Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Days to prep.
Run drills.
Discuss obstacles.
But we don’t have a good plan.
We simply have a fucking plan, which is just something we have to make work.
It’s been a long minute since I had to drop behind enemy lines with not much more than my instinct and a basic goal, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.
And for Angel Cake?
I most certainly fucking will.
“Fuck, that waters gonna be cold,” Blu whines, looking out the side window upon our arrival above the dark blue terrain. “Why don’t we ever get to jump out in the shit when it’s warm?”
“Cabo,” I casually remind without looking up from the beeping dot on my device.
“Should we count Cabo?” He lightheartedly argues doing what he believes is best, attempting to distract me from the irrefutable fear I haven’t felt since I was a child.
I know I need to be focused on bringing her home.
Not what happens if I don’t.
Not what happens if we’re too late.
Not what happens if he suspects I’m following a different plan.
I need to concentrate on the mission objective of infiltrate, search, and seize.
I can’t picture her lying on the deck with a bullet through her brain.
Footsteps in blood from whoever fled.
I can’t believe that’s even possible because the second I do I know that’s what I’ll see.
Rubbing the tightening spot in my chest captures my second’s attention. “We got this, Wahl.”
I apply a little more pressure in hopes of alleviating the discomfort.
“Clear eyes. Clear heads. Clear hearts. Can’t lose.” The corner of his mouth lifts towards the darkening sky. “That’s what you said to me before we went in on our first mission together.”
He was nervous.
I needed him not to be.
“So, that’s what I’m saying to you on what I now know is our last mission together.” He holds my stare hostage and extends an open palm in my direction. “Clear eyes. Clear heads. Clear hearts. Can’t lose.”
“Won’t lose.” I firmly assert at the same time we clasp grips.
“We are approaching the drop point,” announces our pilot prompting the two of us to remove our headsets and turn on our waterproof coms.
Side by side we pull on our masks and shove in our mouthpieces.
Blu opens the door and waits for our pilot to lift his hand into the air and wave three times to wordlessly declare “go go go”.
There’s no hesitation for me to step off, body immediately morphing into the ideal plummet position.
Fuck needing style today.
The only thing I need is speed.
Once we’ve both breeched the surface, we exchange nods of confirmation and dip back down.
For the first time in over a decade, I glide through the water, determined to break my record.
Devoted to shaving off any fraction of a second that can put me closer to rescuing Arley sooner versus later.
Our swift arrival near the side of the rocking ship allows us to briefly scan the situation we were only partially prepared for. Distant satellite thermal scanning gave us a read of ten heat signatures on board, which includes Arley, Rosenkrantz, and the vessel’s captain. Who was where and their possible patrol routes were all things there wasn’t time to study or deduce.
All we were given were the bare minimums.
Making it work is all on us.
The first guard on the main deck rounds the corner diligently scouring the ship itself, ignoring the uneven waters that are helping conceal our location. I instruct Blu with a hand motion to follow me and sink beneath the water a second time for us to swim slightly closer to the deck’s edge.
Releasing a rubber duck near the stairs we’re stealthily sandwiching works the same as it did before.
He grunts in confusion.
Crosses over to inspect it.
Bends down to retrieve the bright yellow object yet receives a knife straight through his neck slicing his trachea in one clean stab. Before his frame can crash into the water alerting the others to our arrival, Blu shifts himself in front of the individual and winds both arms around his torso to force him quietly into the dark depths. Between the injury and the struggle, it doesn’t take long for the male to drown or my partner to return.
Dividing and conquering to further subdue is the next strategic part of our modest plan.
I head right while he paddles left, both removing a small canister of knock out gas to toss on board for assistance.
The large build, dark-skinned opposition coming into view has me quickly pulling the plug; however, the pale ivory enemy who also happens to be cradling a tech nine like his counter preparing to pass him becomes the perfect storm for an attack. Rolling the canister through the gap of the deck and railing guard precedes me disappearing into the watery shadows to wait for their inevitable thuds.
When I’m certain it’s clear, I swim back up.
Survey the scene.