Hidden Currents

  "Razor wire," Matt reported. "Stay quiet, we've got bogies ahead. Get your ass in gear. We're running out of time."

  Matt and Kent hunkered down to wait for Luke, Tom and James to catch up with them. As the three men emerged from the shadows, Matt signaled for a quick consultation.

  "Kent, we're going to take the left side and make our way up to the nest." He pinned the other man with a hard gaze. "Stealth, my son. Pure stealth. No one gets shot here. Tom, you, Luke and James slide up along the right side and pound them with suppressive fire. Throw everything you've got at them. I don't want them looking our way or suspecting we're anywhere in the same vicinity. Pound the hell out of them. And if you bag a couple of them, all to the good. I'll owe you a beer."

  Tom nodded his understanding. He was a man of few words, but long on action. He signaled to the other two men and they slid into the shadows and moved back to cross to the right side, using boulders and shrubbery for cover.

  "In position," Tom reported.

  "We're moving. Lay it down," Matt said.

  The sound of the M-4s was unmistakable as the three men began to fire, a monumental distraction, drawing the attention of the men hiding in the nest. The volley lasted minutes, bullets streaking across the field to slam into trees and ricochet off the rocks, adding to the chaos.

  Matt and Kent crouched low and took off running through the brush. Matt, taking the lead, swerved around trees until there was no cover left. He dropped down and signaled Kent to follow.

  "Going to ground," he reported to Tom. "Forty meters out."

  The sound of the battle never stopped. The M-4s continued and now the nest was answering. The RPKs, Soviet-made machine guns, roared back. The smaller, newer bullets were specifically designed to tumble end over end in the flesh, causing maximum damage to the human body. The sound of the guns reverberated through the night.

  Matt and Kent began to crawl forward. With bullets flying overhead and a nest of enemies within plain sight, a fifteen-second crawl was a lifetime. Heart drumming in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears, Matt pushed with his toes and knees and pulled forward with his elbows all the while keeping his weapon clear.

  At twenty-two meters out he held out his hand to stop Kent. Both men eased their weapons behind them onto their backs and drew the grenades from their vests.

  "Shift fire. Throwing grenade," Matt said.

  The M-4s continued firing but their aim had moved away from the nest, bullets hitting rocks just on the other side of it. Matt and Kent simultaneously exploded off the ground, pulling the pins and lobbing the grenades, dropping back down almost all in one motion. The blast was deafening. Rock, bodies, weapons and debris rained down. Both men rose, weapons ready, but the nest was silent.

  "Clear," Matt reported.

  Matt and Kent scanned the area carefully with their weapons while the other team raced to join them. The three moved ahead and covered, and they continued forward, first one team and then the second until they gained the southern dock.

  Tom and James recovered the scuba gear left behind, stowing it quickly in the boat. Both men pushed away from the dock out toward the sea before climbing inside.

  "Do your thing, Hannah," Matt said into the radio.

  The wind shifted, slammed against the boat, shoving it out into deeper water. The waves rose and took it out around the bend. In the distance, the engine started up, but the sound was muffled by the wind and waves.

  "Move it, we have to hump it to the small dock," Matt reminded Kent. "And we've got a lot of shit to blow to hell first."

  "We've got three pillars on each side," Kent said, looking over the dock. He was their bomb expert and took a great deal of pleasure in blowing pretty much anything up. "So six pillars and three boats. Man! Look at that yacht. That little baby is going to get some real special attention. I'm getting a hard-on just looking at her."

  "What do you want us to do?" Matt asked.

  "We're going to use a satchel charge on all the boats. The little boats won't take much. Luke, put a three-pound satchel charge on each of the small boats. Position the charge right on the engine. There won't be anything left."

  "Will do," Luke said and lifted a bag to go to work.

  "It'll take you about three minutes or less to set the charges for the boat and you'll need to get back here fast and help Matt," Kent said. "Matt, set three pounds cutting charge per pillar."

  Matt rolled his eyes. "That's not a little overkill?"

  "Remember the golden rule, P is for plenty." Kent grinned at him. "With Luke helping, you should be set in five minutes."

