Hunter's Heart (21 page)

Fuck.
It was confirmed. She was certified batshit crazy. She decided to call the therapist and see if she could get in sooner. She had to talk to someone.

Chapter 14

Navy SEALs here to take you home.

They’d been called up for a job. The team milled around waiting for the deets. It felt good to be with the men. Even so, Hunter stood back, not joining in with the bullshit.

“Hey man, I need to see you in there,” Bug said, tipping his head toward what was called the talk room.

The
room,
was a repurposed supply closet with no chairs, no table, nothing on the walls. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as Bug closed the door.

“My knee isn’t a hundred percent and I’ll be holding down the fort on this one.” He had surgery a few weeks ago on a knee he’d messed up.

“Wouldn’t be able to hoist you and run a couple hundred yards if you get shot in the ass.” In the teams, the most important thing was you and your brothers coming home safe.

“CO wants you on the lead. Before I give the nod, I wanna know what’s going on.”

Hunter leaned against the wall.
Fuck.
He should have known someone would notice. The men were as close as humans could be and it was Bug’s job to notice anything out of line. Lack of focus by one could mean the death of another.

“Celia. She ended it.”

Bug let out a low whistle. “The other night, you guys seemed fine.”

“Yeah. I thought so. She opened up on me in the truck. Got to her place and she wouldn’t let me come in. Told me not to come back. Never saw it coming. Won’t answer calls or texts.”

“Damn,” Bug said after a long silence. “The job?”

Hunter shook his head. “No. I fucking messed up and I don’t even know what I did.” He knew it wasn’t because he’d held back about his family. That, she had a right to be pissed about. Breaking it the way she did. There was more. Plenty more.

“Bro, that sucks. Not knowing what happened is—”

A hard knock on the door interrupted. “Meeting’s starting.”

“What do I tell the boss? You good or no?”

A large responsibility came with being the lead. He wouldn’t lie and Bug knew it. “I’m good to go.” Lead or no, either way, from the moment he stepped in that room, until his boots were back here on the ground, the only thoughts in his head would be the success of the op and the safety of his brothers.

“Okay, I’ll let the boss know.” Bug clapped him on the back. “Man, sorry about Celia.” Then he cuffed him good on the back of the head. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself asshole. Remember, you’re never out of the fight.”

That may be true in a battle but he wasn’t sure when it came to Celia. Bug hadn’t seen her face and heard her voice. They went into the command room and dropped onto chairs as the Senior Chief entered.

“Listen up ladies,” Senior Chief’s voice boomed as he walked to the front on the room. “Ready to get your frogman on?” Affirmatives, laced with profanities, were shouted out.

“You’re going to Venezuela, the kidnap-for-ransom and murder capital of the world. This is a hard and fast personnel extraction for three packages. Two CIA agents posing as freelance journalists and their cameraman, who’s clean. Bianca Peralas and Tom Morgan are our government people. A Roman Simancas is the picture guy. Images of the three popped up on screens in the front. “The numb nuts are asking five million for their release. At this point, indications are they don’t know who they have. That could change at any moment and we want them out of there, yesterday.”

A map of the Caribbean Coast came up on one of the screens. “They were taken in Caracas, held there two days and moved west.” He pointed to a place on the map. “Then brought here, to a beach villa. A plus for us. The beach is clean and the villa is fifty yards from the high-water mark. Tides and the moon will be working for us also. Hunter is lead.” Heads swiveled his direction. Jackson is going to give you the deets on the group.”

Jackson, a Navy analyst, gave them the scoop on the gang’s methods. “They are the bad guys the rest of the bad guys are afraid of. They’ve tortured kids and grandmothers when they didn’t get the money they wanted. Operationally, on paper this looks easy. It’s not. There’s a reason the hostages were moved to this location. They are now in the middle of nowhere land, on relatively high ground with water to their front. Mountains and thick jungle in back. They’re heavily armed, and think this location is impenetrable. They are for the rest of the world. They’re right where you frogs want them. Be advised there is backup that will be in position in four hours.”

