Hunter’s Risk
A Hunter novel
Translated from the German
by Cindy Opitz
»An irresistible blend of love, passion and suspense!« – LoveLetter
»Michelle Raven perfectly combines action, suspense, descriptions of nature that will leave you breathless and a sensual and emotional love story.« – LoveLetter
»Romantic suspense at its best!« – Büchereule
»Another hit by Michelle Raven!« – Literaturschock
»Perfect for everyone who loves romantic suspense.« – Lilenyas Bücherblog
IN HER DARKEST MOMENT
Being pushed in front of an oncoming subway train is just one of many »accidents« to have happened to weapons expert Karen Lombard in the last few years. Alone and scared she turns to the one man she can trust – and who saved her life once before …
HE IS THE ONLY ONE SHE CAN TURN TO
Four years ago, Clint Hunter led the Special Forces unit that rescued Karen from her kidnapper’s clutches. Clint, however, lost one of his men during the mission. He left the Navy SEALs soon after and is now living a life of seclusion on his parents’ ranch in Montana, plagued by guilt and sorrow.
HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE HER
When Karen shows up at his doorstep and asks for help, Clint is forced to face the demons of his past once and for all. Even if it means risking everything …
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites and their content.
Washington, D.C.
Karen Lombard took a deep breath as the front door closed behind her husband. Like so many times before, the tension between them was practically palpable. And she wasn’t even sure what she’d done this time to make Paul so angry again. It had been months since she’d told him anything about her job as a weapons expert at the Pentagon, because she knew it just made him feel inferior, and his response was usually sarcastic anyway.
A wave of resentment welled up inside her. Was it her fault that he wasn’t happy with his job as an accountant? He’d chosen that profession himself, and she had never said a single word that implied she thought any less of him because of it. The only thing that bothered her was his constant dissatisfaction with his job and his envy of hers. She shook her head to clear her mind. Someday Paul would understand that they had a good life and would be proud of everything they had achieved.
A glance at the clock revealed that Karen would have to hurry. The conversation with Paul today had put her behind schedule, and though her colleagues wouldn’t say anything, Karen hated being late. In the bathroom, she quickly twisted her long, blond hair into a top knot, to keep it out of the way at work. She eyed herself critically in the mirror and shrugged. With her wide mouth and curvy figure, she would never be thin and beautiful, but as long as her brain still functioned, she didn’t need to be. She sighed and turned away from the mirror. It certainly wouldn’t hurt, though.
Karen nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a loud clattering sound coming from the ground floor. She rushed into the hallway and leaned over the banister to look downstairs.
»Paul? Did you forget something?«
No answer. Karen listened intently, but she didn’t hear any footsteps, or anything else for that matter. Apparently Paul had not come back. Yet she had the distinct feeling that she was no longer alone in the house. Goose bumps spread over her arms, and a shiver ran down her spine. As quietly as she could, she descended the stairs to a point where she could see into the living room. Everything looked normal, and she was starting to feel silly for tiptoeing around in her own house. They had a good security system, after all, which they always set, even when only one of them left the house. She could tell by the red indicator that Paul had set the alarm when he left this morning. She breathed a sigh of relief.
They really didn’t own anything worth stealing, but the Department of Defense had insisted on the security system because she, they emphasized repeatedly, was the leader of a classified weapons project and therefore a potential target for abduction. Karen had taken the warning seriously, but she refused to live her life governed by fear. She crept silently along the plush rug on the wooden floor, toward the living room. A shiver of uneasiness ran down her spine.
Karen shook her head. It was definitely time to get her purse and leave the house. On her way to the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room, she discovered a broken flower pot on the floor. The impact had scattered dirt and shards all over, even under the coffee table. The sight of the ruined pot made her sad; she had just bought it a few weeks ago. Damn it!
At least now she knew the source of the noise she’d heard. But how had it happened? Maybe Paul had knocked it over in his rush to get out of the house. Though she had distinctly heard the door slam shut before the crash. Hadn’t she?
Her apprehension was mounting. She could not shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone in the house. Karen took a deep breath. She would grab her purse and cell phone and just get out of there. Once outside, she could notify the police and have the house searched.
She quietly crept into the kitchen as quietly and felt a sense of of relief when she found no one lurking there. Clearly her imagination was just playing tricks on her.
Karen took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and was just about to put it in her bag when she heard a soft creaking noise. She froze in her tracks and held her breath, her eyes frantically searching. She knew exactly which board in the corridor creaked whenever anyone stepped on it. Which meant there really was an intruder in the house.
Karen set the water bottle down and dug around in her purse for her cell phone, backing away from the door. There was only one way out of the kitchen: through the living room, which was precisely where the intruder would be heading if he’d heard her. Where was that damned phone? Her purse was filled to the brim with all kinds of unimportant things, but her cell phone was nowhere to be found. Her hands were shaking, which wasn’t making the search any easier.
