Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4) (6 page)

When they maneuvered around a curve in the valley’s topography, the church came into sight. Located at least half a klick from the village, the structure appeared to be the only two-story building in the area and looked in worse condition than aerial surveillance photos had led them to expect. The roof had collapsed into the second floor, and only part of a small bell tower remained intact. No way could the sentries use the roof or upper floor as a lookout. Even as the thought came to him, movement caught Brett’s eye. He signaled for the men to take cover.

A sentry appeared, rifle slung across his chest, walking the perimeter. Brett eased into the tall grass to hide until the tango passed. As soon as the man moved out of sight, Brett fell back to join the squad.

“After the women bring the food, Cutter, you take out the guards on duty, then we’ll breach the building,” came Lieutenant Harding’s low-voiced command.

“Roger that, sir. Let’s hope they stay out here instead of joining the rest for breakfast.” If their intel was right, with four targets down after Brett completed his assignment, they’d have six tangos between them and the hostages.

Moving slowly, and aware of every sound, Brett attached the silencer to his M 91A2 and opened the bipod. While they waited for the women to show up with the food, he studied the slow rounds the four men made along the perimeter. He signaled to Arrow and they moved west into heavy brush to set up.

As daylight crept over the ridge, Brett got a good look at the building from his position diagonal to the church corner. Nestled back against the hillside, the structure, with its faded beauty, exuded a poignant sadness. The façade’s curved lines and shape reminded him of the Baroque structures he’d seen in Europe, its patterned brickwork lending a rolling movement to the roofline. A broken, dry fountain stood in the courtyard.

It was a shame the church had been taken over by drug runners and thugs. Perhaps once they took out this nest of assholes, the villagers could reclaim the structure and restore it to its original purpose.

At zero-four-fifty two women from the village walked up the path, both carrying heavy baskets on their backs. They knocked on the door and an armed man came to the entrance. They exchanged baskets, leaving the ones they carried and taking the others away.

For seven long minutes the women traveled back down the valley toward the village until they were finally out of sight. “You’re good to go, Cutter,” Lieutenant Harding muttered over the COM.

Brett’s heart raced. He took several deep breaths to calm himself while he waited for the first sentry to make his pass. He needed to space the targets so when he took the first one out the next would not stumble upon his fallen comrade and raise the alarm.

The first target wandered right into Brett’s scope. The man cradled his M-5 machine gun against his side at the ready. Brett waited for the tango to pass around the shadowed side of the church, breathed in, then out, and pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through the suppressor, making a distinctive pffft sound, and struck the man in the side of the head. The target sprawled facedown in the tall grass, quietly disappearing from sight.

“Target one down.” One minute later, Arrow murmured, “Next target approaching northwest corner.”

Brett swung the rifle in that direction and sighted the tango. The man spotted the first one lying in the grass. His head whipped around and his rifle came up as he looked for a threat. He zigzagged toward his downed comrade. Brett pulled the trigger and the target fell nearly on top the first tango.

“Target two down,” Arrow said, his tone dispassionate, professional. Nearly two minutes passed before he murmured. “Target three approaching.”

The next man had barely cleared the northwest corner of the church when Brett took him out.

“Target three down. Target four approaching north side.”

Brett swung the rifle toward the front of the church, waiting for the next man to walk around the façade. The tango strode across the uneven pavers at the entrance of the church. Armed with a machine gun, more observant, more wary than the other three, he scanned the surrounding area. He looked directly toward their position.

Brett froze.

He waited for the man’s attention to shift away. He shut down any personal reaction as he looked into the target’s face through the scope. The tango was three quarters of the way across the front yard when he spotted the third sentry’s body. He turned to run and Brett fired. The man’s skull shattered a millisecond before he toppled sideways.

Arrow laid his hand on Brett’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a signal for good job. “Target four down,” he reported to the waiting team.

Lieutenant Harding’s voice came over the COM, “Breach is a go-go-go-go.”

The squad charged from the cover of the tree line and up a slight incline to the front door. They paused for half a second, then rushed the entrance.

Brett turned his attention to the inbound helicopters, ETA ten minutes. Ten minutes could be a lifetime if the extraction went hot.

“We’re taking up a defensive position to the north,” Brett reported into his COM. He and Arrow hoofed it to the other side of the church. If the enemy staged a charge up the valley, the two of them would hold the line until the extract team arrived to pick them up. From there they could also take out any squirters who escaped the building. They had reached the fountain when gunfire erupted inside the church. The desire to run toward the action was nearly overwhelming, but Brett fed info to the pilots headed their way and held his position.

Four men appeared at the narrow bottleneck of the path, all unarmed. Brett fired at the ground in front of them, kicking up dust. The men sprinted back the direction from which they’d come.

Two minutes later a dilapidated truck rounded the bend. Twelve or fourteen armed men bailed out and took cover in the brush and behind the vehicle.

Bullets kicked up dirt and pinged off the crumbled concrete where he and Arrow had taken cover. Another adrenaline rush hit Brett’s system. He rolled to the edge of the fountain, looked through the scope, and took aim while Arrow laid down suppressing fire.

Minutes stretched like hours as they hunkered down behind the fountain. Arrow picked off three tangos with his M-5 while Brett took out another four.

Five minutes later an Apache helicopter flew down the valley, spotted the truck, and blew the vehicle off the weed-strewn path. The shooting stopped. The few remaining tangos bugged out toward the village.

