the trapdoor and decided to blow it. “Sniper teams, you see anything?”

“Negative,” came both replies.

Rycroft and Tuck both looked at him. “You think he’s down there?”

“Has to be. He’ll be making a run for a boat.” It was the only option for escape here.

“Snipers already have that covered,” Rycroft answered, then faced Tuck. “I’ll let you do your magic.”

Tuck took over immediately, coordinating the assault. When everyone was in position, Evers blew the locking mechanism on the trapdoor and they hauled the heavy slab of marble off the opening.

No one fired up at them and no booby traps went off. But Bautista was still uneasy and he knew the others were too. Perez wasn’t the type to go quietly. If he was down there, they were in for a fight.

It made him insane to stand there and wait, to have to hang back until the others dropped through. He wanted to be the one leading this charge. He wanted to be the one to apprehend Perez.

When it was finally his turn he squatted down, grasped the edge of the opening and dropped the six feet down into what amounted to a large concrete underground bunker.

An empty one.

His heart sank and frustration pulsed through him as the five other guys who had jumped down here turned to look at him. Maybe he was just being paranoid but he got the sense they all suspected he’d just let Perez slip through their fingers.

On purpose.

“Well,” Cruz drawled from behind him, his tone dripping disdain and sarcasm. “Any other fancy ideas?”

Bautista resented the unspoken accusation in the other man’s words.

“I want him as bad as the rest of you,” he shot back. Yeah he was being defensive but he didn’t care. The HRT had made it clear they didn’t like working with him but they were all on the same side here.

And right now precious seconds were ticking past while Perez made his escape. “Worse,” he added to the rest of them. “I don’t give a fuck if you believe that or not, just do your job and—”

“Over here.”

At Schroder’s urgent voice Bautista and Rycroft both whipped around. The team medic was standing over by the far wall, feeling along the concrete surface.

“I feel a seam.”

Bautista hurried over and confirmed there was a rectangular-shaped seam in the wall. Upon further investigation he found a slightly recessed area beside it and pressed it. Something clicked and the panel pressed inward, revealing an electronic keypad.

Tuck and Rycroft were right behind him now, watching his every move, their tension palpable. “Any chance you can figure out that code?” Rycroft asked.

Bautista entered three he could think of offhand, but none of them worked. Not surprising given how paranoid Perez was and how often he changed all his security codes.

He knew Perez liked to use words, usually Spanish words for each property he owned, sometimes the color of it. Since this house was white, he entered the word
blanca
.

The light on the panel flashed green. A moment later the locking mechanism in the door whirred and the heavy concrete slab slid aside.

“Holy shit,” Schroder muttered, and stood back for Tuck to assess what lay ahead of them. Another dark tunnel. “It’s like a fucking fortress down here.”

Yeah, and who knew what else the cagey bastard had installed since the last time Bautista was here? Perez was notoriously paranoid. And he was slipping farther out of reach with each second they stood here.

The darkened tunnel appeared to follow a zigzag pattern. To cut down the possibility of anyone hitting Perez and his security with a shot if an escape became necessary.

“He’s going for the water,” Bautista said, urgency humming through his bloodstream. “We have to move
now
.”

Tuck motioned his team forward. Rycroft was already on comms while the HRT boys stacked up at the first corner. “Sniper teams, be advised. Perez is heading for the water, likely to make an escape attempt via boat.” Since there were no boats moored at the private dock on Perez’s property, he had to be going for one at a neighboring property.

“Roger that,” Georgia’s voice came back, loud and clear. “Moving into better position now.”

Just knowing she was out there on alert gave Bautista an added sense of peace as he cat-walked behind Bauer down the first leg of the tunnel. No sooner had they reached the first bend when they heard movement.

Tuck stepped out from behind cover, firing as he moved, with Evers at his back, also shooting. The firing stopped.

Suspects down.
Evers and Cruz paused to kick the dead men’s weapons away from them when they reached the two bodies, but the team didn’t stop.

As they turned around the next bend in the corridor, more shots rang out toward them. But up ahead in the distance, through his goggles Bautista caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette at the far end of the tunnel as the man darted across the small open space.

Perez.

His hackles went up, a punch of adrenaline roaring through his body. He stayed at the end of the line while Tuck and Evers engaged another threat up ahead. Bauer and Schroder engaged another, with Cruz and Blackwell covering them.

Bautista ignored them all. He raced past them on the left to avoid the line of fire, sprinting headlong for his target.

“Bautista!” Rycroft’s sharp voice cut through the roar of blood in his ears. But he didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate as he chased after Perez, his sole focus on taking the bastard down.

“Two targets just exited the tunnel and are moving toward the water,” Georgia reported over the comms. “Moving in to engage now.”

The sound of her voice jarred him for a moment before he locked the emotional response away. He couldn’t think about her or her safety. Refused to think about anything other than stopping Perez before he could reach the water and the sniper teams waiting to take him out.

Boots thudding over the concrete floor, he ignored Rycroft’s angry commands coming at him through his earpiece.

Perez was his mission.
His
right to take down.

The figure ahead of him suddenly appeared against the backdrop of faint light coming from outside at the end of the tunnel. Perez whirled, a weapon in his hand.

A grouping of bullets slammed into the concrete wall inches away from him, peppering his left upper arm with the sharp bite of tiny bits of shrapnel, like a swarm of angry hornets.

He barely noticed the pain, just kept running, his thighs burning as he raced headlong toward the man who had betrayed him.