A crunching sound in the living room told her that her time was up. It would only be a matter of seconds before someone came into the kitchen and found her there. Her heart was absolutely pounding in her chest as she peered through the door, eyes wide open. Yet beside her fear, rage also roiled up inside her. She refused to be a defenseless victim cowering in the corner. Her gaze found the knife block on the counter. It contained several rather large knives, but to reach it she would have to pass by the door.
Desperately searching for another weapon, she spied the cast-iron pan hanging decoratively by the stove. She wasn’t going to make this easy for the intruder. Her chin jutting in determination, she carefully lifted the pan from its hook and stood next to the open door. She would rather have slammed the door shut and locked it tight, but the key had been missing when they’d moved in a year ago, and it had not seemed important to either of them to have the lock changed. How were they to know they’d really need it someday?
Karen held her breath as the footsteps came closer. She gripped the pan with both hands and held it in front of her in a defensive stance. Her hands were slippery with sweat, and her blouse stuck to her back.
A male form slipped through the door, and Karen swung the pan at his head with all of her might. The man yelped in pain and stumbled back into the living room. The pan clattered to the floor. It took a few moments for Karen to find her feet, but when she did, she grabbed her purse and ran past the man, who was writhing in pain on the floor and holding his hands over his nose. His face and clothing were covered with blood. The sight was so awful that Karen almost just stood there. Run! Get out of here before he gets up again!
Karen bolted in panic through the corridor, her mind fixed on getting out of the house. She turned the front doorknob as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t open. She frantically twisted the knob in both directions, until it finally dawned on her that the deadbolt was drawn. Her hands were shaking so much that it took several tries to release the lock. Her breath was loud in her ears, and her pounding heartbeat blocked out all other sound.
Just as the deadbolt clicked open, someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked brutally. Tears flooded Karen’s eyes, but she continued her desperate effort to escape. Strong hands gripped her arms and wrenched her away from the door.
»No!« Karen inhaled sharply and was about to scream as loud as she could when a foul-smelling rag was stuffed in her mouth. She gagged and tried to pull free, but her attacker was simply too strong. She did manage to land a few punches, as evidenced by the vulgar curses she heard. There was a ripping sound as the seams of her blouse gave way in the man’s rough hands. She stubbornly continued to fight, though she could barely breathe through the gag.
She had to get away from this thug! Black spots shimmered in her vision and her lungs hurt, but she couldn’t give up. She managed to get one arm free, and her fingers locked on the doorknob. So close to salvation! But a blow to her temple sent her reeling to the floor. The room began to spin, and she was overcome by nausea.
»Hold her down!«
The voice sounded muffled, as if it were coming through a thick wad of cotton. Karen wanted to fight back, but her limbs simply wouldn’t obey. A jab to her upper arm pierced through her lethargy, and she reared up. But it was too late. She collapsed, her cheek pressed against the wooden floor. Despite her best effort, her eyes closed and she sank into darkness.
Diamond Bar Ranch, Montana
The day had started badly and had only gone downhill from there.
When his pager went off, Navy SEAL Team 11 Captain Clint Hunter was standing up to his hips in a muck-filled hole on his parents’ ranch, where one of the cows had gotten stuck. The strange sound startled the panicky cow, whose struggling only pulled her deeper into the mud.
»Damn it!« With a hand just as dirty as the rest of him, Clint gingerly pulled the device from his belt. Before he could read the number, the pager slipped through his slimy fingers and into the muck. Cursing under his breath, he quickly bent down to retrieve it. He lifted the device out of the mud and wiped the display with his fingers. The number was that of the SEAL base in Coronado. Clint sighed. Who else would be calling? He basically had no life outside of the Navy. He’d just been treating himself to more than a few days’ rest for the first time in years, and now his boss was calling again.
He handed the ranch foreman the rope with which he’d been trying to catch the wayward cow. »You give it a try, Shep. I’ve gotta make a call. In case I don’t see you again, good fishing!« He quickly moved out of range of Shep’s muddy fist.
After many long months with the Navy’s elite Special Forces, it was good to be home for a while again, looking after the ranch with his family and their hired hands. Though these days SEALs were often found on land or in the air as well as the water, you still didn’t see much cattle breeding in the Navy. Established after World War II out of the former Underwater Demolition Teams that had generally worked in or underwater, the SEALs could now also be found in the desert, in the Arctic, or parachuting out of airplanes and helicopters. They continued to train or work in the water, but a higher percentage of the SEALs’ work these days took place on land.
