Night with a Seal (Hot SEALs #1) (13 page)

Jon nodded. Zane was right. They all knew how these things went. They’d just experienced it in Ethiopia. The only difference was that there everyone was waiting around staring at a jet instead of a bank.

Dammit, how long before they could get off this damn transport? Jon glanced at the front and then back to his guys. “If we can find out something to convince headquarters that this guy has terrorist affiliations, we might be able to get in there. Otherwise . . .”

“We’ll be sitting on the sidelines as spectators right along with everyone else.” Grant finished Jon’s sentence.

“Chris and Rick are there doing what they can until we check in at base and can get over there.”

Brody was right. First things first, but Chris and Rick weren’t an advance team. They were civilians. And Jon’s unit had no jurisdiction. Even if they could wrangle proving that they should, they’d still have wait for orders to come down from command.

Until then, Jon was next to powerless to help and it was frustrating as hell. All of his training was for shit if he wasn’t allowed to use it when he needed to.

With the image of Ali’s face in mind, Jon imagined how frightened she must be. The thought nearly immobilized him.

Just make it off the aircraft and check in.
He’d move on to the next milestone from there. One thing at a time.
 

He reached for his backpack as the exit finally opened.

~ * ~

“What language is that?” Ali hissed the question as softly as she could and still have Darci hear her.

They sat on the floor of the bank’s vault, along with the loan manager and the customer who’d been unlucky enough to decide to do his banking today.

Eyes on the gunman, Darci answered, “Some sort of Arabic, I think.”

They all watched as he paced and spoke rapidly into the biggest cell phone Ali had ever seen.

“Do you think he can’t speak English? That’s why he’s not answering the phone or making demands?”

Darci shrugged. “Maybe.”

The customer, a burly man who was dressed like some sort of construction worker, glanced at Ali. “Sounds like Pashto.”

Ali’s gaze shot to the man. “How do you know?”

“Served two tours in Afghanistan before I got out.”

“Can you speak it?”

“A few words, but I heard it spoken enough to recognize it.”

Ali’s mind spun with what to do with this information. Keeping her eyes on their captor, Ali asked Darci, “Do you think Rick can speak it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. A little.” Darci’s eyes widened. “Why? You’re not planning on trying to talk to this crazy guy, are you?”

“If we could communicate enough to convince him to let us call your brother, he could tell Rick what he wants . . . We have to open communications.” Ali watched the gunman looking more and more agitated as the moments went on.

So far his obsession with making phone calls to whoever was probably pulling the strings of this operation had worked in their favor. They were basically left to themselves in the vault. But for how long?

Milton Hamilton, the bank’s loan officer and probably twenty years Ali’s senior, shook his head. “I think we need to lay low. It seems like he’s pretty much forgotten about us.”

“For now. That might not be the case for long. Besides, I don’t wanna be here when he gets the order from above to detonate that vest he’s wearing. They could be waiting to do it live on the evening news for all we know.”

Ali glanced at the thickness of the open vault door before directing her attention to Milt and the customer. “Will this door, this whole vault, withstand the blast of that thing he’s wearing?”

“Probably. If we could get it closed in time,” Milt answered. The door swung out rather than in, making it all the more difficult for them to reach it and close it.

“That’ll only work if he’s not in here with us when he blows it,” the customer’s added observation deflated Ali’s plan further.

The gunman turned to glare at them, putting a halt to the hushed conversation for a few minutes until he started pacing again while yelling into his cell.

The office phone rang on Milt’s desk right outside the vault, as it had on and off for Ali wasn’t sure how many hours. That, in combination with the noise of the buzzing, ringing and singing pile of cell phones the gunman had collected from them and tossed on the desk before shoving them into the vault, was enough to drive anyone crazy—a realization that particularly disturbed Ali given the suicide vest strapped onto their captor.

She shook her head, searching for something to do rather than what they had been doing, which was nothing. “I still think if the police spoke to him in his own language it would help.”

Darci cocked a brow. “But there’s no way to get that news to them, now is there?”

“I have a cell phone.”

Ali pivoted toward the customer. “What?”

“I only gave up the cell my boss gives me to use for work. I still have my personal one.”

Her eyes widened. “What should we do? Call 9-1-1?”

Milt shook his head, while staring at the gunman. “We can’t call. He’ll hear.”

“We can text. Darci, text Rick. He’ll know what to do.” Ali turned to the man who might possibly be their savior. “What’s your name?”

“Tim.”

“Tim, can you send a text without him seeing?”

“Yeah, I think so. Signal in here’s crap though.” Tim glanced down at the phone. “I’m getting one—now two bars.”

“Try. A text might get out even if the signal’s not strong.” Pieces of Ali’s plan began to come together. “Make sure it’s on silent.”

“Already is. So who do I text?” Tim raised a brow and glanced at Darci.

She whispered Rick’s cell number as Tim entered it, shielding the cell on the floor from view with his body.

“What are you going to say?” Milt asked.

“He’ll need to know where we’re located in case they come in shooting. And say what kind of firepower he’s got.” Being the sister of a SEAL for all those years had apparently rubbed off on Darci. She supplied information that Ali wouldn’t have thought of herself. At least not in her current state.
 

