SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops VI - Guantanamo (26 page)

A man stood up to move forward to join the man at the wheel, and the heavy bullet took him plum in the center of his chest, probably a heart shot. His hands flew up in the air. He dropped the assault rifle he'd been holding and tipped over the side. He heard Ryder chuckle, and then hiss fury at his victims.

"The Lord has prepared his people for a great slaughter and has chosen their executioners. The awesome day of the Lord's judgment has come."

Ryder went quiet and focused on the remaining man. Five rounds spat from his rifle, and then it clicked on empty. The man driving the powerboat suddenly looked at them, and at that moment, Brad emptied yet another clip at him that caused him to flinch away. He turned the wheel, and the boat almost overturned. He corrected, but they were nearly up with him.

"Chief, we're nearly there!" Will shouted, "If we don't stop him now, it's all over. Stupid bastard nearly lost it then. Another mistake, and I'll be alongside him."

"We'll be ready."

He looked ahead. They were about to go under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. Staten Island lay to their right, and on their left, the Fort Wadsworth Light. They'd entered the Hudson River, and Liberty Island was dead ahead. The hostile saw it, too, and increased speed. Will drove the boat like a man possessed. He seemed to anticipate every single wave, riding with them, using them to get every ounce of speed out of his boat.

Suddenly, a helo roared overhead, and a voice boomed out.

"Both vessels, you are ordered to stop. This is the New York Police. Stop or we shoot. You must stop now!"

The man driving the other boat looked up, leaned down, and picked up the fallen assault rifle. He squeezed off a panicked burst in the direction of the helo. It veered away, but he'd lost control again just for a fraction of a second, enough for Will to get close. Nolan didn't hesitate, and he jumped.

Behind him, he could see men, divers, jumping into the water, and two men leapt onto Will's boat from a low flying helo. He landed half on, half off the hull of the speeding enemy boat. The driver swung around, and his face expressed astonishment. He battered the Seal with the barrel of his rifle, unable to bring it to bear for a shot.

Overhead, the loudhailer in the helo was still shouting at them, and then they opened fire. A line of shots zipped across the surface of the Hudson, spitting up small spouts of water. Someone shouted, a second loudhailer, and the shooting stopped. Unsurprisingly, they didn't want a trigger-happy gunner only a couple of hundred meters from the President. Nolan gripped a handhold, the edge of a seat, and started to pull himself on board. He had to use both hands, and the man kept battering with the barrel of the AK.

At last, he managed to swing his body more inside the boat than out. He wrenched the rifle away and tossed it over the side. He glanced up. They were almost at Liberty Island. The President's yacht was only fifty meters ahead. The hostile looked in the same direction and smiled. It was more baring of the teeth than a smile, savage, feral, the anticipation of death. He made a grab for a small box fitted to the dashboard and lifted the cover. Nolan had a searing moment of realization.

Fuck! It's the detonator. If he touches that, I'm dead. We're all dead.

He gripped the man's wrist in both hands and wrenched it away. The man's other hand disappeared into his coat and came out clutching a huge knife. He swung, and Nolan felt the cut as it sliced into his face, a long cut down from his forehead to his chin. Blood started to trickle down over his eyes, and he knocked the knife aside to prevent a second killing blow. He only had one hand free. The other had to block him reaching the detonator.

In a sudden move that almost took him by surprise, his opponent took his hand away from the detonator and swung at Nolan, a hard punch that connected with his chin. It was like being hit by a sledgehammer, and he fought back. He had to keep one hand covering the detonator box while the other man, using his weakness, used both hands, one with the knife, to fight. He was both strong and desperate, and Nolan felt himself being driven back by the relentless assault.

He saw an opening and punched hard, a pile driver that took the other man in the guts. The breath hissed out of him, and he reeled back, but he curved around, and the knife sliced though Nolan's arm. He blocked the follow up blow, but his vision was clouding, blood dripped into his eyes, and more blood was spurting from a deep wound to his arm. He tried to use it to block another heavy blow, but it was weak and slow. His opponent sensed victory.

A few meters away, more men were shouting, men in suits, sunglasses, earpieces. Secret Service, yet no one fired. He could hardly believe it, and then he understood. So far, they didn't know which man to shoot at, and more importantly, the deadly cargo carried inside the hull of the powerboat. The other man made another dive for the button. Nolan blocked him and received another cut for his efforts, this time to the other arm. His vision was fading, and he knew he had to do something fast. He lunged at the man in a last desperate grab, intending to take them both overboard, when a single shot rang out. It was the last sound he heard.

* * *

"You!" she stared at Hidalgo.

He smiled. "Me. Did you think we'd forgotten about Papa's little girl?"

"You killed him, all of them, my family. You bastard!"

He shrugged. "It's business, Señorita Flores, nothing more. Give me the USB stick, and maybe I'll let you live."

"Fuck you, hijo de puta!"

His smile faded. "Call me a son of a whore? You'll regret that, Esperanza."

"Are you okay, Ma'am?"

She turned to look at the stranger. "Who are you?"

"The name's Evers, Danny Evers. Is this man troubling you?"

She trembled with indecision.

Should I trust this person?
He could even be working for Montez.

Before she could decide, it all happened.

Hidalgo's hand went inside his coat, slowly, and she knew he was reaching for his gun. She had a second; the element of surprise would give her no more. She'd practiced the move, and her hand swept inside her purse, touched the cold butt of the HK USP compact. Yet it was too late, the Colombian was already aiming his pistol. She was dead. It was all for nothing.