Especially Clint’s Team 11, which was deployed in antiterrorism and hostage situations. So far, the year had been a quiet one, with no major terrorist incidents reported. Which is why Clint had thought it might be a good time for a little vacation. Obviously he was wrong.
As he rode Devil, his stallion, toward the house as fast as he could, he considered what the call might mean. Probably orders to get back to Coronado, but no telling whether it would be for an emergency or just a drill. He really hoped he didn’t have to cut his vacation short for some training exercise. The corners of his mouth drooped into a frown. Or maybe that was the better alternative. Emergencies were always dangerous – for the people they were sent to rescue, and for his men as well. His team included only the best, but anything could go wrong during a mission. He’d always managed to bring everyone home, though sometimes wounded, but there were no guarantees that it would always turn out that way.
Five minutes later, Clint reached the house. Adrenaline coursed through him as he handed his horse over to a ranch hand in the stable and hurried up the hill to the house.
His father was coming out of the office as Clint strode in, his usually calm demeanor disappearing when he saw the look on Clint’s face. »I’ll give you some privacy.« He closed the door gently behind him.
Despite his sixty-two years, George Hunter still looked a lot like his son. He was still slim and trim, and there were only a few gray strands in his black hair. Clint had even inherited his sherry-colored eyes. His father was the only one in the large family who knew that Clint was a SEAL and understood what it meant. Small wonder, as George had been on an Underwater Demolition Team himself during the Vietnam War. A short time afterward, the last UDTs had become SEAL teams, but by then George had left the service, bought land there in Montana, and built the ranch with his wife, Angela.
Clint hurriedly dialed the number etched in his memory after hundreds of calls.
At the operations center in California, Matt Colter, his executive officer and former swim buddy, picked up on the first ring. »Yo.«
»East here; what’s up?«
»Well it’s about time. Where have you been?«
Clint grimaced. »In a shit hole, if you really wanna know.«
Matt laughed. Then his voice grew serious. »How fast can you get here? We’ve got an emergency – a hostage situation. We’ve got to get to D.C. as soon as possible. They’ll brief us when we get there. This is not a drill.«
»Shit.« Clint ran his hand through his short, black hair. »It’ll take too long if I come to you. I’ll catch a flight to D.C. from Salt Lake City. Will you bring my equipment?«
»No problem. If anything’s missing, we can pick it up at Little Creek.« Matt’s voice betrayed nothing of the usual friendly rivalry between the two bases. A further indication of the gravity of the situation.
»Why can’t their team handle this? Virginia is so much closer.«
»Because their hostage team is in Europe right now, on maneuvers in Kosovo. Besides, there’s been a flu outbreak among the SEALs there.«
Clint rubbed his stubbly chin pensively. »Okay, give me a few minutes; I’ll book a flight. Send me any information you’ve got on the situation.«
»Will do, Boss.«
Clint hung up and dialed the number of the airport in Salt Lake City. Within a few minutes, he’d booked a flight to Washington departing in two hours and sent Matt the itinerary. As he packed his things, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this assignment would not be an easy one.
Ten minutes later, he was on his way downstairs with only the bare necessities in his duffle bag. After a quick detour to the office, where he printed the situation report Matt had emailed, Clint hopped into the jeep next to a ranch hand who would drive him to the airport near West Yellowstone. »Let’s go!«
Dust swirled as the Jeep sped along the ranch’s access road.
Five minutes later, Clint climbed out of the vehicle at the airport. He grabbed the duffle bag from the back seat and thanked the driver, hefted the bag onto his shoulder, and dashed to the waiting Cessna.
The pilot was already running through the preflight checklist when Clint joined him in the cockpit.
»Hi, Pete. Everything ready?«
Pete grinned. »Of course. Buckle up, and we can get going.«
Clint did as he was told and leaned back in his seat. He’d flown with Pete many times before. The ranch was pretty far from any of the larger cities with airports, and he didn’t always feel like renting a car. As a licensed pilot, he’d even flown the route himself a few times. In fact, he’d flown just about everything during his military career. But this time he needed to get to Salt Lake City as fast as possible, to catch his flight to D.C., so it made more sense to rent a plane with a pilot. He checked his watch. The commercial plane would leave in an hour and forty minutes. They’d be cutting it close.
»Pedal to the metal, Pete.«
»You got it.«
Even at top speed, he wouldn’t get there more than ten minutes before his next flight’s scheduled departure. If the wind played along. Clint shook his head. Worrying about it wouldn’t get him anywhere. His time would be better spent reading up on the assignment. He stretched out his long legs and dove into the report. It didn’t contain any names or sensitive information, of course, for the sake of security, but it did include a basic summary of the events to date.
