Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) (2 page)

A light thump and deceleration of whirling blades signaled they’d arrived. A shadowy figure stood along the far edge of the tarmac. Hollywood was unable to identify who it was, but the person’s signal to keep heads below the spinning blades was clear. He exited the chopper then reached back, grabbed Voodoo by the wrist and led her away from the whining turbines.

“Who’s that?”

“Can’t tell, but he’s wearing a full tactical kit.”

Hollywood squinted against the night, as the figure slowly came into his focus. He noticed the black hawk helicopter wasn’t killing power.

“I’m guessing our stay here won’t be long,” he yelled to her as the rotors re-engaged. They greeted Billy halfway between the Black Hawk and the office.

“Y’all made good time. I’ll stow gear kits on board while you grab chow and hit the head. Off in fifteen with airborne briefing.” Billy Price’s expression was deadpan serious.

“Hi, Billy. Fucking nice to see you again too,” Voodoo’s verbal slap was uncharacteristic. Mouth turned down, Hollywood reconsidered how well he actually knew her.

“I’ll get your gear,” Billy glared at Hollywood. There wasn’t anything else to say, Hollywood felt the sting of blood rushing up his neck—disrespect wasn’t acceptable among STR members.

Silent as he made his way through the matrix of offices and cubicles, Hollywood reached for her hand. He wasn’t nearly as touchy in the STR’s sterile environment. His heart pumped part with embarrassment over her comment and part concentration on what cards the deck held.

“Hi, Jill. This is Krystal Laveau reporting for processing.” Hollywood grinned before he snapped to a salute. Jill looked away.

Voodoo stared up at him, her eyes steady and vacant at the same time. What the hell was wrong with her?

Hollywood cocked his head. “You okay?”

She shook her head, slid a gaze to Jill and came back to him. “Her too?”

Jill looked away.

Before he could react, Voodoo was led away to be photographed, fingerprinted, swabbed for DNA and retinal scanned before being handed a template printed commission card. He watched as she drew the template close to her face. “Property of…” her lips parted.

After the photo was snapped, she headed back to him, her shoulders back, her head high but something in her stride was off. Too slow. And the way her eyes darted around rather than slowly taking in her surroundings. Fear. That’s what he saw here. Would the real Krystal please stand up?

“Ready?” Hollywood tugged at her triceps. She eased out of his grip. Jill skated out of the room and banged the door shut on her way out. Hollywood was in full operational mode. There’d never been a time or place for personal drama during pre-operational preparedness, only life-saving laser focus. This would be his first.

Still in the mini-dress from their dinner at the casino’s luxury Pan-Asian restaurant, Voodoo’s arms shook at the elbow. Her fists mashed into hips. The fiery Creole attitude fumed as Hollywood watched her bottom lip shake. Unsure how to handle this situation—he stood back. Soon, he heard boots tapping through the hallways in a rush to board their copters.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we gotta deploy.”

“You’re not sure? Where you been, hero?”

“Next to you the entire time. What’d I miss?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why’re you behaving like this? Shit’s hitting the fan and we got a job to do.”

“Maybe I’m scared. Maybe I ain’t the fucking hero, you, or the rest of your mutant American superheroes are. I’m just some stupid deputy from down in the swamps.”

“Baby, are you serious? You’re amazing, and STR needs you. Rose wouldn’t have authorized just anyone unless she saw something valuable in you. If you’d rather not come, you’re welcome to wait here until I get back.”

“If you get back. This shit’s out of control, and I’m not trained to deal with it. Promise me you’ll help me get through.”

“That’s why we’re involved, because it will get out of control if we don’t make a stand. Your call, but I’ve got to go. Someone has to stop Bonny.”

Voodoo slumped slightly, then drew herself up. “You’re right. She was my roommate from hell after all. I’m kinda responsible.” She cracked a grin through an otherwise terrified expression. She held the door open for him, but he stopped to first kiss her.

He saw the fire in her eyes return.

“Now let’s go kick some ass,” she said.

*     *     *

“Ready to collect more air miles? Heading to the Home of the Blues—Memphis.” Billy said as he scratched his head and looked unsure about that fact.

“I’m sorry.” Voodoo mouthed, and raised her right foot into the Black Hawk’s cabin. She grabbed Billy’s extended arm as rotor wash jostled her. With mutual tugs she leveraged herself in and patted his black-clad bicep. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“You’ll be fine. This is a team, and you’re part of it.”