She was knocked aside as the man called Evers shoved her violently out of the way. Hidalgo fired, and the bullet took him in the head. He was already dead as he fell, but she had time to sweep her pistol up into the aim, and she fired. A single shot that slammed into the other man's chest.

Hidalgo went down, and the smile slipped from his face. His gun was out, and it fell from his hand. People were running, screaming, shouting, and panicking. She ignored them all. It was as if she was inside a bubble. His lips moved, and he said a single word.

"Cristobal."

His agonized eyes looked beyond her. He'd seen something behind, or someone. Esperanza swiveled to see Clay racing toward her; his expression contorted with hate. She fired automatically. This time three shots spat out of the tiny weapon. Clay spun around and hit the ground. One of the bullets had sliced into his neck, and he choked as he tried to suck in air, and his lungs filled with blood.

Bastard!

She turned back to Hidalgo. Her nemesis was bleeding badly, and when she looked closer, she thought her shot must have taken him in the heart. Blood dribbled out of his body, out of his mouth. He coughed and then died. The man who'd saved her, the man who said his name was Evers, was also dead. She let the gun fall out of her hand. It was over. She saw a cellphone, which Hidalgo had dropped when he fell. It was switched on, with a number already programmed to ring. 911.

Strange, why would he want to call the emergency services? It won't do him any good, not now.

The chill depths of the Hudson were only feet away. She tossed the phone away and watched as it hit the water, disappearing forever. She threw the gun after it. A feeling of numbness came over her, tinged with relief. It was over, no, not over. There was the USB stick, hidden in a mailbox she'd rented in the City.

Now I can send it to the DEA and put an end to Ricardo Montez.
Then I will have avenged my family, as best I can. It is time to move on.

* * *

His eyes opened, and he was staring at a Secret Service man. The guy had a pistol pointed at his head, and his finger looked as if it was a hair's breadth from pulling the trigger.

"Don't move, motherfucker."

He didn't move.

"You can leave him alone. He's with me."

Nolan recognized the voice and managed to move his head, Admiral Jacks, and behind him a bunch of his men. Seal Team Bravo.

Well, they were my men, before I was kicked out. Will Bryce is there, too, and John-Wesley.

"Where’s Brad?"

"How're you feeling, Chief?" Jacks asked him.

"I feel like crap."

"No wonder. Brad's okay, he was hurt bad, but he'll be fine."

 
"I thought someone shot me."

"No, that was Clint Baker. He took out the hostile you were fighting."

Clint? Oh, yeah, one of the new men. Christ, what's happening to my memory?

"Good shot."

"A perfect shot. He almost reached that detonator. If you hadn't struggled with him, Clint wouldn't have been able to get a clear sight of him. The angles were all wrong, but then you tumbled around the boat. He was exposed out of the hull for a second, and he popped him."

"The President's okay?"

"He's good. He's one brave mother. He insisted on staying around and completing the commemoration. Said no raghead was going to alter his schedule."

"He went on record, saying that?"

Jacks smiled. "I believe he called him a 'terrorist' on the record."

"So that's it, we got them all."

"We think so. There was some kind of a fracas on the shore. A couple of guys were shot, but the cops think it was some kind of drug feud. They were both Colombian nationals. One of 'em took a hostage it seems, a girl, but she managed to get away. She's Colombian, too, and she asked for asylum. Said if she went back, they'd kill her. It's all confused, right now, not sure what she's involved in. There was another casualty, a civilian. Danny Evers."

"Evers? Oh, Christ, after everything he went through."

"He tried to save the girl and took a bullet in the head. Died instantly. He was a brave man, very brave. I'm betting his name will go on the wall of honor at Langley."

"He deserves it. At first, he didn't look like combat material, but he sure changed. A good guy."

The roar of rotor blades caused the dust and debris to swirl around them. An emergency services helo was touching down nearby, and a couple of paramedics raced over with a gurney.

"We'll take him from here."

"Right now, the nearest ER room." They all looked around at the familiar voice. President Edward Anderson was standing right behind them, flanked with anxious looking Secret Service agents, "When he's fit, I want you to come visit me at the White house. I want to thank you personally for what you did here."

Jacks held up a hand. "Mr. President, it's appreciated, but we're, you know..."

"I know what you are. It'll be a private chat, that's all. Now I have to go, but thanks for everything. Now I know where our military budget goes, and I reckon we get a damn good bang for our buck. Take care, guys."

Men ushered him away. As he was strapped onto the gurney, Nolan said to Jacks, "Technically, we weren't in the service, Admiral. Not after Colombia. We were civilians. And you, how did you manage it? You were under close arrest."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied stiffly, "I reckon it's the blood loss. If you're in any doubt, ask the Commander in Chief, he'll clarify everything." He looked up to the medics. "You'd better get him away. He needs treatment."

They lifted the gurney, and Nolan saw him stare at Will Bryce, daring him to contradict. Then they whisked him away.

* * *

"How does it feel to fuck a US citizen?"

He looked up at her. "About the same a fucking a Colombian lesbian."

She punched him on the shoulder. Then apologized as he winced from the pain of his healing wound.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"Yeah, US citizens don't hit that hard." He smiled at her, "But I forgive you. Just this once."

"Because I'm the best lay you've ever had?"

"Because I'm feeling generous."

She giggled. "So you've had better. Perhaps I'd better leave and find someone more appreciative of my Cuban talents."

In truth, she was smoking hot. They were in a stinking motel outside of Ciudad Juarez.

He'd spent a month recovering from his wounds, and then another six weeks to get back to fitness. When she came to see him before his release from hospital, she was all smiles.

"How do you feel now it's all over? If you're up to it, how about we take a vacation to celebrate? We owe it to each other after everything we went through."