Apparently, a female scientist working on a classified weapons project for the government had not shown up for work that morning. One of her colleagues had been worried and tried to reach her by phone. When no one picked up at her house and she still hadn’t shown up hours later, the feds had sent an armed unit to the home she shared with her husband.
They’d found the house empty, but there were signs of a struggle. Furniture was knocked over, and blood was spattered on the floor and walls. A forensics team was sent in to recover evidence. The husband had been located, and was completely shocked. He reported only that his wife had gotten ready for work as usual that morning, and he’d gone to work in his office at an accounting firm. He had not heard anything from her since. Her neighbors, colleagues, family, friends, and acquaintances had all been questioned.
A demand for ransom had come in around noon, which claimed that the scientist would be released in exchange for five million dollars. Clint frowned. Apparently the abductors knew who their hostage was. On the other hand, they’d missed the memo about the U.S. government not negotiating with kidnappers and terrorists. The woman was lucky she was worth something to the feds, or she might have been on her own.
Thanks to a certain circumstance, about which there was no further information in the documentation, the victim’s current location had been determined and a rescue team of SEALs was requested. Clint leaned back and closed his eyes. He hoped there would be more information on hand at the briefing in Washington. Hostages never had it easy, but women were especially at risk. Abductors commonly used sexual violence to subdue their victims and force their compliance, and sometimes even just for fun. If the woman was lucky, the perpetrators placed more importance on the money than on satisfying their own sexual desires. Clint’s gut clenched. He’d seen a lot of violence in his profession and even used a bit himself sometimes, but he would never get used to violence against women.
He glanced at his watch. His team wouldn’t arrive in Washington until that evening, and then there’d be meetings.
If the hostage’s exact location was known by then, they might be able to mount a rescue effort that night. If the hostage was important enough to the government to fly his team in from Coronado, there was hope that the abductors understood her value and would keep her alive and unharmed for at least a few days. On the other hand, they might also try to use torture to induce her to share classified information. Clint swallowed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his facial expression had hardened and there was a dangerous gleam in his sherry-colored eyes.
Pete glanced at him. »We’ll be landing in about twenty minutes. Just in time for your connecting flight, right?«
Clint looked at his watch with its multiple displays. A grim smile spread across his face. »Perfect. I really lucked out that you were still there with your Cessna.«
Pete grinned. »Yeah, there’s this cute little thing, you know, who monitors the radio …«
Clint laughed. Pete was a real charmer, and the ladies seemed to love him, though he was overweight, under 5’ 7«, and had just a scant ring of brown hair left on his head. It must be his big brown eyes – or the fact that he was simply a really nice guy.
Moments later, they landed in Salt Lake City, and Clint prepared for the sprint to his next flight. He reached the plane five minutes before it was scheduled to take off, stretched his legs as far as the narrow row of seats would allow, closed his eyes, and fell instantly asleep. It would be the last real sleep he’d get for the next several days.
A Navy recruit met Clint at the arrivals terminal and led him through minimal checkpoints to a military vehicle parked in the loading zone outside the airport. Clint sank into the passenger seat and put the duffle bag between his feet. The young soldier, whose sewn-on nametag read »Marrick,« was visibly nervous. It was hard to say whether that was because of Clint or the important task of driving an officer and/or SEAL. Probably both.
»I can put your bag in the trunk, Sir.«
Clint glanced at him. »Thanks, this is fine. I like to keep my things with me.« When the recruit kept looking at him, Clint assumed his officer’s expression. »Drive, Soldier!«
The young man didn’t need to be told twice; the tires squealed as he put the car in motion.
Clint frowned and tried not to make the young man even more nervous. He wanted to arrive at their destination in one piece, after all, wherever that might be. »Where are we going?«
Marrick’s expression registered his astonishment. »You don’t know?« His face paled as Clint simply looked at him. »Sorry, Sir. We’re on our way to the Pentagon.«
Clint’s eyebrows raised. Pentagon. The abducted scientist must be working on something really important. It also meant the job would be that much more difficult for him and his men.
And more dangerous. But ultimately, that’s what they lived for. They were trained to resolve situations like this. Slowly the adrenaline began to course through his body, as it always did before a mission. It had been a while since his team had been on a real mission. They trained a lot, of course, but it just wasn’t the same. As Washington rolled by outside the window, his mind’s eye replayed past missions. All of his successes and failures were locked inside his internal memory bank. He could recite by heart every detail of every operation he’d ever participated in. When you found yourself in dangerous situations, you simply lived more intensely, and your memory stored each individual second of it. Clint shook his head. He should be concentrating on the new task at hand. His eyes registered the landscape for the first time since the trip had begun. He spotted the Potomac River, which flowed close to the Pentagon.