Voodoo immediately felt a sense of relief. She strapped the harness and pointed for Hollywood to sit next to her. The cabin was dim, but pre-flight green and red lights showed her smile had become less frigid. She’d changed into a SWAT one-piece coverall, and brand new tactical boots. She tugged the zippered collar up over her neck as if chilled—her body jerked with adrenaline.

Billy instructed the pilots to head west once the team loaded. Both cargo doors were secured, and interior lights flashed before they flickered off. Chase Westin reached up to toggle overheads on as Billy leaned forward with his briefing book.

“Sun’ll be up soon, so lets get the details square and then relax. It’s over five hours and weather ain’t pleasant.” Billy palmed something to Voodoo. The white plastic package held two pills inside. She stuffed it under her thigh until after the briefing. Her stomach was already knotted from the casino restaurant’s progressive cuisine—probably not the best menu selection.

“A few teenagers were daring each other to fly their UAVs out over the Mississippi River. One got caught in heavy winds and pushed off course a bit. These commercial drones are incredibly hi-tech for civilian use. It returned home once it lost GPS signal with the kid’s handheld. Kid downloaded the HD video to watch their aerial dogfights and he saw it.”

“Saw what?” Chase asked.

“The zombie ship.”

“Oh no, I ain’t fucking with no spooks.” Voodoo’s eyes popped open as she waved her hands wildly. “I got no gris-gris to protect us.” She laughed nervously as the others stared in bewilderment.

“We got PPE suits for protection, Voodoo. Seems the kid had no idea where the video was shot along the river other than outside Memphis. He’d uploaded it to YouTube with tag lines—ship, wreck, voodoo, zombie, MS River, wolf and sickle. See where I’m going?” Billy asked. “It shows great video of the flight and the blue hull with bright yellow stacks. It looked moored at a legitimate dock along the river. No reports of mass casualties in the port area,” Billy added.

“Shit, more bio-chem to deal with? You think the zombies are bodies from contamination?” KC Westin asked. She looked at Voodoo as the only other female in the copter. “You got a spell to keep us safe, honey?”

“Not sure, Rose took off on a Lear as soon as our techs trolled the video online. She’s going to find the kid and the original footage. There’s an app that shows windage, elevation and exact location. She’ll also head up the HAZMAT response if needed and have the location identified before we hit it,” Billy continued without referring to his notes. The guy was a machine when it came to details.

“Us, hit it? Doesn’t the Coast Guard or locals handle their jurisdiction?” Voodoo asked.

Hollywood tapped her on the thigh. “Word’s gotta stay close to the vest—our vests. Every piece of info is so critical, that one leak might jeopardize the mission. We handle as much of the detail as superhumanly possible.”

“Honestly, you’d be lucky to get others to help. Most ain’t too happy to have us roll into town barking orders. You know how damn territorial cops get. It’s better left to us—easy in and easy out,” Chase added. Voodoo nodded, and then checked the wrapped package that Billy slipped her—Dramamine.

“Why we thinking this vessel’s connected to the Preacher anyway?” KC asked. The Black Hawk pitched into a half roll—a series of green lights turned to flashing yellow and a warning buzzer wailed three shrill blasts. KC chuckled at the wild ride—Voodoo downed the pills.

“Sorry, sir,” a pilot said.

“Son, you’re handling this beast the best you can. Weather’s falling apart out West.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Okay, Intel Section has most of the diary translated. Decoding it won’t take as long since the encryption is similar to that used by the Preacher’s crew. What we knew was suspected by Hollywood last week about the Rex Mardi Gras parade being a distraction. Well, the assassination of Rex more than the parade, but that’s distracting also.” Billy high-fived Hollywood and bopped Voodoo on the knee. She rolled her eyes.

“The meat of their mission was the cargo ship that entered the mouth of the Mississippi River undetected. It was flying under another nation’s flag, so the Coasties failed to pick it up. It was scheduled to insert deep enough up river to avoid detection. The mother ship is back in the ocean, and a cutter loaded with a lethal chemical is sailing right through the heart of the United States.” The helicopter pitched again and rolled with an overcorrection. Billy snatched a rescue strap and allowed his body to sway with the motion. His grin uneasy.