  Matt sighed and started toward the dock. He glanced back over his shoulder. "What are you using on the lady there?"

  "I was thinking five five-pound charges. One on the engine, one on the gas tank, one on the front, one on the center and a really nice little charge for the bastard's bedroom." He looked especially gleeful. "This is going to be a real nice party."

  Matt shook his head. He'd known Kent a long time. When the man set a charge, things went to hell fast. He glanced at his watch. "How long for you?"

  "Give me seven or eight minutes. I'll get back, check the other charges and we'll blow shit to kingdom come."

  Matt couldn't help but laugh. He watched Kent run toward the yacht and he turned his attention to the dock.

  JACKSON burst into the villa, his gun spitting as he shot the guard standing near the door nearly point-blank. Elle. Damn it, answer me. His heart was pumping too fast, adrenaline riding him hard. The longer she stayed silent, the more afraid he was for her. Would Stavros kill her to keep her from being rescued? The son of a bitch might just be that spiteful. Elle. Come on, baby, where the hell are you?

  The room was enormous, nearly all glass. Chairs were plush, the fireplace exotic, with a cherrywood bar to one side. Behind the bar was the only place anyone could realistically hide in the room. Jackson kept his M-4 aimed at the bar as he signaled to Jonas to move in and clear the room. Jonas pushed up against the wall and slid along it, staying tight, eyes on the bar as well. Aleksandr entered behind him and turned to face the one open entryway, the sweeping polished marble staircase that rose majestically in a semicircle. Beneath the stairs was an archway leading to more rooms.

  Jonas stepped around to look over the bar. "Clear."

  Jackson immediately switched attention, moving close to Aleksandr, Jonas falling back so that he was touching Aleksandr along his leg, back to him, moving with him as one unit. They could feel each other giving silent signals. Jackson had the fastest reaction times, was the best shooter and he was out front. Jonas guarded their backs. Moving together, they cleared room after room. It was slow going and with each succeeding empty room, Jackson's heart dropped more. Dread filled him and he tried to push away the thought that they might be too late.

  Elle. Answer me. She had to be alive. He would know if she was dead, but even as he assured himself, dread spread through his body and a part of him felt panic. He shoved open a door, crouched low and swept the room, finding it clear. Where are you, baby?

  She had to be there. If they'd already moved her, or Gratsos had taken her from the house when the generator had gone down, then she might already be gone. Matt hadn't reported a boat leaving the docks, but Gratsos and his bodyguard hadn't been spotted as of yet either.

  Going up the stairs was tricky at best. They "stacked," bodies touching, Jackson leading, Jonas bringing up the rear. Jackson's site was straight up the stairs. Aleksandr faced sideways, aimed upward toward the balcony, continually sweeping right and left while Jonas backed up, leaning into Aleksandr so he could feel where they were going while he swept the areas below them.

  They moved in unison, one stair at a time, visually checking each corner, every section over and over as they gained the second-story landing. Jackson faced the long hall. There were more rooms, more doors, more danger. And silence. Always complete silence. If she was there, wouldn't she be screaming?

  The nearest room had the
door slightly ajar. Jackson had a bad feeling about that and he brought his hand up in a slash across his throat, signaling danger to the others. He took a step toward the door, then a second one, Aleksandr matching his strides like they were dancing, Jonas right behind him, again facing the door opposite the one Jackson was stalking.

  Jackson stepped to the side of the door, slammed it open with his arm and dropped in. He fired twice as he went down, rolling and coming up on one knee, tracking the room. A body dropped with a soft thud on the thick carpet, blood slowing pooling around it.

  "Clear," Aleksandr said and Jonas kept his eyes on the door across the hall, gun steady.

  Before they took a step, they heard a roar like a distant freight train. Then the earth shivered. Around them the villa rocked, furniture shook, walls cracked and the pressure vibrated through them.

  "Dock's down," Matt reported in Jackson's ear.

  "Fuck Christmas in Greece, welcome the Fourth of July. I say liberate the bastard straight to hell," Kent added unnecessarily.

  "Crazy bomber," Matt muttered.

