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1
International Waters,Northwest of Jamaica
Matthew “Easy” Hitchcock unhooked his tether from the U-bolt secured to the chopper’s frame. Hanging out the opening of the military helicopter with nothing but the strength of his hand holding him in place wasn’t exactly a textbook safety maneuver—especially when they were in a high-speed chase. He glanced at the strap, hoping it would hold him, before he sighted through the high-powered binoculars on a ship that, up until ten minutes ago, was dead in the water.
“Are you sure about this?” Tex asked again. Easy eyed the fast-moving yacht that was carrying the granddaughter of US Senator Leland Marchant. She’d just recently married the grandson of the current president of the United States, his ultimate boss. Pirates had hijacked the yacht, taken the crew and the guests hostage. Easy looked again through the binoculars as the chopper followed.Survivorwas painted across the stern of the boat in big blue letters against the stark white of the upper deck. Easy smiled. The only survivors on that ship would be Americans.
Someone had to board her and secure the helipad so the Black Hawk could hover, and the team could fast rope down, free the hostages, and secure the yacht. The alternative wasn’t a consideration as it could turn into a disaster if these pirates got away with the yacht, five crew members, two Secret Service agents, and their HVT hostages. The luxury toy had seven staterooms and slept seventeen people, with an elevator, gym, jacuzzi, office, and most importantly, a helipad that was currently being guarded from inside the bridge, as it was located to the stern of the topmost deck. The 240-footer cut through the surf and kicked up boiling waves as it plowed forward at twenty knots. The speed should be enough to curb anyone from trying to insert onto the boat from a fast-moving chopper. But Easy was always up to any task, any challenge—not that he was superman, but he knew his own skillset. He could do it.
Wind battering his face and pulling at his gear, he calculated the speed, the timing, and the probability he would end up in the sea, at the mercy of the two fast boats that raced ahead of theSurvivor. “Yes,” he said into his comm. “I can do it, LT.” He figured most people didn’t hang out of fast-moving choppers by anoh shitstrap and decide that they would jump from the secure deck of the bird to a speeding yacht, but fear never really factored into Easy’s equation, only the fact that the task had to be done, and truth be told, this is why he joined the SEALs.
“Tex,” Bondo said into the comm, his deep, rumbling voice filled with concern. “The kid is good…but—”
“No buts, Bondo. We take that boat, or they get away. This bird only has so much fuel.” The sad, stark truth of the matter was that the yacht had full tanks, and these modern boats could go days without refueling.
“Get him close enough and fucking be careful,” Tex said to the pilot.
“Roger that. TheGood Ship Crazysuggests all their lollipops hang on tight.”
Pilots…their sense of humor in a time of high tension was welcome. It made Easy laugh. Tex looked at him like he was out of his mind. Easy gripped the strap as the pilot pushed the chopper to its limits, the force slamming him against the interior. He fought his way back to the open door, bringing the binoculars back to his eyes.
“Tangos,” Easy said as three figures on the deck looked up at the racing chopper.
“Bondo, if you want to ensure the kid has an easy path, take out those bastards on the deck.”
Bondo moved to a position beside Easy. He gave him an encouraging look, filled with shared experience. It wasn’t long ago that Easy had saved Bondo’s life during that training mission on the USSJohn Paul Joneswhen Bondo had been so distracted by his soon-to-be wife Cameron Ryan that he hadn’t correctly connected his tether to the chopper during a training exercise. He broke contact after saying with a growl that rose above the roaring engines, “So, help me God, Easy. Don’t fucking die.”
He lifted his rifle to eye level. As Bondo sighted down the scope, Easy was aware how hard these shots were going to be. Two moving vehicles, wind speed, bullet trajectory. Although Bondo was one of the best snipers on the Teams, it would be a miracle if Bondo could even hit the yacht, let alone one of the pirates.
After several seconds, Bondo depressed the trigger and one of the tangos went down, a second shot knocked another pirate into the sea, and the third guy ran for cover.
There were sounds of admiration behind him, but Easy was focusing on the leap of faith he was about to perform.
One of the fast boats made a wide sweeping turn and headed toward them. The door gunner stepped into place and aimed the machine guns at the boat and started firing. The pirates, probably ignorant of how much damage even a lightly armored Black Hawk could do, didn’t understand their peril.
After the smoke cleared, one of the pirate boats was out of commission.
“We are running out of ocean. They’re going to be crossing into Cuban waters. I don’t want you stuck on board if that happens,” Tex yelled.
“Head’s up, lollipops, the demarcation line of international waters is up ahead. A Cuban Navy ship just launched four ugly red dots…attack boats,” the pilot said.
“HQ is trying to get Cuba on the line, but no answer yet,” Bondo said. Easy scanned the horizon but saw nothing. He expected they were moving fast. “Now or never, Easy,” he said.
He shifted to the edge of the chopper, bracing his feet on the door treads. All the muscles in his body had been honed by training from his back to his calves, to stabilize, to grapple, to withstand forces others couldn’t handle. The wind snapped at his body, tearing at his balance.
“Go,” the pilot said as he got within a few yards of the yacht, the vessel jumping on the waves. Easy moved to the skids. The pilot came in low to avoid the antenna and satellite dish on top of the four-level boat that could hit the chopper's runners or impale Easy before he landed.
Easy released the tether and flung his body at the roof of the bridge, the impact sending him tumbling across the sloped surface and over the side. He grabbed for something to stop himself, leaving him hanging over the bridge’s windshield. As the pirates inside realized he’d jumped from the chopper, they swung their weapons toward him, he used the dish like a fulcrum to swing his body back up onto the roof.
Gunfire ripped through the fiberglass and Easy planted his feet just behind the dish. When the firing stopped, he aimed down, noting their positions. With deliberate precision, he fired.
Nothing happened for several seconds, then he heard the captain’s voice. “You got them!”
“Turn this boat around. You’re almost to Cuban waters!”
“Aye,” the captain said, as Easy curled his arms around the lip of the roof and swung down as easily as he navigated the O course’s tower. He landed on the wooden deck just outside the bridge entrance. The yacht started to turn, and Easy breathed a sigh of relief.
“US military,” Easy said as the captain peered at him from inside. “Lock the doors and stay down. Keep turning this beast to get us back into international waters.”