Two and a half miles later, the vehicle turned into a heavily guarded parking lot at the Pentagon. At the guardhouse, an Army soldier checked their IDs, while a second man held a submachine gun at the ready. They eyed Clint with a certain degree of Army-Navy rivalry, but his papers were in order and his name was already on the visitors’ list, so they had to let him through. Clint couldn’t help flashing a grin at the guard.
Who simply stared back at him.
They soon arrived at the Riverside entrance to the Pentagon. Marrick dropped him off at the door and drove away. Clint felt a little uneasy, standing alone outside the giant building that housed the Department of Defense. He squared his shoulders, tightened his grip on the duffle bag, and walked through the door to the next guard post. On his way to the mission briefing deep within the giant five-story building, he was checked at countless guard posts and once even searched for weapons. They didn’t find any, of course; as a SEAL, he knew some tricks for hiding weapons on his person. At one point he was joined by an assistant to the Secretary of Defense and led past the rest of the guard posts.
The assistant opened a heavily secured door and waved him inside. Clint entered the room and surveyed the men assembled there. In addition to his six-man team, there were several high-level government representatives, an admiral, and many important officers from both the Army and Navy. Several men dressed in suits were easily identified as members of the FBI and Secret Service. In addition, there was a lean man with glasses, about mid-forties, who Clint could not place with any of the groups already mentioned. He was still wondering who the man could be when Admiral Tanner began to speak. Clint recognized him from previous operations.
»It looks like we’re all here now. Nice of you to join us, Captain Hunter.«
Clint winced internally. »Sir.«
Every eye was on him. Those who did not know him expected some kind of apology, but they would be waiting a long time. He had come as fast as he could, and that was that.
Admiral Tanner knew it too, but he enjoyed yanking people’s chains. »Please take a seat, Gentlemen. There’s no time to lose.«
Clint settled in next to his teammates, who grinned at him.
He had reacted exactly as they expected him to. Clint leaned over to Matt. »Anything filtered through yet?«
Matt shook his head. His steel-blue eyes twinkled. »No, we just got here ourselves.« He leaned in closer to Clint. »By the way …« His voice trailed off when Admiral Tanner began speaking again.
»Special Agent Rick Cranton from the FBI will explain the situation.« Tanner sat down and one of the suits stood up. He was tall and thin, and his suit fit like it was tailor made.
Probably was, Clint figured.
Cranton got right to the point. »Here’s what we’re dealing with: Dr. Karen Lombard is a weapons expert working on a classified government project. You will not receive further details on the project, because it’s classified as top-secret.
Just this: If Dr. Lombard’s knowledge gets into the wrong hands, a highly volatile crisis could ensue. That is precisely our problem: Dr. Lombard has been abducted. We can’t yet say who did it, but we did receive a ransom note demanding five million dollars. It was an anonymous note, but our experts are working on identifying the perpetrator, or perpetrators.«
Cranton motioned for his assistant to hand out folders containing the information already assembled. »Mr. Lombard has kindly provided us with photos and information about his wife.« He nodded briefly at the lean, nervous man.
Clint glanced in his folder. On top was a photo of the hostage, probably from her passport. Clint tried to stifle a smile. The picture was almost as bad as the one on his driver’s license. The image was in black and white, so he couldn’t discern any colors. The face looked pale, the dark eyes were half-closed, and the mouth and nose seemed too large for her head. And perched on top was an unruly mop of hair.
Clint quickly moved on to the next photo, trying to keep up with the briefing. The next photos were clearly personal ones and significantly easier on the eyes. In these, the stiff lips from the passport photo were more relaxed, even smiling in one.
And it was precisely that image that hit him right in the gut. In that photo, Dr. Lombard looked like a woman who enjoyed life, her dark-brown eyes sparkling, her dark-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was not particularly pretty, but she exuded something … Clint shook his head. How had his thoughts drifted in that direction? Not only was she married, she had also been abducted and was in grave danger.
He had to focus on his job – her life depended on it.
Clint breezed through her biographical information: she was thirty years old, born in Apache, Oklahoma, 5« 6« tall, weighed 154 pounds. So her round cheeks hadn’t lied. Clint didn’t have a problem with that; he didn’t mind if his women weighed a little more … Stop – not your woman! Okay, back to the report. Hair: dark-blond; eyes: dark-brown. Distinguishing marks: kidney-shaped birthmark on her right hip. Clint was imagining a situation when they might need to check on that, when Cranton took the floor again. Clint switched back to mission mode for the rest of the briefing.
The FBI agent reported once more on how Dr. Lombard’s abduction likely occurred and what evidence the investigators had already gathered. None of the evidence found, however, pointed to who the abductors were or where they had taken Dr. Lombard.
