Caro met his gaze, rain slicking hair down her neck. “How are we going to do this?”
He scanned the deck, the guards again. Bastards weren’t leaving unless something forced them.
“Good question.” He dragged a hand over his mouth, studying the deck. “Needs to be big. Loud. Something they can’t ignore.” His gaze landed on the missile launch tubes angled toward the sky. “What kind of safety measures do you have to protect the launch tubes?”
“Fuel depot,” Caro pivoted in her crouch. “It’s two hundred feet that way. Alarm system’s tied to fire suppression. If that goes off, they’ll respond. They can’t risk fire spreading to the missile bays.”
Fire. On a weapons rig.
“Sounds safe.” He met her gaze.
Her eyebrows shot up. “You said you wanted big.”
It could work.
“You know the systems?”
“Sure. I can trigger an alarm.” She pushed her shoulders back, and a smile touched her eyes. “And make it convincing. Just a wee fire, mind.”
“We go together,” he said. “Trip the alarm. Make it look real. Then we get back here before they figure it out.”
Caro swallowed hard. “And if they figure it out before we get back?”
“Then we'll improvise.” He checked his sidearm. Five rounds left. Two for the sloppy guards. Three for problems. Enough if every shot counted.
He looked toward the direction Jen had disappeared.
She’d tasted like salt from the storm.
He glanced at his watch.
Eight minutes gone.
Somewhere inside Seven, she was carrying a pack of explosives through hostile territory because he’d let her go.
Because he’d trusted her.
He wasn’t sure if that made him brave or stupid. She’d probably say both.
He gave Caro’s arm a brief squeeze. “Let’s give them something else to worry about.”
22
The two hundredfeet to the fuel depot felt like miles.
Wyatt kept Caro close, using the storm and Seven’s infrastructure for cover. Storage tanks provided concealment. Pipe runs offered covered routes between open spaces.
It had been over ten minutes since Jen left. But he trusted her. As much as any operative he’d served with. She’d proved herself over and over as smart and capable.
A smile tugged at his mouth. Brave enough to kiss him before walking into the storm.
“Wyatt.” Caro pointed to a bank of access panels and valve controls.
The fuel depot.
Large cylindrical tanks rose three stories high. Pump systems hummed. Emergency equipment, including extinguishers and suppression foam canisters were racked on a wall.
Caro flipped open an access panel, revealing a small keyboard. “Give me five.”
