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14 years later
Archer
“Suit up. We’re jumping in five,” Devon yelled over the plane’s engine.
The seat I sat on rattled, throwing me back and forth. Adrenaline surged through me at the thought of jumping out of the plane, then swimming the rest of the way to our target.
Tonight’s mission was a rescue. There was a hostage situation on a yacht. They were unfortunately the majority of what we did.
But this was part of the job and what paid my salary. Besides, it was most likely another false alarm. We’d had a couple over the last few weeks. I didn’t know who was on the boat, since there had been no time for a proper briefing. But it didn’t make a difference. The people that hired us all looked the same to me.
Devon walked past me, making the signal to move out. “Let’s go, Falcon Team.”
Less than two years ago, I graduated with honors, signed up for my master’s degree in physics, and was getting ready to go on a trip of a lifetime. Now I checked that I’d strapped my knives on properly and my gun was in a waterproof pouch.
There were five of us, and before each jump, we did one last check of one another’s parachute. Nobody wanted to plunge into the water at 150 mph. I slapped Carter on the back and turned so he could check my pack. I trusted my teammates implicitly. It was the only way we’d all survive.
Carter grinned, rubbing his hands in excitement. I’d never seen him be anything but cheerful and ready to charge in and do his job. He seemed to have no fear. Instead, he was excited about the prospect of plunging into icy water and then climbing aboard a yacht where we didn’t know what we’d find.
He stepped up to the open cargo door, then looked back at me with a salute and jumped.
I was the last to go, everyone besides the pilot already having left. With one last glance at the now-empty cargo hold, I jumped. I had to pull my parachute immediately, the jump not high enough for even the slightest delay.
I plunged into the icy waves, immediately unclipping my gear. After clearing the parachute, I swam toward the lights of the yacht. As soon as we’d stepped foot out of the plane, it was complete radio silence.
I knew my team would make their way to the light as instructed. I’d catch up with them once there. We all had different directives on where to enter the boat and what to disable first.
Our goal was to take the yacht back and then get the clients safely to the closest harbor, which in this case was Genoa. We already had a plane waiting there, ready to take them to the States. No matter how much we suspected this was another hysterical client who thought their butler was out to get them, we’d take all necessary precautions.
My muscles burned by the time I made it to the side of the yacht. The rough conditions slowed me down, the gear strapped to my body heavy.
My job was to secure the hostages. According to our intel, there were three staff and the two owners on board.
Only an hour had passed since they’d sent the distress call. If we hadn’t already been doing a job in The Haag, we wouldn’t have been close enough to respond so fast.
Usually, high-profile clients always had one of our men with them, but they’d opted to go by themselves this time. We’d tried talking them out of it, but in the end, clients made the final decisions over their security, no matter how much we advised against something.
Bet they won’t ever do that again.
Water splashed against the side of the boat, masking any sound I made pulling myself out. I’d lost at rock, paper, scissors and had to go over the side, solely relying on the suction caps I’d attached to the hull to pull myself up.
Once I was in, I’d be right next to the living area, where we’d detected the most heat signatures and someone would likely hold the hostages.
I made it up the side using only my arms, unable to find purchase for my feet.
Since becoming part of Locked Security, I’d taken any job I could. Being busy meant there was no time to think. My head wasn’t a good place to be these days, and burying myself in work was much easier than dealing with my demons.
I chanced a peek over the side and didn’t see anyone. Sloppy work, not covering all sides of the yacht, but careless bad guys made my job much easier.
Rolling over the side, I came to a stop in a crouch, getting my gun out of its protective pouch. Checking the magazine, I advanced on silent feet, my destination the door a few feet in front of me.
Voices drifted out through the windows. Someone was yelling, and then a loud slap sounded, followed by a whimper.
I lifted my head, peering inside. A guy who must have been one of the kidnappers stood over a kneeling figure, lifting his hand before bringing it down hard.
The person tumbled to the side, only to be righted again by another guy standing off to the side. My blood heated, and my hand tightened on the gun.
“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer,” the guy doing all the slapping yelled, his words easier to make out now.