Then Agent Cranton revealed the reason for the SEAL-team’s involvement. »Due to the national significance of Dr. Lombard’s work, certain security measures were in place that are aiding us now. In the event of her abduction, she was furnished with a micro-transmitter that she wears in a chain around her neck, which always conveys her location.«
Her husband groaned out loud. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down in his neck like a yoyo.
Cranton glanced at him before proceeding. »Because of this transmitter, we were able to ascertain their location. They appear to be moving, but the country the signal is coming from is clear: Costa Rica.« The room filled with muttering.
Clint wrinkled his brow. Costa Rica wasn’t exactly the place he’d expect to find the abductors of an American scientist. The U.S. was on friendly terms with the Costa Rican government, and there was rarely any terrorist activity there. There were occasional problems with drugs and skirmishes on the border with its neighbor Nicaragua, but otherwise …
»Are you certain they’ll stay in Costa Rica? Or will they continue on down to South America?« One of the politicians had risen to his feet.
»We’re not entirely certain about anything, but for now they appear to be traveling in a car or something similar. They’ll be easier to spot that way, so they’ll likely look for a place to spend the night within the next few hours. And that’s our, or rather your« – he nodded toward the SEAL team – «opportunity to get a fix on Mrs. Lombard and rescue her.« He supplied a few more general facts and finally led those not directly involved with planning the operation out of the room, promising to keep them posted on the hostage’s location. The sound of the heavy door closing behind them was followed by a moment of grim silence.
Admiral Tanner looked to Clint. »What do you think?«
Clint chewed his lip in concentration. »Something’s not right. Costa Rica doesn’t really fit the picture. Nor does the fact that they attacked Dr. Lombard in her home, when it would have been much easier to pick her up on the street on her way to work.« He shrugged his shoulders. »But then again, our job will be easier with her in Costa Rica; we can collaborate with the government there and …«
Tanner was already shaking his head. »The President would like to keep this whole initiative under wraps. The security of our nation is at stake. Even though Costa Rica is on friendly terms with us, and we’re also their most significant trade partner, we’re negotiating a treaty on fighting drug trafficking, and there could always be groups or individuals that would like to get their hands on a high-ranking scientist with knowledge of our weapons systems. Besides, the fewer who know about this, the better – which is also in the best interest of your team, I presume.« Clint nodded his agreement. »We did request a flyover permit, but we told them we’d be flying in some VIP.«
»OK, then, let’s get to work. What have we got on Costa Rica? Terrain, population, politics – everything’s important.«
For the next hour they concentrated on developing a general rescue plan and ordered a transport plane to get them to Costa Rica as fast as possible. It would drop them off on the USS Enterprise, an American aircraft carrier off the coast of Nicaragua in the Caribbean Sea. The Enterprise was ordered to head for the shore of Costa Rica at full speed and to have a Black Hawk helicopter ready for the SEALS, which would move them especially quickly and quietly and get them to their goal undetected. They’d have to figure out the return trip as soon as they knew exactly where they were going. The team checked over its equipment and borrowed anything missing from the Navy supplies on site.
»I’m sorry we couldn’t find your lucky charm.« Matt collapsed into the chair next to Clint’s.
Clint rubbed his forehead. »Dammit. I have one in reserve on the ranch, but I didn’t think to bring it along.« His superstition embarrassed him, but it was better to look a little foolish than to have a mission go sour just because he didn’t follow the rules. Ever since a former girlfriend had given him boxer shorts with seals on them and he had successfully ended a nearly impossible mission while wearing them, that pair or an identical one had been with him on every operation. And so far his luck had never forsaken him when he was out and about in the »real world,« which was SEAL-speak for being on a mission. Leaving without his lucky charm this time was unsettling.
He shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t do anything about it now, and everyone on his team was so well trained that they could probably rescue the hostage in their sleep. Still, they’d take every precaution they could to secure the mission’s success. Each weapon was checked multiple times, along with the electronic equipment, GPS-receivers and tiny microphones with headphones, a laptop, and additional useful technical devices. Not to mention the flashbangs, hand grenades, and teargas.