“All right. One gunman. Speaking Pashto on satellite phone,” Tim whispered as he typed the text into the cell.

“That’s good.” Darci nodded. “It will tell them he’s got a boss or partner somewhere off site.”

Probably Al Qaeda. Ali kept that cheery thought to herself while Tim continued typing as he whispered, “Suicide vest, one automatic weapon. Four hostages in vault.”

“Good. Sign it
Darci
, spelled with an ‘i’ so he knows it’s us,” Ali added.

“Yeah,” Darci agreed. “He won’t recognize your number.”

“Okay. Sent.” Tim blew out a breath and slipped the phone into one of the pockets in the leg of his cargo pants.

Ali mirrored Tim’s exhale and glanced again at the man, looking more upset as the moments passed.

Milton too glanced at the gunman who was the center of everyone’s attention. “Let’s hope it helps.”

There wasn’t much left to do but hope and pray. With everything in her Ali did both, asking whatever power might be listening to make sure that Rick was out there reading that text right now. If Jon and his SEAL buddies could be there too, that would be even better.

CHAPTER 13

“I don’t like being helpless.” Jaw set, his eyes never leaving the building where his sister was hostage, Rick’s nostrils flared as he drew in a breath.

“I know the feeling.” Jon had been experiencing it far too much lately. All of his training and experience didn’t mean shit if he wasn’t allowed to use it.

Between the government trying to make it look to the world as if everyone in Afghanistan would play nicely together if the military just asked politely enough, and this situation where he and his team of the most highly trained operatives in the United States Navy were being kept behind a police blockade, Jon was ready to blow.

“It’ll be okay, man.” Zane eyed the building as well, his gaze moving to the snipers on the roof.

Rick shook his head. “I’m not so sure.”

“Sure, it will. Y’all will see. Before you know it we’ll be back at your place sipping on scotch to celebrate.” Chris shot Jon a look that showed his concern even as he reached out and squeezed the back of Rick’s neck.

“Who the hell is texting me now?” Frowning, Rick reached into his pocket.

“Your parents?” Chris suggested. “This shit is probably all over the news.”

“No. Mom and Dad are on a cruise. I couldn’t call them even if I wanted to—which I don’t. Not until I have something concrete to report.”

Jon hoped the definitive news Rick was waiting to report would be the safe rescue of all the hostages, Darci and Ali included.

Rick glanced down at his cell and his eyes opened wide. “Holy shit. It’s not her number, but it’s from Darci. Listen to this.
One gunman. Speaking Pashto on satellite phone.
Suicide vest, one automatic weapon
.
Four hostages in vault.
”

Jon moved closer to listen as Rick read the contents of the text aloud.

Suicide vest
.
Pashto
.
Satellite phone
. This was no ordinary bank robbery. Men interested in getting away with bags of cash didn’t strap bombs to themselves.

Jon let out a long low whistle. “Judging by that evidence it sounds like a possible terrorist to me.”

A smile spread across Chris’s face. “I reckon it does, boys.”

Zane grinned. “Seems to me that would put this situation right smack in our jurisdiction, no?”

“I do believe it might.” Jon already had his phone out as he glanced at Chris. “I’m calling your brother on base.”

Chris let out a short laugh. “If anyone can convince the command to do what we want them to, it’ll be him.”

Brody, Tom and Grant had stayed at the base to take care of all the work that needed doing upon the return from the Ethiopia mission. The shit that the rest of the team had bailed on to go be with Rick. Brody could try and rally support from command.

“SITREP?” Brody answered the phone on the first ring, not bothering with hello.

“Oh, I got one hell of a situation report for ya.” Jon relayed what they’d learned. He had to pull the phone away from his head as Brody whooped in his ear, before he disconnected to go talk to command.

Yeah, they were celebrating because this new information meant they might be able to do something about the situation, but it wasn’t exactly good news.

What they had was a possible radical Muslim extremist armed and wearing a suicide vest, taking orders from God only knew who by phone while locked inside a building with four innocents. They had to move fast before whoever was on the other end of that phone pushed the detonator on this jihad.

This revelation changed the situation drastically. The police hostage negotiator wasn’t working with some disgruntled customer pissed about mortgage rates or a foreclosure. There was no hope of talking this guy into giving himself up. He was prepared to die for whatever his cause was.

He hadn’t responded to them yelling at him for hours. There was no hope of negotiations. If the terrorists had wanted to make demands, they would have done so already, and they would have sent an English-speaking hostage-taker.

Nope. This situation called for quick, precise action. Exactly what Jon’s crew trained for.

Now, all they needed to do was convince someone with some authority of that.

“Do I tell the commander on the scene about this or wait for word? You’re active duty. This is your call.” Rick glanced from Jon to Zane.

Jon answered first. “I say we wait for Brody to call back.”

“Agreed. We keep this info under our hats until command gets back to us.” Zane let out a snort. “Let’s hope some
hero
doesn’t take a shot and blow the vest in the meantime.”

“All right, so we wait for word to come down. If it’s a negative, then we’ll move on to other options.” What other options that might be, Jon had no clue. He eyed Rick. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah.” Rick drew in a deep breath. “I hope for once command decides things sooner rather than later.”