Si was ten yards away from the figure he’d spotted in the front yard. He strained to hear what the person was saying.
What would Nat or the team do in this situation?he asked himself, trying to decide if his pounding heartbeat could be heard from thirty feet away.
From the shadows along Cliff Road, Si saw the silhouette of a lawn truck parked in the Courville driveway. As if gunfire on the island wasn’t odd enough, a lawn-service truck parked in a Cliff Road resident’s driveway overnight was completely out of the ordinary.
He set a goal: make his way to the far side of the vehicle undetected.
He looked again at what the figure was holding.Is that a weapon?
It was now or never. Instinctively he moved toward his left in a low crouch, then sprang from behind the hood of the truck. Ina return to his ice-hockey days, he lowered his head and shoulder, then rushed toward the figure standing just three paces away.
He felt his shoulder strike the unknown person’s torso just above the beltline. The perfect check. His feet kept moving, momentum propelling Si and his target forward into a natural somersault, with Si tumbling almost perfectly into a mounted position. He raised his hand to punch the face of his prey when suddenly he stopped.
Rowan Anderson?! Was Senator Harrison back home? Why else would the head of his Secret Service detail be here? What was going on?
Even with her hands in close, Rowan Anderson managed to hook Si’s leg and buck her hips, throwing him onto his side. She let his momentum carry the two of them to the same position, except now she was on top. Then the agent clutched Si’s shirt collar tightly against his neck and started to twist the fabric.
As Si’s air supply shut off, he began to panic. He swung both arms wildly at the agent’s head and face, but each blow only glanced off her shoulders harmlessly. He could feel himself losing consciousness.
“Rowan, please,” he wheezed. “It’s me, Si Wilson.”
At the sound of her name, the Secret Service agent paused momentarily in her automatic combat response. The skirmish stopped as quickly as it had started. Rowan Anderson released Si’s collar and rolled off to her side, breathing deeply.
“Where is Nat?” she demanded, fumbling for her phone and her gun. “It’s the senator, Si—I know where he is. We have to get to Nat or they’ll kill Harrison.”
CHAPTER 52
Atlantic Ocean
Meg, Oliver, and JP were forty-five seconds ahead as Wolf and I launched from the yacht we had just searched.
Falcon 3 was holding steady at 130 knots and an altitude of 25 feet above the ocean. Falcon 4 assumed its position roughly 150 meters off the starboard side. The heading of both helicopters was slightly right of north as we scanned the horizon for signs of the second yacht.
I briefly considered the possibility that this could be another dry hole. But with time ticking, I had to believe this was our only chance. It was all too random to be a hoax. The other ship was the one.
“One o’clock, five hundred meters,” came the call from Falcon 3.
“Roger, I see it,” Tommy Lopez said, as calm as if he was ordering a cup of coffee at Starbucks. “I’m staying right and will circle your starboard side toward the bow, just like before.”
From my position on the right bench, I could see the lights of the target ship in the distance. Had we missed the mark entirely? Did another helicopter fly Harrison away? Was he aboard yet a third boat? Shit, if they took that option we were screwed.
I felt the centrifugal force pushing my ass tightly against the seat as Falcon 4 banked hard to the right. I didn’t know how high we were above the ocean, but in a nanosecond saltwater mist was splashing against my face.
Tommy deftly juked his course back to level and started to climb abruptly. “Troops in contact,” he said in that same voice fit for the Starbucks line.
As Falcon 3 started its assault roughly fifty meters from the stern of the yacht, someone with an AK-47 walked onto the deck and started to spray the little bird.
Felix Green—yes, we called him “the Cat”—was flight lead on Falcon 3. Just as ballsy and calm a pilot as Tommy Lopez, Felix was tracking movement on the main deck aft and on the second deck as well. He knew Tommy was banking in the opposite direction, which gave him plenty of airspace to work some of the pilot kung fu for which he was known.
I was on the wrong side of the aircraft to see any of the battle. As a leader, not knowing what was going on was worse than the havoc of the engagement itself. I wasn’t quite in panic mode, but the pucker factor skyrocketed and I had to talk myself back to calmness.
As soon as Felix identified a weapon on the second deck, he banked left and started to climb, giving the Rhino passengers the heads-up that the shit show was about to begin.
While Felix was on evasive maneuvers, Wolf on the right pod squeezed a dozen rounds toward the terrorist. Before he couldassess his accuracy, Felix made a hard right—almost an aerial U-turn—and started a daring dive toward the stern of the yacht.
By the time Oliver and Meg were able to scan the deck, all they saw was a body on the teak.
“Second deck, movement!” Meg shouted.