A short while later, Agent Cranton returned, waving a piece of paper. »We have the coordinates. The signal hasn’t moved for the last quarter hour.«
Clint spread out a map of Costa Rica on the table. Cranton consulted his notes and tapped on a location in the middle of the country. »They’re in Monteverde, just outside the Monteverde Cloud Forest. There’s a pretty good infrastructure for tourists now, but the road is still just dirt, and the jungle begins right on the edge of town. The climate is hot and humid, and this is the rainy season. I don’t have to tell you what that means in a rainforest, do I?« Clint did not deign to reply. »The location was calculated to the nearest foot. Satellite images suggest that the building is a cabin at the edge of the village. Unfortunately, we don’t have any building plans for you. I doubt anyone ever filed a building permit for the structure. As far as we can tell from space, there’s more than one room in the cabin. You’ll have to gather further intel on site. Regarding your return trip once your mission succeeds, you should arrange to meet a helicopter at a specified location, because the streets in that area are not all passable during the rainy season, and I wouldn’t risk going through the rainforest on foot with Dr. Lombard. We don’t know what kind of condition she’ll be in. The blood in her house … there were several blood types, but one of them was confirmed as hers.«
Clint frowned. »Get us the satellite images, a map of the area, and any other information you can get from the Internet. Doesn’t matter if it’s for tourists or ecologists, we’ll take anything.« He looked at his watch. »We won’t be able to strike tonight. By the time we get there, it will be almost daylight again. But we’ll take up our position and assess the situation. If they stay in that cabin, we’ll scout out the area and prepare our approach. If the abductors move on, we’ll find a way to intervene and rescue Dr. Lombard. Get word to the plane that we’ll take off in half an hour.«
Cranton gazed at Clint with eyebrows raised. Then he shook his head. »Is that all? Will do, Sir!« He left the room.
Tanner chuckled, amused. »Very diplomatic, as always. I never expect anything less from you.«
Clint shrugged. »If he wants to explain my job to me, I’ll react.«
Tanner grew serious. »This won’t be easy; take care of yourselves. Good luck!«
»Thank you, Sir.«
Tanner left the room.
»Ready, men?«
»Always!«
The darkly clad men of his team were barely recognizable as they surrounded the two-story cabin in the thick rainforest. They had managed to reach their target destination just before sunrise. Because of its relative proximity to the equator, the sun rose and set more quickly there than they were used to at home. The Black Hawk had set them down in a clearing about a mile west of the cabin. They had run the rest of the way through the nearly impassable rainforest. Without their night-vision goggles, it would have been impossible to cover that distance at that pace. Several of them had barely avoided running into a branch or tree root, on more than one occasion.
Clint pulled the goggles off his head. With dawn approaching, he could see his surroundings better without aid. He swung the tiny headset microphone toward his mouth.
»In position?« he asked in a soundless whisper.
»Yo.« That was Matt. As XO, his job was to keep the team together and enforce Clint’s commands when necessary. And because of his friendly nature, he was the man to go to on the team.
»Everything’s ready.« Petty Officer Second Class John MacPhearson was responsible for the equipment. He was truly a genius when it came to computers, which is where his nickname had come from – I-Mac. He set up thermal-imaging cameras that indicated where people were located inside the building by detecting their body heat. He also had a high-powered listening device in place to monitor every noise coming from the cabin. They hoped this would help them discern exactly where the hostage was inside the structure, along with each individual kidnapper.
»Got it.« At twenty-five, Ensign Tom »Doc« Marten was the youngest on the team; he was in charge of medical care, when he wasn’t busy backing up his colleagues. His ability to detect even the best-camouflaged enemy was downright uncanny.
»Everything’s quiet here.« Senior Chief Roderic Basilone was in charge of the weapons and explosives – there wasn’t a weapon he didn’t know in and out. People usually called him Chief, but he’d also been given the nickname »Rock« partly because of his huge stature and perpetually grim expression, but also because it was an abbreviation of his name.
»I’m up. Good view of the area. No direct line of sight to the back.« With characteristic agility, Lieutenant T.C. Jordan had climbed one of the tallest trees in view of the cabin. The fact that he could climb nearly anything and then stay there in the same position without moving for hours had earned him the nickname »Cat.« The dark hue of his skin, the green camouflage paint on his hands and face, and the blue-green camouflage clothing he had on made him downright invisible.
From Seaman Ramon »Ghost« Gomez came just a soft click of confirmation. He was sitting in the bushes next to the cabin door and couldn’t afford to make even the tiniest noise. He was the smallest man on the team, just 5’10« and built like a marathon runner. He could move without making the slightest sound and was good at blending in among others. He seldom spoke, but his dark eyes took in everything with blazing intensity. He also happened to be the only man on the team who was married.
Clint gave the designated signal to sit tight and turned off his microphone. He was crouching in a slight depression, well concealed by the roots of a fallen tree. The underbrush rustled around him. The approaching dawn was luring the animals out of their hiding places. He only hoped there weren’t any rats among them. He shivered. Once during a mission he’d had to stand motionless in a rat-infested basement. The rats had run around him the entire time and had tried to climb up his pant legs. He’d been happy he’d remembered to tuck his pants into his boots, like he usually did. No telling what they might have nibbled off if he hadn’t …
Disgusted, he shook off the thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by uneasiness at a time like this; he had to focus entirely on the task at hand. If the abductors didn’t move all day, he’d have to sit in this cavity for a few more hours, even though it was still wet with yesterday’s rain and crawling with insects. That was one of the first lessons learned in SEAL training: stick it out, no matter what. SEAL candidates had to hang out in the cold surf for so long that they could no longer feel their bodies; they had to roll in the sand until it filled every pore and crevice, and then had to perform physically demanding tasks.
