SEAL Team 13 (SEAL Team 13 series) (31 page)

Mack was kneeling over his friend, hands slick with blood. He looked up. “He’s not going to make it. He’s lost too much blood.”

Derek’s eyes were fading, and there wasn’t a lot of strength in his grip as he clasped his friend’s hand. The big man couldn’t speak through the damage to his throat, but he nodded slowly in agreement.

“Bitch tore his throat apart with one swipe,” Mack hissed, angry but unbelievably tired. “How does that even happen?”

Alex sighed, dropping to one knee by the stricken man.

“Can you do anything?” Eddie asked.

“Maybe,” Alex said, his eyes filling with an inky blackness. “Healing is difficult, no matter what power you use.”

He reached down, shadow dripping from his fingers as he passed them over the wound. The bleeding slowed beneath his hands, and the big man closed his eyes. Derek’s breathing evened out, but it slowed too, and Mack thought it was all over.

He slumped, his head falling to his chest as he closed his eyes.

“We’ve got time now,” Alex said, straightening up, “but we’re going to need that chopper. I hope the Coast Guard ship has decent medical facilities.”

“I’ll call them in,” Judith said, eyes flicking down to the body. “He’s still…”

“Alive? Yes.”

Mack looked up, barely believing what he was hearing.

“How?”

“I’m gifted,” Norton said simply, getting to his feet. “Call the chopper.”

Masters grabbed the blade and wrenched it out of the door before he twisted and jumped, hitting the hood of the Jeep in a slide and skidding across the metal. He planted his feet hard on the other side as he leaned into the move, then grabbed the driver-side door and wrenched it open before diving in.

There’s no way in hell this will work
.

He slammed his foot down on the clutch, reached for the keys, and started swearing. “Oh, come on! Who’s going to steal a frigging Jeep in the butt end of nowhere Alaska?”

He flinched as the passenger window exploded beside him, glancing aside to see a very unwelcome face snarling in at him. He leaned half out of the Jeep, hanging on by the steering wheel as she clawed at him.

Shots rang out in the distance, and he heard the
whirr
,
slap
of bullets impacting close by. He flinched down instinctively, though he knew that by the time he heard the sound the danger was long over. The vampire twisted away from him, snarling angrily.

“Filthy pests!”

Masters took his chance, flipping the kukri over in his hand and slamming the butt of the weapon down into the ignition switch. He pulled himself fully into the vehicle as the metal piece hit the floorboards, wires dangling from it, and glanced over to his left as he flipped the blade around in his hand again.

He dodged away from her blows, then reached down and fiddled with the wires.

The engine roared to life as he threw it into gear, stomped on the gas, and let the clutch out. Masters was slammed back into the seat, and then he swung himself out the door as he barely dodged a claw strike that tore up the headrest. He had to hang out of the Jeep, one foot on the gas and the other on the clutch as he stretched like a rubber band for the stick shift.

Driving while he was literally dodging killing blows from an enraged vampire was a bit more than he’d have preferred to handle, but Masters made do.

The Jeep’s engine roared as it bounced across the ice-and-slush-filled terrain, threatening to throw Masters clear of the vehicle every second bump or toss him right into the vampire’s arms.

“Hey, bitch, care for a drive?” Masters asked, keeping her attention focused on him. “This is nice, right? Relaxing and all that?”

By now her screaming was about as incoherent as anything he’d ever heard, though from what he did manage to understand, he rather wished she’d been even more incoherent. He did make a note to remember a few of the epithets, should he survive.

A SEAL should always be learning new things, after all
, he thought with forced cheerfulness as he twisted the wheel around and aimed for the well fire.

Perry and Rick lowered their weapons as the Jeep raced off, eyes wide as they looked at each other, and then at the speeding vehicle with the vampire hanging out the passenger-side door.

“That is one crazy son of a bitch,” Perry muttered.

“He’s a SEAL,” Rick said, shaking his head as he watched the Jeep’s tires spin against the slush, slewing around wildly. “If he were sane, he’d have joined the Rangers.”

His friend snickered. “Sanity is clearly a matter of perspective.”

“You both must be silent,” Hannah said, her eyes fixed on the Jeep. “If he dies here, this is a moment to be remembered in song.”

“And if he lives?”

“Then it becomes yesterday’s news,” she said, her expression neutral. “And tomorrow, we play again.”

Blood splashed against the seat of the Jeep as Masters bounced too close to the vampire and got a claw strike to the shoulder for his error. He gritted his teeth, the pain burning through him, but fought the wheel to keep the Jeep on course.