“Who are they and why the fuck don’t they do the job and save us the gas?” Bambi called out.

“A Marine Recon squad. They were diverted from a high value job. They’ll be in this ridge above the villa.” Again, he used the pointer on the map. “We don’t want to blow their op unless the packages need pickup before you get there.” He paused. “Or they have to come and bail your asses out.”

Jackson was the immediate recipient of anything that could be thrown.

“Questions?” Senior looked around the room.

“What were the packages working on?” Bambi asked.

“Back-door oil deals.”

“Do we know how many Tangos?” Kirk asked.

“Fluctuates between ten and thirty.”

“Why isn’t the Panamanian unit handling this?” Hobbit asked. “They too hung over?” Panama was a great duty. The nightlife and partying made up for the time you spent in the jungle battling the heat, killer insects, snakes and vampire bats before you even got to the bad guys.

“They’re stretched thin on ops.”

“ROE?” Hunter said.
Rules Of Engagement were fucked up.
A serious problem. In his opinion, ROEs helped their enemies—the crazies who wanted to kill them.

“You will comply with your country’s laws. The use of deadly force is authorized. You will use whatever force is necessary to deter and defeat any threat.

“Yeah. Yeah.
Derka. Derka. Derka.”
Same old bullshit, different day. A suit someplace behind a desk decides what they should and should not do when
their
lives were being threatened.

“Comms problems?” Hobbit would be in charge of communications on this one.

“Nope. The jarheads have been operating farther back in the mountains and have reported only spotty problems.

“Do we have an expiration date?” he asked.

“Yes.” Senior looked at his watch. “Sixty-four hours from now. Go to work.”

The men sorted and packed rifles, pistols and knives. Ammo and comms gear. Whatever they felt they’d need for their particular job. Each man had his preference on the extras. They all took body armor. Thanks to a Marine Corps officer, they had the best around.
Dragon Skin.

During a joint op, the major had damn near been sliced in half by an Afghan woman high on opium. He’d carried the officer to a helicopter, stayed with her two days at a forward base hospital, making sure she was never alone, until she was flown out to Germany. She repaid him, and eventually his squad, by outfitting them with the more comfortable, and significantly better protection—no matter what the Pentagon said—than they had. It was also significantly more expensive.

The team filed into the belly of the aircraft where the group equipment was already strapped to the deck. They dropped their personal gear and buckled into seats lining the walls. It was a place they’d been many times and knew the drill. A C130 crewman came out and gave them the standard pre-flight spiel laced with plenty of profanity and sexual innuendo. At altitude, they unbuckled and looked for a place to spend the next hours comfortably stretched out.

This was the same way they always went on deployment. The glamorous life of a Navy SEAL. Not in a private Learjet. In the belly of a gawd-awful uncomfortable C130, wearing noise-canceling head gear. He staked a claim between a couple pallets and fished out the instant air mattress from his pack. The last six hours he’d learned every possible infil and exfil route, gone over everything that could go wrong and planned a solution. Now it was time to sleep. He popped a couple sleep aids and didn’t wake until they landed.

The transfer to the ship and drop off was textbook. The plan was to have the three packages and be aboard ship in time for breakfast. Poseidon smiled on his SEAL children that night. The Caribbean was calm and the zodiac inflatables slid easily through gentle three-foot swells onto the beach. Once the inflatables were concealed, they spread. Lying silent and motionless, watching and listening for any clue they’d been detected. The only sounds were the surf and palm fronds moving in the breeze.

He carefully rose to a sit and used the NOD (night optic device) to scan the villa property for guards. Music, and occasionally a male voice, drifted on the heavy night air. The LT called in. “Hammer main. This is Hammer actual. Radio check. Over.”

Silence. “Hammer main. This is Hammer actual,” he repeated.