With the area now covered by the Nicaraguan troops inside the Chinook helicopter, Brett fell in with the rest of his squad and searched the church. Finding nothing there other than a few cell phones to analyze for intel, they loaded the six hostages, all men, aboard the Chinook. The SEALs piled in with them and settled beside the Nicaraguan soldiers. The Apache flew a parallel position, covering the transport helicopter.

None of Brett’s team were hurt, so Denotti, with Ashe assisting him, went to work on the hostage’s worst injuries. One rescue went in and out of consciousness. The smell of his septic wound circulated through the fuselage.

Brett fought against a quick wave of nausea and focused on passing out water bottles. The other injured man, too weak to talk, clung to Lieutenant Harding’s hand and wept. The rest of the grimy hostages remained silent, the ordeal they’d endured written on their faces and bony limbs.

Three hours later, after the hostages had been loaded on a large truck to be taken to a hospital in Chinandega, the team settled into a patch of shade outside a small tin building while they waited for transport back to their hangar.

The adrenaline high from the action had long passed and now exhaustion set in. Brett’s limbs felt heavy as he stretched and tilted his head back against the metal building. He closed his eyes. He could use a nap.

One more mission down without an injury. Every op they completed without losing a man or having one hurt was a victory. He was one more mission closer to being with Tess. Marrying, Tess.

“Why don’t we ever get to follow through and deliver the people we rescue to the hospital?” Ashe asked. He took a long slug from a water bottle.

“Have you smelled yourself lately, Ashe?” Swan asked.

“That was kind of my point. I could use a shower and there are always showers at a hospital,” Ashe said.

“Can’t argue with that, Swan.” Brett chuckled and forced his eyelids open. “A warm shower sounds pretty good to me, too.”

He fell silent as he noticed Lieutenant Harding speaking into a SAT phone. his expression grave. When Harding looked in his direction, Brett’s shoulders tightened.

“Cutter,” Harding motioned to him.

Brett rose and strode toward him. Harding nodded as he continued to speak into the phone.

He hung up and focused on Brett. “As soon as we return to the hangar, you’re to stow your gear, and get your passport and other shit together. Transport will be sent to take you to the airport in Chinandega. From there you’ll be flown into San Diego.”

He was going home! For a moment joy rushed through him, but Lieutenant Harding’s expression tamped his elation as quickly as it hit. His heart drummed in his throat. Something was wrong. “Has something happened to my family?”

Harding and Engle exchanged a look. “There’s been an incident involving your fianceé. Command wants you in San Diego stat.”

Brett had depended on his training to keep him grounded and in control, but nothing prepared him for those words. The blood drained from his head, his ears filled with static, as if he was under water. His breathing became labored. This couldn’t be right. If something was going to happen to anyone it was supposed to be him. “Is she—?”

Engle grabbed his arm. “She’s okay. A bit banged up. But she’ll be fine.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Tess was hurt. “How bad is it? What’s happened?”

Harding’s tone was almost harsh. “They think it might be another attack directed at you. Her car was blown up.”

‡

T
ime crept by
with the speed and determination of a blind sloth. Tess paced around her small apartment. From living room, to kitchen to bedroom, then back again required little time or thought. Every muscle protested, but she continued her restless rounds.

Where was Brett? He’d called her the day before and promised to be home by early afternoon. It was creeping toward evening and still no word. She needed to know if he was okay. Where he was. When he would be here.

They’d been apart ten long, lonely months and—her eyes glazed with tears—she needed to feel his arms around her. Hear his voice. Smell his sexy scent. She stomped to the apartment door and jerked it open.

The young policeman sitting in a chair outside the door stood quickly. He was thin, tall, and looked about fifteen. “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Her head throbbed dully. The doctor said she had a concussion. At the time she hadn’t thought so, but ever since she’d woke up a low grade headache beat relentlessly at the base of her skull. Her shoulder blades and her back were a mass of bruises and scrapes. Every move hurt. “I was just checking. You know what my fiancé looks like?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Officer Stanifer. I’ve been briefed by the officer who just left.”

“Thanks for being here. I just—I’m just anxious to—”

“I understand, ma’am.”

She nodded and closed the door. She leaned her forehead against it and closed her eyes.

She needed to either go back to bed or work. Either one would help pass the time until Brett arrived.

Since she’d missed her interviews the day before, she decided to deal with them, and sat down at her desk and picked up the phone. Ten minutes later she’d rescheduled her meetings for the next day. Life had to go on. She wouldn’t hide inside her apartment indefinitely. She had a wedding coming up and last-minute arrangements to take care of. And she had a job to do.

The police and the FBI were so focused on her position as a newspaper reporter, they’d forgotten she was like any other woman. They’d also shrugged aside her suspicions, ignored the information she’d gathered, and instead fixated on her car going up like a failed moon launch. They had decided the incident was a terrorist attack. All because of the actions taken against Brett and Captain Jackson over a year ago.

She’d bet her next paychecks terrorists didn’t have a damn thing to do with her car blowing up. This attack hadn’t been directed at Brett, but at her.

Mary Stubben had been killed and someone believed the secretary had passed on important information to Tess. She was convinced of it. Things aligned too precisely for it to be anything else.

But if Mary had gathered more evidence against her boss, where was it?

Tess pushed away from her desk and wandered toward the window, then stopped. She’d been told to stay away from the windows. “Damn!” This was driving her crazy.

A tap interrupted the thought, and she caught her breath. Her heart raced.
Brett.
She rushed to open the door. The same young police officer stood outside. “You’re fiancé is on his way up,” he said with a grin. “Thought I’d give you a heads up.”