“You taste good, pest,” she growled at him from the window, licking at her blood-spattered face.

Masters shot her a glare. “Do you mind?” he asked. “That’s really fucking creepy!”

He pushed the pedal down to the floor, shifting gears as the engine redlined. The Jeep lurched, throwing him around, and Masters was forced to duck in a hurry to avoid another swipe. He grunted as the driver-side door swung shut on his shoulder, bouncing open again as he was thrown back around.

“You’re not getting away from me.”

Masters forced a blood-flecked grin. “Who said I was trying to get away?”

She looked at him, eyes narrowing as he met her gaze while still pushing the pedal to the floor. When the vampire looked away, staring out the windshield at the blowtorch flames the size of high-rise buildings that loomed in front of them, Masters grabbed his kukri from his lap and leaned across the Jeep.

His hand snapped up, driving the blade into her throat and through the hardtop of the vehicle, pinning her in place.

“Sayonara, bloodsucker!” he called, letting go of the blade and the wheel as he moved to jump clear.

Black blood gurgled down the blade, and while the vampire couldn’t speak, she responded eloquently all the same by reaching out and grabbing his arm as he tried to jump. Masters jerked at his arm, but her grip was like iron as she glared at him.

Masters felt a wash of heat pass over him, and he paled as he looked out the windshield. There was nothing but fire ahead of them, and he still couldn’t get his arm loose.

Aw, hell. Who wants to live forever, anyway?
he thought fatalistically, still giving halfhearted jerks on his arm.

Masters looked back at the vampire, her misshapen and mangled body now set to take this last ride with him, and he was just glad that he wasn’t going out alone.

That was when the rear window of the Jeep blew out, a whine tearing through the cab as the vampire’s arm exploded at the elbow, and he suddenly found himself free. Masters just stared for an instant, and then threw himself clear. He hit the ground rolling as the Jeep roared straight into the inferno of the well fire, searing heat washing over him as he shielded himself with his arms and skidded to a stop on his back.

Masters stared at the Jeep as it struck something inside the flames. It looked like the frame of another vehicle, but he couldn’t be sure. The wash of fire enveloped it as he started to crawl backward, stumbling to his feet and running away from the flames like they were the fires of hell itself.

When he was clear, he collapsed to the ground, patting out smoking sections of his harness and jacket while he tried to catch his breath.

“Jesus. Am I alive?” he asked, looking at the fire in wonder. “Did I actually live through that?”

“Through no actions of your own, I’d say yes, you did.”

Masters looked over his shoulder at the speaker, eyes widening. “Should have known it was you.”

Nathan Hale hefted his Sassy, the big rifle resting on his shoulder as he walked through the slush and ice toward Masters. “You left me behind, surrounded by a few dozen of those zombie things.”

“Vampires,” Masters corrected, remembering Norton’s rant. “And we didn’t leave you; you didn’t signal for pickup.”

“Oh, that’s the story, is it?” Nathan asked dryly. “No, I like my story better. Left behind, our hero tracks down his wayward comrades and still manages to save his dumbass boss from getting his bacon cooked. Literally.”

Masters snorted. “You’re right. It’s a much better story. Should be good for a few rounds of beers.”

“Oh, at least.” Nathan chuckled, offering him a hand.

Masters took it and got to his feet with the man’s help.

Nathan looked over at the flames. “So that’s the ringleader, boss?”

Masters gazed in the same direction, but he shook his head. “No, Nate. That was just the king. The chess player is still out there somewhere.”

Nathan nodded silently as they turned back toward the storage shed and the chopper that was now circling overhead, lights blazing.

“So we ain’t done here, then?”

“Miles to go and people to kill, Djinn, before we can sleep.”

“That’s not the quote I remember, boss.”

Masters chuckled as they walked. “That’s the new version. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

“Saving your ass wasn’t enough?”

“For you, maybe,” Masters admitted, “but now I need to get Keyz on a job.”

Hale frowned, looking around. “What’s left to blow up?”

“Out,” Masters said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Blow out. And that fire behind us, actually.”

“Why?”

“I want my knife back,” Masters said simply as they walked back to where the others were waiting.

Nathan chuckled. “Yeah, I can relate.”

“Speaking of which, when are you going to tell me the story behind that sword?”

The sniper shrugged. “Didn’t I already do that back in Afghanistan, sir?”