“Where’s it’s final destination?” Voodoo’s words slurred—her head rolled sideways. She tried to relax and felt the effects of the pills. She wanted to absorb each detail, but exhaustion, compounded by the dimenhydrinate was almost too much to fight.

“At this point, we don’t have enough of the diary decoded to determine where. But lets say somewhere between New Orleans and Lake Itasca, Minnesota to be safe.”

“Only two thousand three hundred and twenty miles to cover, no problem,” Voodoo laughed that she recalled the river’s length from junior high school’s geography class. She dozed off.

About twelve miles outside of the Memphis city limits, the Black Hawk’s rubber wheels finally reunited with rain-soaked earth. The abandoned shipyard, filled with rusted metal and half-sunken hulls, looked worse than obsolete. Strange place for world destruction—perfect place for world destruction.

Voodoo stretched and felt more alert than she had in days. Billy’s head was still stuck in the briefing book, and he told STR to wait in the craft. In the distance, a trail of water sprayed high into the early morning haze. It was Rose driving an armored vehicle. Once it rolled to a stop, she and Billy conferred, then he returned to the craft.

“Into the MRAP. Move.” Billy had on his game face.

“Good morning, team,” Rose said one they were assembled. “This isn’t optimal, but in light of limited time, I think it’s the best way to proceed. Billy’s briefed you all, so zip up the Tyveks. I’ve secured SCBAs for each of you.”

Voodoo rubbed the rain from the back of her neck as she lifted and then set back down the pile of plastic and the harnessed air tank. She shook out her hands in the cramped quarters and accidently hit Chase on the ass. She looked apologetically at him.

The carrier made Voodoo feel like she was inside a soup can. The red LED lights created a sinister effect that unsettled her spirit. Plopping onto the narrow bench seat, she remained quiet while nausea roiled in the empty pit of her gut. Unsure what equipment was required or how to wear it, she felt separated from the others—mostly Hollywood.

“Little help here.” Her pasted-on smile matched the unnatural stillness.

“Gotcha.”

“Thanks, Dwight. Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Never, baby. Absolutely never.” He pretended to kiss her before he pulled the self-contained breathing apparatus’ mask over her face. His hand pressed against the mask’s filter, he told her to suck in—perfect seal—and she was ready to roll.

“We don’t expect to encounter anyone on the vessel, but can’t take chances. CDC tells us that the suspected bio-chem should be dormant by now, though I’d rather sweat it out than foam up. Either way, your tact gear should carry the atropine combined with Narcan.” Rose briefed the team as the ship’s chipped blue hull loomed through the driving rain. Lightning cracks distorted the shape. High winds made it appear adrift.

“Isn’t this kind of a wide open approach? What happened to stealth?” Chase asked through the bubbled facemask. Voodoo nodded—her eyes widening with concern the closer Rose powered the armored personnel carrier to the docked ship.

Hollywood pressed his palm against the thick plastic decontamination coverall to get her attention. Voodoo jumped, a slight sound of surprise escaped her hood before it was replaced with a sincere smile. Sounds of plastic crinkles echoed in the small area as their arms interlocked.

“Sorry, no invisible blankets, but we’re operating out here on our own. Congress is still pissed and unsure if they’ll fund STR any longer.” Billy’s voice lowered as his mission focus amped up. Thunder clapped to blanket the last of his words.

“Damn, we stick out like a boner in a speedo,” Chase laughed.

Voodoo wrapped her arm tighter around Hollywood’s. She smiled behind the thick rubber mask. “I love you,” she mouthed. He nodded with a thumbs-up—she punched him in the arm.

“You know the drill. Lots of ground with limited talent. We’re running in two-man elements. Teams 1 and 2 go straight to the wheelhouse. Secure the engine and radio controls.” Billy’s speech was sharp and invigorating.

Voodoo began to feel more comfortable—she was back in her SWAT element. She worried less about world destruction and focused more on protecting her partner and team while they cleared this ship.

Hollywood and Chase nodded.

“Teams 3 and 4 cover the open deck space and then find secure over-watch positions,” Billy continued. “Sorry, that’s Rose and me—we got each team covered.”

Voodoo looked at the other two STR Agents accompanying Billy and Rose but hadn’t met them before.

