He went to leave, but she grabbed his arm. “What are you?—”
“I’m buying us time. The door, Caro. When I signal?”
Her head dipped in acknowledgement. “Be careful.”
“You’re doing great.” He squeezed her hand and moved off.
The thick black smoke belching from the fuel depot momentarily distracted the remaining two guards. Wyatt reached the first hostage, cupping a hand over the man’s mouth before he could react.
Wyatt scanned the guards one more time. Still distracted by the smoke.
“Don’t make any noise,” Wyatt whispered. “We’re getting you out.”
He pulled his knife and sliced the zip tie.
“When you see that door open,” Wyatt gestured toward the access door, “you run for it. Pass it on.”
The next hostage was a woman. Wyatt cut her ties. He worked fast, his knife sliding through the plastic.
A third, then a fourth and a fifth.
These were Jen’s people. The ones she’d seen on their knees in the canteen and nearly gone down there with a torque wrench and a death wish. He was finishing what she’d started.
When he freed the eighth hostage, one guard turned, surveying the group.
Wyatt held still, knife in hand.
He could take the shot. But there were still hostages between them—one through-and-through or one ricochet off the crane supports and a civilian drops.Not happening.
Wyatt straightened slowly, letting the guards see him.
“Hey!” He waved his arms above his head. “Fuckers.”
Both men swung toward him at once, weapons coming up fast. He didn’t give them time to think.
Wyatt dove for the crane controls. His palm slammed against the release mechanism.
The hook dropped.
Steel slammed into steel with a concussive clang that ripped through the storm, dwarfing the wailing alarms, the impact shuddering up through the deck and into his bones. The guards flinched, heads snapping toward the sound, muzzles dragging just enough off target.
That was all he needed.
Wyatt sprinted, boots skidding on sleet-slick steel. The crane’s massive support struts provided concealment, but still a guard fired. Wild, startled shots cracked past him, rounds sparking off metal. Wyatt closed the distance and drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him into the crane column. The guard’s rifle clattered to the deck. Wyatt kicked the weapon out of reach and drove his elbow into the man’s temple. The guard gagged, and his eyes rolled back as he slid to the deck.
Wyatt spun. The second guard already had him in his sights.
Wyatt lunged for the heavy pendant cable hanging from the crane controls.
Sparks flew as a bullet hit the deck inches from his feet. He yanked the cable sideways. The sudden movement sent the hook swinging, its massive weight cutting through the air like a wrecking ball. The guard stumbled back to avoid it, footing gone on the sleet-slick deck.
Wyatt tackled him, driving him down hard. The guard thrashed, fingers clawing for Wyatt’s throat. Wyatt caught the wrist, torqued it until something popped, and drove his forearm across the man’s neck. Three seconds. The guard sagged.
“Caro!” Wyatt roared. “Now! The door!”
She darted from cover and dashed for it.
Wyatt scooped up the guard’s M4.