“Roger. Hammer actual. This is Hammer main. We have you.”

“Roger that. All boots on the ground. Any updates?”

“Roger. Increased bad-guy activity. Looks like forty.”

“Main, that’s a few more than we expected.”

“SWCC is set for your recovery.
No
, repeat
no
, movement on hostages.”

“Roger. Beginning assault.”

Like black ghosts, and twice as quiet, they moved into the dense tropical foliage.

Halfway to the villa Hunter signaled a halt, look and listen. Still no guards visible. Any sounds they made were drowned out by a cacophony of insects. Dogs barked that annoying
whoo, whoo, whoo,
back and forth. Not alert barks.

“We may have to deal with those dogs,” Hobbit’s voice said in his earpiece.

“Roger that.”

No one moved, waiting for him to give the go ahead. “Ready?” Hunter said.

“Roger.”

“Roger.”

“LT, we’re on the move.”

The three, two-man teams separated, each heading to the last known location of their assigned hostage. Bambi gave his shoulder a squeeze and with senses on high alert they advanced up the hill. The LT, Doc, Andy, and Pops, spread out on a security perimeter for a fire support position. LT would manage their time line.

The villa was terraced into the hillside with three decks. Intel said Peralas, the package he and Bambi were to retrieve, was being held at the back of the third deck. Further intel from the RECON Marines and their high tech listening devices confirmed her location. They also reported she was under 24/7 guard. He and Bambi took the outside concrete staircase, putting boots down cautiously.

The third floor had a wrap-around veranda and they moved past rooms with blankets or sheets nailed over missing doors. The rooms they could see into were in shambles. Some held sleeping men. A far cry from what the villa had probably once been.

They carefully rounded the veranda corner to approach Peralas’ room and moved quickly to where an empty chair stood by the slightly open door. His NVGs showed a green bloom of light coming from the room. Muffled sounds came from inside.

They listened for a moment. Hunter didn’t like what they heard and indicated to Bambi he was going in. Bambi nodded and took a defensive position. He pushed aside the goggles then closed his eyes a moment adjusting for natural light. The heavy door moved with no sound and he slipped in—M4 at the ready. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp on a table in the corner. The package lay on a bare mattress, spread eagle, her hands secured to the headboard with plastic ties. Feet tied with ropes to bedframe legs. Clear packing tape covered her mouth. A grunting man, naked from the waist down, knelt between her legs, a knife in his hand, attempting to cut her shorts. Peralas was stone still, her head raised, staring at the man.

He made an instant decision not to shoot. The woman had been through enough, she didn’t need to be decorated with her attacker’s blood. It took three of his strides to reach the man. He clamped a hand over his mouth and yanked the asswipe up and away. His arms circled the man’s sweaty head and he twisted savagely. He released the limp body then went to attend to Peralas.

“Navy SEALs here to take you home ma’am,” he said low as he snipped the blood-stained cords holding her legs. Her wrists were in worse shape. They were raw under the tight plastic ties. He gently put her arms to the bed. “Ma’am.” He leaned close and saw bruising on both sides of her face. “I’m going to take the tape off.” Her fingers would be numb and too weak to grasp anything. “You want slow, or fast?” Her dark eyed widened at fast and she nodded and mumbled, “Uh huh.”

“Okay. I’ll count to three.” He peeled back a corner of the tape. “One.” He yanked it free.

“
Ahhhh. Ahhhh,
” she said between gasps. “Damn you.” She coughed. “What happened to two and three?”

“I thought it would be easier that way.”

“It wasn’t,” she said as he helped her sit.

“Ma’am, I have to ID you.” While he was positive he had the right package, he followed procedure. “What’s your brother’s middle name?”

“I don’t…have a…fucking brother,” she rasped.

If looks could kill, he’d be dead and buried. “First dog’s name.”

“Puddles. Now can we get the shit outta here?” She rubbed her hands to improve circulation and he did the same to her feet.