“Finally, Team 5 and 6 dive straight for the bowels and make sure to disable the engine room.” Billy looked around the jammed carry area and smiled. “Cake.”

“I’m taking us to the front door,” Rose instructed. “Ready in three, two, one—Go.”

*     *     *

Voodoo’s heart raced as the thick doors were shoved open to meet a torrential downpour. Stress from the extra equipment weight caused her breath to labor heavy and deep. Hollywood looked into the facemask and connected with her.

“Watch each other’s six,” Hollywood said. She nodded. Pellets of water crashed against her thick plastic encasement.

Rose and her partner took cover positions along the running boards on the opposite side of the MRAP. Billy and his SEAL partner ran to the front quarter panel and also provided cover.

“Team 1 and 2. Move out.” Rose commanded.

Voodoo willed her pulse to settle as she jolted from behind the ballistic plated military-surplus vehicle. Her steps slapped through standing water as she carefully navigated broken cement that led to the gangway.

Nuzzled behind Hollywood, Voodoo raised her Colt 9mm submachine gun to cover as they sped up the steep incline on the starboard side. Gale force winds shimmied the thin material. Her quadriceps seared as she moved in a crouched position to steady her weapon’s barrel. Below, water churned violently between the ship and dock’s narrow space.

“Right behind you, Team 1,” said Chase Westin. The former Force Recon Marine’s voice was calm, unaffected by the situation. Voodoo smirked—his voice should be calm—he was a fucking United States Marine after all. She felt comfort being surrounded by such military bad asses.

Reaching the five percent elevation eventually numbed Voodoo’s muscular torment, but her upper torso continued to struggle with the gear and pace. She smeared rain off her facemask, vowing her fierce determination would be the difference in this operation.

No way will I let Hollywood down.

“Teams 5 and 6. Move.” Rose’s rain-garbled voice rung through Voodoo’s tactical headset. Voodoo knew back-up was on the way. It was reassuring to know the best this country had to offer were collected at this scene. Although a bit overwhelmed, she knew ops and she knew her strengths and relied on them to contribute to the team. Hell yeah, she was proud to be a part of this unit.

The warped aluminum base of the gangway begin to rattle as four full-sized, fully equipped warriors climbed up the grade.

Voodoo’s foot slipped on the saturated gangway as she followed Hollywood’s lead. He jerked a sharp right once his boots hit solid deck. Quick and silent, only the patter of rubber soles tapped a gentle hint of their approach. They stopped short at an open hatch. His Kevlar helmet nodded. Voodoo confirmed Team 2 was in line before she pressed against his left shoulder. They were ready.

Her heart pounded. She sucked large gulps of air, her claustrophobia intensifying. Hollywood disappeared around the corner of the opening. Voodoo was left looking through the drizzle into starbursts of lights that illuminated an empty deck that lined the starboard bridge. She held her weapon at a slanted ready-gun position.

“Move,” Chase ordered. “Watch his six.”

But intuition seized her.

A shadow flashed then became flesh around the bow’s end of the bridge. Voodoo didn’t give him time to lift the shotgun. She rocked the weapon up, stock rotating in the crook of her shoulder. Her index finger pulled back. She felt the click. The anonymous body crumpled lifeless. She looked over the barrel because there wasn’t the loud spatter of rounds fired. She smiled at the sound suppressor attached to the tip.

“Move to Hollywood. We’ll secure him.” Chase nudged Voodoo through the hatch. Hollywood waited for her, his weapon trained up the stairwell to protect from an overhead ambush.

“Ship is occupied. With weapons,” an anonymous voice warned.

“Suspect one is neutralized. Moving back to Team 1,” Chase updated.

Voodoo heard Rose and Billy announce they’d arrived and had taken up over-watch positions along the upper deck.

Billy’s voice amplified sharp but surprised, “Looks like meth heads have turned this ship into a lab.”

*     *     *

“We don’t have a beef with these people. Lets stand ground and call them out. Give a chance to vacate,” Rose suggested. Her partner, a young Navy SEAL with a shaggy beard and spooky bright eyes called in to assist with the ship’s assault, agreed. Once each team radioed they’d established secure positions to monitor door and access ways, he activated the bullhorn to warn everyone on the ship to leave immediately.

