“You’re freezing. Keep working. I’ll handle the rest.”
“I said I’mfine.”
“You’re not. But we don’t have a choice.”
“Story of the night.” Her lips were bluish, but they lifted in a small smile.
“Yeah—”
Movement caught his eye. Two guards emerging from the access door two levels up.
Shit.
Wyatt tracked them as they walked along the catwalk above.
“Jen,” he whispered.
“Almost there. The carrier tone’s initializing.”
The guards were now directly above.
Wyatt settled the weapon into his shoulder. Two targets. Exposed position. He could take them both before they got a shot off. Laughter floated down as the men continued along the catwalk and disappeared around the tower’s curve.
Wyatt breathed out through gritted teeth.
“I’ve got a signal. Transmitting now.” Jen leaned into the microphone, voice quiet but urgent.
“Any Coast Guard or Navy asset, this is Chief Engineer Jennifer James, NORPAC-7. Station is under hostile control. We have?—”
She glanced at Wyatt, counting fast. “I’ve seen at least seven men. Plus the three you took down.”
Wyatt gave a brief nod. “Another twelve when my helo landed.”
She turned back to the mic. “Minimum twenty-two armed hostiles. Automatic weapons. One hostage already dead. Repeat, NORPAC-7 is under hostile control.”
Static. Long and empty.
Jen’s jaw locked. She adjusted the frequency and tapped the housing with her palm.
Then a voice, broken and fighting through the interference. “NORPAC-7 say again—you’re breaking?—”
Jen leaned closer to the mic. “NORPAC-7 is under hostile control. Twenty-two plus armed hostiles. Requesting immediate military response.”
Another agonizing stretch of static. Then the signal locked.
“NORPAC-7, Coast Guard Command. Message received. Coast Guard One-Nine-Zero-Nine confirmed. SEAL Team Five already mobilizing. ETA five hours.”
Wyatt’s grip hardened on the M4.
Five hours.
Clarity slid into place—cold, precise, and terrible in how right it felt.
Until they arrived, he was the only line between her and everyone hunting her.
Five hours.
8