  Shaking their heads, the three started down the hallway, clearing each room as they went. As Jackson nudged open a door, a shadow loomed up in front of him in an open doorway, and he dropped and rolled, holding his fire until he was certain it wasn't Elle. A bullet spat, splintering the wall just above his shoulder, but he was already returning fire, his aim instinctive and he heard the body fall. He shot again, leaving nothing to chance.

  They had one room left. If Elle wasn't there, he was screwed. There was nowhere else for her to be. It meant they were too late and Gratsos had slipped past them, taking her with him and they'd have to start all over again. Heart tripping, Jackson approached the last room. It was built to take up one end of the entire floor, the wall facing the ocean glass.

  The door was slightly ajar as they approached and he heard movement inside. He froze, his hand cutting across his throat to signal the others. The door opened inward to the right, so they approached from the right side. Jackson waited, counting silently until they were all in position. Jonas kicked the door hard, slamming it open so that it crashed against the wall behind it and bounced.

  Jackson went in fast, crouching low, sweeping the room with his gun, left and then instantly back to center to cover the two men standing in the center of the room, hiding behind Elle's limp body.

  "Target," he spat out, his sites dead center between the eyes on the first guard--the one holding his gun to Elle's head.

  Aleksandr had come in a split second behind, moving to the right, his gun on the second guard trying to shield himself behind the woman and his partner. Jonas came in nearly at the same time, deliberately moving to his left with Aleksandr to try to keep attention away from Jackson, their best shot.

  "You take a step, she dies. Put your weapons down."

  "Put 'em down, put 'em down now!" the other guard yelled.

  "Stay cool," Jonas said. "No one has to die here. Just hand us the woman and walk away."

  "Drop your fucking weapons now," the first guard screamed, panic in his eyes.

  "Just shoot him," Aleksandr encouraged in a loud, obnoxious voice. "Take the shot. She's dead weight anyway. Do it now, take them out."

  The guard behind Elle swore loudly.

  "Take them out, take them out," Aleksandr insisted.

  "Everybody calm down," Jonas said.

  "Put your weapons down," the first guard said again, but now he was looking at Aleksandr, his eyes jittery.

  Jackson never spoke. Never moved. Elle just hung in the man's arms. When he touched her mind, she wasn't there. He tamped down panic and took a breath. Let it out. Never once did his gun move from his target. He let everything recede into the distance but his target. The chaos of the shouting, swearing guards, Aleksandr prodding them, Jonas calming them, all of it disappeared until he was in that tunnel he was so familiar with. Ice cold water running in his veins, fire in his gut, his heartbeat in his ears and death in his mind.

  He willed the bullet from his gun to the target, replayed it over and over in his head. All the while waiting. One moment. One split second. One mistake.

  "Take them out, damn it," Aleksandr continued screaming, switching back and forth from English to Russian.

  The guards yelled back, threatening, pulling Elle's limp body closer. "I'll kill her, I'll kill her, drop your weapons."

  "Kill the bastards," Aleksandr yelled at the top of his lungs, his Russian accent very much in evidence. "We don't give a fuck about the woman. Just kill them."

  The guard holding the gun to Elle's head swung the barrel toward Aleksandr and Jackson shot him between the eyes. Aleksandr squeezed the trigger and the second guard hit the floor almost simultaneously. Jonas leapt forward to Elle's side. Jackson was there before him, checking for a pulse, making certain she was breathing. For the first time, he let himself look at her, trusting Jonas and Aleksandr to keep their enemies off his back.

  She lay on the floor, broken, like a doll. Her red hair was a mass of tangles. Her face was white. Not pale, but white, and dark ugly bruises marred her soft skin, around her eyes and cheek and even her jaw. Her face was swollen and when he bent and whispered her name, the robe they'd wrapped her in gaped open. His breath caught in his throat. His heart stood still. Bile rose, churned in his belly and clogged his throat. Behind him, Jonas made a sound like a wounded animal.

  "My God, Jackson. Look what they did to her," Jonas's voice choked. There were tears in his eyes and he dropped down beside the woman he had always considered a baby sister.

  Her body was crisscrossed with bloody, raw whip lashes and dark bruising. For one moment Jackson opened the robe and followed the trail up and down her body. There was no place that hadn't been touched. Even lifting her was going to hurt.