The warrior stepped away from the steel upper deck and popped three siren wails, “Leave the ship now. We are not here to arrest you. There are dangerous chemicals on this ship. We only want to secure those chemicals. You are free to leave.”

A shot rang out from behind a hatch on the port side. It cleaved the bullhorn from his hand. Ricocheted shrapnel sliced through his protective suit. He dropped the speaker and shook his hand to ease the impact vibration.

Rose’s eyes narrowed on the location of the shot. Anger bubbled up but she settled it. Nothing pissed her off more than one of her team being attacked. She leveled her Heckler and Koch MP5, peered through the optics scope, exhaled, and strategically placed two quick rounds into the area.

“Fuck these people ma’am. Excuse my French, but fuck ’em.” the SEAL said.

“Team 3 took shrapnel but still operational,” Rose announced.

“Highly operational,” the SEAL clarified over his tactical headset.

“Oorah,” sounded over the tact earpieces.

“Gotta be Chase. Radio discipline, Jarhead Marine,” Billy kidded from his Team 4 position on the starboard side across from Team 3.

Rose took a breath, making sure she was dealing with a steady head and not from anger. “Okay, they made their decision. Teams move to secure. We have zero arrest authority,” Her words resonated—she’d just signed death warrants.

*     *     *

“Does she mean what I think she means?” Voodoo’s words hitched in her throat. KC nodded yes. Voodoo’s gut still reeled from the man she’d just taken out. She wasn’t sure if she could do it again. The other two waited for her to cover Hollywood.

“Hey, bayou belle,” KC got her attention. “Reload.” She tapped Voodoo in the shoulder and seemed to have snapped her from a trance. “Thanks for saving Chase. Had you not secured down, he would’ve been in that dude’s sights.” Voodoo released a huge lump of air that had wedged in her chest, and winked.

“Heads up, I’m moving.” Hollywood began to climb the stairs. The hollow metal staircase clanked with each footfall. His hard polymer thigh holster brushed against the handrail. It rattled to announce his arrival. Voodoo tiptoed behind him, careful not to sweep him with the barrel of her rifle. Her eyes fixed on an opening to the landing platform’s left flank.

“Hold Hollywood. Check left,” she said.

“Got it—I’ll secure. Voodoo, sweep right. Team 2, clear passageway ahead to captain’s wheelhouse.” A series of mic clicks and shoulder squeezes signaled they were ready. “Move.”

Booms of unearthly thunder concealed their flurry of rushed movements, an orchestrated tableau of violent actions aimed to detect and neutralize any threat. Voodoo hadn’t noticed, but her breathing and pulse had leveled off. She was responding as she’d been taught—kicking ass was her skill set, and it reassured her that she belonged. Hours of repetitious training and endless rounds of ammunition fired during drills had prepared her for today—for every day.

The ping didn’t register at first. When the second round bounced off the steel bulkhead, she felt the crush against her ballistic SWAT vest. Her protective suit crumpled as shards of metal pellets pulled it apart.

Wrath flashed. The will to survive, and fury at someone trying to fucking kill her set off a peppery personality. “Oh no, sucka.”

She spun and dropped to one knee. Eyes wide, she peered over the barrel and through the scope’s tritium reticle.

Where’s Dwight?

“Man down,” she radioed. Her trembling tone was obvious, but so was her resolve. Hollywood was flat on his back and motionless—trapped in the fatal funnel. His weapon lay off to his right, still snugged by the sling. She noticed KC return to the main passageway where they’d all just departed.

“Chase is covering down on our area. What happened?”

“Shotgun. I’m hit, but fine. Hollywood’s down. Eyes on, see nothing.”

“You cover up. I’ll bang and snatch,” KC said.

“10-4. Clear to go.”

KC crouched to the edge of the open door. Voodoo watched her yank a flash bang from her vest and pull the pin. The heavy metal casing was about the size of a soft drink can. It bounced and clanked for a second. The thin metal spoon that held the firing mechanism in place, popped off. A brilliant explosion of light and sound ripped through the slight opening. Voodoo blinked to shield her eyes. When they opened, Hollywood was gone.

“Team 6 taking fire. Engine room.”

“Cobra, we’re right around the corner. Take cover. We got a better angle,” Team 5’s leader said. Voodoo jumped at the intensity of their radio broadcasts. She was in her own gun battle, but hated that her teammates were in one too.