“Not the bullshit story for the reports; I mean the real one,” Masters said. “I’ll bet that’s when you first crossed, right? You did seem a little odd after that mission.”

“Yeah, well, ask me again later,” Nathan said quietly. “It’s not something I like to think about if I can help it.”

“Right.”

Somehow, Masters wasn’t surprised. Crossing the veil was rarely a tale that inspired any great feelings of joy and enthusiasm.

Behind the two men the oil fire raged as large flakes of snow began to fall from the dark sky, settling on and around them as they limped onward.

Miles to go and people to kill.

CHAPTER

The Black Hawk landed in a cloud of snow, the rotors blowing up the fresh powder on the ground to reveal the soot black ice underneath.

Harold “Hawk” Masters walked up alongside Judith Andrews as the door opened and Admiral Karson planted his boot down on the ice. He paused only to glare at them both before shouldering his way past them and out into the open air.

“Masters, you son of a bitch, do you have any idea the nightmare you’ve dropped in my lap?” He demanded as the Black Hawk’s engines wound down behind them.

“Unavoidable, Admiral.”

“Bullshit,” Karson muttered, slashing his hand through the air to cut off Judith’s attempt to speak. “And don’t you start, Captain. I’ve read the reports. Yours and the ones from the medical teams that preceded me up here.”

He had read them. Over and over again, in fact.

He liked those reports even less than he liked Masters at the moment, and that was saying something. The medical examiners he’d sent up here had found literally dozens of bodies, possibly hundreds or more, riddled to the
gills
with military-issue bullets. Civilian bodies.
American
civilians.

It was a nightmare. Never mind Posse Comitatus; even if the mission had been legal, this was beyond the pale. The problem was, the nightmare didn’t end here. Every single report said the same damned thing.

The victims had been dead a long time before those bullets dropped by for a visit.

Frankly, he didn’t know which disturbed him more. The idea that some of the nation’s best, albeit occasionally unstable, troops had decided to shoot up a bunch of corpses…or the notion that some of the nation’s best
had
to shoot up a bunch of corpses. Normally, there wouldn’t be a question. Karson would simply drop them all from active duty pending a medical discharge of the mental variety.

The fact was, though, he’d gone to Masters for a reason. The weird stuff was it.

“You know what, I don’t know what the hell happened up here. Honestly, I don’t want to know,” he admitted, not looking at either of them. “That said, I
need
to know. So you’re both going to write two reports.”

He turned to look at them. “The first is going to say that a chemical leak from the oil wells caused the deaths and mass hysteria reported. Put something in there about frakking—the media will love that.…”

“Were they doing any frakking here?” Masters asked, curious.

“I don’t know,” Karson said frankly, “and I don’t care. Make it sound plausible, and the company will go along with it if they know what’s good for them. Poison gas, lots of dead, those who survived went crazy and got into a shoot-out with the state troopers and guardsmen. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Andrews said, jabbing Masters with her elbow.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated.

“And the second report, sir?” Andrews asked.

“The truth.” Karson pointed at Masters. “And no bullshit about what I need to know. I need the facts, and you will give them to me, or by God I’ll enter you name on the casualty list for this fuckup!”

Masters nodded tersely. He didn’t need to ask what the admiral would do with him once he was declared dead. “Yes, sir.”

Karson dropped his arm. “Good. Now, is there anything left to clean up?”

“Just one thing, sir,” Masters said, handing the admiral a folder.

Karson opened it, frowning as he flipped through it. “What is this?”

“Shipping invoice,” Masters said coldly, eyes hard as steel. “We need to talk to a man about a coffin.”

WASHINGTON, DC

A week later Karson found himself making his way through the E-Ring security procedures once more. He’d been through these halls so many times in his life that he had once thought himself inured to the presence he’d first felt upon entering. Now, though, he felt uneasy in the halls that had once been his home.

“Sir.” The marine guard saluted as he stepped up to the security doors and passed his card through the slot.

He spoke his password, got cleared through, and walked into the war room.

“Karson.” The president was sitting at the head of the table already, a sure sign that he wasn’t pleased.

“Sir.”

“Sit down,” the president said, nodding to the chair in front of Karson.

Karson sat down. What else was there to do?

“Now,” the president said, not looking at any of the other generals or admirals in the room. “Explain to me just what in the
hell
happened in Barrow.”

“It was another incident, Mr. President,” Karson said, “and by the time my team arrived on site, most of the dying was over.”