Hell Week culminated in performance tests under sleep deprivation. Over eighty percent of the young soldiers gave up then. Clint could no longer remember details from his own Hell Week, just cold, pain, and overwhelming fatigue. He didn’t know if he would have been able to endure those days without Matt. As swim buddies, they had kept an eye on each other and compensated for each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
One thing Clint still didn’t understand was why Hell Week had seemed to be fun for Matt. Which was why they’d called him »Mad« ever since. He’d managed to motivate the men assigned to him and to distract them from their pain so that nearly the entire group survived the week and became SEALs. Only one trainee had given up, but only because he had broken his hand and could no longer grip the oar in the tiny boat they were trying to land on the cliffs of Coronado. His team had tried to cover for him, but the men were subjected to regular medical tests, and the secret had eventually come out. The guy had successfully completed his training the following year.
Clint swore under his breath. What was wrong with him today; his mind kept wandering when he should be coming up with an escape strategy. Resolute, he straightened as far as the little hollow allowed and opened his mic. »I-Mac, report.«
I-Mac’s response was immediate, as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity to report. »Three hot spots in the building. Two moving freely, one stationary. Probably the hostage.«
»Position?«
»Hostage at two o’clock.«
From the door, back in the room to the right. Not bad. There was some thick brush to the right of the cabin, which would give them cover.
»There’s a window on that side – looks big enough.« Matt was already sitting in the brush and had a good view of the window. »I’ll leave it up to you, East; I’m too wide. For you, though, piece a cake.«
Clint grinned. They had often teased Matt for doing too much weight training and jeopardizing his ability to enter narrow spaces. »Roger. I-Mac, any chatter?«
»Nothing concrete. They just got up, complaining about breakfast.« He laughed softly. »Good thing I did that course in Spanish slang; our hosts’ opinions are very … clear.«
Clint relaxed a bit. If the abductors were only talking about their food, they were unaware of the SEAL team’s presence. An operation always worked best when the other side didn’t know the team was even there. The element of surprise was often an important part of a SEAL mission. They worked best in secret and in the dark, and often even went undetected. They only resorted to weapons when they had no other choice. Their bodies were weapons themselves, as every SEAL was versed in countless forms of combat and could easily put someone out of commission or even kill.
At that moment, certain parts of Clint’s body were falling asleep, because he’d been crouching in one position for a long time. Maybe he was getting too old for this job. He’d been at it for almost ten years now. He’d joined the Navy right out of college and worked his way up to SEAL, and had made it because of his intellect as well as his powerful body. At thirty-two, he’d reached the peak of active duty. He’d simply been promoted too quickly. Most SEALS at the level of captain were active in »office work«, as trainers or platoon leaders.
His superior had already approached him about becoming a trainer in one of his areas of expertise. That was one thing he was supposed to be considering during his vacation at the ranch. Yet here he was, sitting in a foreign country, surrounded by inhospitable nature, about to put his life on the line for a person he didn’t know. Not that it bothered him. It was better when you didn’t know the person you were rescuing; you simply reacted more professionally when that was the case. Sure, his job was uncomfortable and dangerous, but it was also a very important part of his life. He didn’t know if he’d be able to just give it up. He was probably addicted to adrenaline.
He pushed the thought aside with a silent laugh. »Mad, switch places.«
Matt clicked his tongue once.
Slowly and completely silently, Clint rose and headed for Matt’s hiding place. He blended into his surroundings and was only occasionally visible to those who knew exactly where he was and where he was going. One advantage of the daily rain showers was the wet wood, which didn’t make any noise when he accidentally stepped on a branch, like he just had. He stood completely still and strained to listen. No one seemed to have heard the soft, muffled sound. He continued moving forward even more slowly, carefully checking the ground and his surroundings. He expected to be discovered at any moment and shouts or shots to ring out, but nothing happened.
He soon reached Matt’s hiding place, just about eleven yards from the window that led to the hostage. His friend was waiting in the bushes with his equipment on his back, watching him approach. They communicated briefly with hand signals, and then Matt disappeared silently in the underbrush.
He would take position in Clint’s former location, and their ring around the cabin would be closed once again. No one would be able to approach without his team noticing. Cat was sitting in the tree, and Doc was stationed on the fourth side, about fifty yards from the cabin. If anyone approached, they’d have plenty of warning.
»East in position. I-Mac?«
»Nothing new. Two continue to move, but not any closer to the third or the door. No enlightening conversation.«
»OK. Anything else?«