  "We have to go," Aleksandr said. "Wrap her up, Jackson, let's haul ass. We're on tight numbers here. The women can't sustain that storm forever. Put it away," Aleksandr counseled, putting a hand on Jackson's shoulder.

  It took every ounce of self-control Jackson had not to knock that hand away from him. Instead, he wrapped Elle up, first in her robe and then the blanket they brought, dark like the night. He flinched picking her up, but at least she was unconscious, whatever they'd given her mercifully preventing her from feeling pain. He lifted her over his shoulder, letting her head fall down his back. He took his pistol in one hand and anchored her with the other.

  "Let's move out." He could barely choke out the words.

  They moved down the stairs, Aleksandr taking over lead position with Jackson in the middle and Jonas once more guarding their rear.

  "We've got the package and we're heading home," Jonas reported into his radio.

  "Head for the north dock. I'm on you," Ilya said as Abel brought the little helicopter around and back toward the villa. Ilya switched his thermal scope for night vision. Now it was crucial to identify his targets.

  "Coming out now," Jonas said.

  "You're clear," Ilya said as he squeezed off a shot and took out an enemy running toward the villa.

  He caught glimpses of Matt bringing his team around to the north, working their way through the trees on the cliff side, trying to get into a position to give Jackson, Aleksandr and Jonas cover as they fought their way to the north dock with Elle.

  Blast after blast came from the general direction of the helipad as the claymores went off. The helicopter rose in the air. Beneath it, the helipad went up in an orange-red fireball and rained down rubble.

  "We're away," Rick informed Ilya, "heading out to sea."

  "Six bogies at twelve o'clock." Ilya reported. He scanned the area and saw several enemies making their way up from the west side. "Four more coming from your seven o'clock."

  The wind was building again, a prelude for the energy Hannah would need when Rick ditched Gratsos's helicopter at sea. Abel fought with the small bird, trying to bring it around to put Ilya in a better position to give covering fire.

  Ilya p
ut his scope on one of the four coming up behind Jackson's rescue team. He took out the leader. As the man fell, he saw movement, rather felt movement almost directly below. Fitting the rifle tight against his shoulder to steady the shot, he swept the area fast, expecting a round coming at him. For one brief second he caught a glimpse of the man he was certain was Stavros Gratsos. The man wore a suit and his bodyguard shoved him out of the line of fire and swept his own rifle to his shoulder.

  Some unseen force kept him from pulling the trigger. He and the bodyguard stared at each other while time stood still. The features came into focus, sharp and defined. He was looking at the face of a younger version of the only relative he'd seen in a picture--his father. A chill went down his spine, his heart nearly stopped beating and then adrenaline pumped into his system. The bodyguard dropped the rifle to his side without taking a shot.

  A streak of orange-red lit up the night like a whip of lightning, coming from the ground toward the helicopter. Abel swore and the helicopter pitched away from the tracer round. Ilya fired off three rounds in rapid succession, taking out two of the three men.

  In the distance, coming from the north side, scattered gunfire erupted, letting Jackson know that Matt's team had engaged the enemy, trying to clear the way for them to make it to the boat unharmed. A volley of shots and automatic gunfire reverberated as the enemy used the standard "pray and spray" assault. Every now and then a gun answered, a single controlled shot as Matt or Kent or Luke found a target.

  Aleksandr went out of the house first, sweeping left to right, clearing the path to the first cover, a large fountain in the courtyard. Jackson came after him, pistol out as he carried Elle, with Jonas bringing up the rear. The sound of an angry bee zinged past Jackson's head and thunked into the fountain, burrowing a hole through the marble and spraying chunks out the other side.

  Jonas hissed a command and Aleksandr and Jackson hit the ground while Jonas swung around and returned fire on full auto, spraying the area behind him, uncertain where his target was. While Jonas laid down a rain of fire, Aleksandr and Jackson sprang up and ran for the cover of the grove of trees forty meters away. Jackson shifted Elle off his back to the ground and came up on his knees behind a small nest of boulders, bringing his rifle around.