“Yes, I’ve read the reports. Would you care to comment on why your
team
apparently took it upon themselves to blow nearly countless holes into the corpses?”

“Honestly, sir,” Karson sighed, “I’m trying not to think too hard about that.”

“Stop being a smart ass, Karson,” General Marcel of the air force growled. “The president asked you a question.”

“And I answered it.” Karson shot the general a glare. “The problem is that these damned
incidents
all defy conventional answers, and you know that. Or should I mention Area 51?”

The general flushed red, looking away.

“That’s enough. Both of you.” The president sighed, shaking his head. “Admiral, at least tell me the cover story will hold.”

“It’ll hold.” Karson nodded. “We’re blaming it on a mixture of organic compounds and natural gasses vented after a frakking accident in the nearby wells. The media will eat it up.”

“You’re serving up the oil company to the sharks?” the president asked, disbelieving.

“Mr. President, after what we learned up there, I’ll gladly chum the waters and feed the bastards in inch by inch.” Karson sneered. “We located the source of the…
contaminant.
Once we traced it back, it was clear that it came from a rival oil firm. Apparently they’ve been using
incidents
to joust for control of prime real estate.”

“Someone set that off
intentionally
?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want his name,” the president growled, rising to his feet as the men around him started to rumble and whisper. “I want his name, his location, and everything about him.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Karson’s statement threw a cold bucket of water on the growing activity of the room. The president stared at him for a long moment before speaking again.

“Admiral, I’m hoping that you haven’t gone off the reservation on this,” he said slowly. “I understand that you work SOCOM and sometimes the rules take a backseat when speed matters, but this isn’t an operation you can clear.”

“No, sir, not me,” Karson said with a shrug. “However, I’ve recently learned that there is a…
community
of people who are fully aware of these
incidents
. As it turns out, they don’t seem to have much tolerance for people playing around with certain things.”

LONDON, ENGLAND
THE OFFICES OF UNITED FUELS, INC.

“Please! I swear, it’ll never happen again!”

The pleading man was pinned down to his chair, unable to move as the man in black casually stepped past him and opened the window of the high-rise corner office. He stepped back and gently pushed the rolling chair back away from the desk before tapping away idly on the computer.

When he was done, he looked over at the frozen man, unnaturally black eyes piercing him to the bone.

“Two thousand three hundred and forty-four,” Alexander Norton said coolly. “That’s the number of people you killed.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that!” the man, Aaron Caffrey, vice president of United Fuels, pleaded. “It was just supposed to—”

“Give Benthic a black eye—yes, I know.” Norton shrugged, tapping some more on the computer. “Figured you’d give your new company an edge in the lease war when the property rights were up for renegotiation, right?”

“Yes, all right! Yes! It was just about business!”

“Right.” Norton clicked print. “Well, that’s done.”

“W-what’s done?”

“I just sent a company-wide memo and press release to all of your contacts,” Norton said, “in which you confess to having known all about the chemical by-products of frakking on that site and burying the information so that you’d have a negotiations edge when you hopped companies.”

Aaron paled white. “You what?”

“Don’t worry.” Norton walked over to him, picked him up easily, and dragged him across the room. “You won’t be around to face the consequences.”

“What? What?”

“Guilt ridden, you see. Almost two and a half thousand dead; it was just too much for you,” Norton said, clucking sympathetically. “Shame, really.”

“No! Wait! Don’t do this! I can—”

Norton twisted, gaining momentum, and casually heaved the man out the high-rise window. He could hear the man scream out the last word as he vanished from sight.

“Of course you can pay,” Alexander “The Black” Norton said as he turned around and walked casually out of the office. “And you just did.”

Harold Masters watched the ambulance pull up from where he was sitting across the street. The target had made one hell of a mess when he hit, and it seemed somewhat pointless to bring an entire ambulance to pick him up. He suspected that a set of Tupperware would probably have done the job.

“Enjoy the show?”

“Hardly,” Masters said, not even flinching when Norton appeared by his side. “Everything go all right?”

“You could have come along.”

“I’m active-duty navy, Alex,” he said. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

“We’ve done worse, you and I.” Alex shrugged. “And likely will again.”

“Sooner than you know.”

Norton frowned, looking over at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“Word just came down that the team’s a go.”

The man known to an entire hidden subculture of the world simply as “The Black” grimaced in response. “I was hoping that your lot would be done with that after this debacle.”

“ ’Fraid not,” Masters said with a dry smile. “Welcome to the Teams, Consultant Norton.”