“No — check Dom.” Jack feared the worst. His cousin was one of his best friends.
But Adara hadn’t waited for Jack’s suggestion, and at “No” she sped over to Dom, seated on the floor and leaning against the corrugated wall. Ding had already yanked open Dom’s armor vest when Adara pushed him aside and dropped to her knees. The former combat Navy corpsman had patched up wounded Marines in Afghanistan. She’d seen the worst and expected more of the same as she reached for Dom’s wound, but she knew she could deal with it.
“Damn! That hurt!” Dom said through gritted teeth.
Adara examined his left pectoral where the slug hit. A huge red welt the shape of the armor plate that saved his life was forming on his skin. “That’s gonna bruise ugly, but you’ll live, cowboy.” Adara fought back a flood of emotion. On the combat field they were teammates, not lovers. She pushed it all back inside for later. There was still a job to do. She stood.
“Anybody hurt?” Adara asked.
“I think we’re all good,” Ding said. The shortest man in the room spoke with the authority of a trusted leader. Years of service in the infantry, Rainbow, and the CIA had earned him the hard-won respect of everybody at The Campus, especially John Clark.
Midas nodded at the dead blonde on the deck, a nearly headless corpse. “I think she’s gonna need a Band-Aid.”
“Good shot, by the way. You saved my life,” Jack said.
“I was aiming for her head. But you’re welcome,” Midas said, clapping Jack on the shoulder as he loaded a wad of chaw in his bearded jaw. Adara had put two rounds into the brunette, who was trying to kill her boyfriend.
“I want a fast sitrep, people. Where are we?” Ding asked.
“Nine tangos dead, including these two,” Midas said. He didn’t need to say that their intel had been wrong.
“Four surviving hostages in the crew’s quarters. One lightly wounded, patched and stable,” Adara said. “The other three are fine, just shook up.”
Ding frowned. “What about the three that didn’t make it?”
“Dead before we got there,” she said. “Bastards cut their throats.” She dragged a finger across her own to emphasize the point.
Ding turned around. “Dom?”
“A simple detonator. Deactivated. A couple of bricks of C-4 are still in place in the drilling compartment, but they’re inert.”
“I found a tripwire out front, connected to a Claymore knockoff,” Jack said. “There might be more. Everybody needs to keep their eyes open. We should do a check and keep the civilians locked down until we get an all-clear.”
“Good idea,” Ding said as he stepped over to the two corpses. He knelt down, studying them.
In the silence, Jack heard the howling wind outside. Loose sheet metal rattled, chains and pulleys clanged.
Satisfied, Ding stood and turned around. “All in all, a good job, people. We saved lives and ended bad ones and somehow managed to not get our asses blown up in the process. We’ll debrief when we get back to base.”
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Midas asked. The ex — Delta recce colonel was used to being in charge, but like all great leaders, he knew how to follow orders, too, and Ding was running this op.
“Storm’s too bad to transport civvies, especially down the ladders, so we’ll bunk here tonight,” Ding said. “Midas, grab your tac light and head out to the platform and signal the Norwegians that our comms are down, and that we’re bunking here tonight with four surviving hostages. Ask them to come back when the storm breaks.”
“Roger that,” Midas said. “What else do you need from me?”
“I hate not having comms. See if you can find the jammer these assholes deployed. And check to see if the rig has some kind of communications unit.”
“On it,” Midas said. He turned on his heel and headed for the exit door.
“Adara, you head back to the hostages and do what you can for them to make them comfortable. Like Jack said, keep them locked in until we give the all-clear. Apprise them of the situation, that they’re safe and that we can’t leave the platform until the storm passes, probably tomorrow morning. You need anything else from us?”
Adara tapped her med kit. “I’m good to go.” She headed for the door near Dom, still seated, lightly brushing his broad shoulder with her hand as she passed, hoping no one else caught the gesture.
“Dom, when you’re up to speed, I want you to secure that C-4. Grab one of us if you need help.”
Dom stood, grimacing. “I’m on my way.” He stretched out some kinks as he headed for the drilling room.
“Jack, you and I will do the booby-trap search first and clear those. Then we’ll search the Green Army people for pocket litter and any other intel we can find on them, then grab fingerprints and DNA samples for the Langley crew to sort out and catalog.”
“And then we toss ’em?”
Ding nodded. “They’re chum, as far as I’m concerned. It’s not like this is a crime scene that needs to get processed.” In Ding’s mind, what The Campus did here tonight was righteous. It just wasn’t entirely legal. They had to cover their tracks.
Jack’s father, an ex-Marine, had instilled in him a deep respect for the honored fallen, but in this case he couldn’t agree more with Ding. The terrorists had almost killed him and his team. These were cold-blooded fanatics who butchered innocent civilians. They’d lost the right to be treated with respect, either in life or in death.
“You good?” Ding asked. He laid a hand on the taller man’s arm. Jack nodded, his mind elsewhere.
“Yeah, just processing.”
“Nothing else?”
Jack couldn’t lie to Ding. He respected him too much for that. “Can’t help but feel I screwed up tonight.”
“I get it. We’ll talk later. For now, we’ve got work to do.”
“Roger that.”
Jack vomited again, but nothing came out. The long rolling ocean swells and steady bouncing of the CB90 fast-attack craft made him seasick, but the sickeningly sweet smell from the chemical toilet he was hunched over made things even worse. It was going to be a helluva long ride from the oil rig to the Norwegian coast if he had to stare into this crapper the whole way.
A loud knock rattled the bathroom door.
“You all right in there?” It was Ding.
Jack spat and wiped away a long string of drool. “Freaking fantastic.”
“Sounded like you were choking a moose.”
Jack climbed to his unsteady feet. “Be right out.”
He splashed cold water on his sweaty face, rinsed his mouth out, and toweled off. When he yanked the door open Ding was waiting for him in the cramped hallway.
“You look like hell.”
“I just blew a plate of poached salmon,” Jack said. “But thanks.” The thumping deck beneath his feet and the close warm air made his head spin again.
“Let’s go topside, get you some fresh air.”
“Roger that.”
The ship’s movement on deck was more violent than below, but the cold, fresh morning air and the freezing spray against Jack’s face did the trick and his nausea subsided. He held the rail tight and watched the far horizon, almost as dark as evening with the cloud cover and polar night at this latitude. Ding stood behind him to avoid getting hit by any water — he didn’t suffer motion sickness of any kind.
Jack ran through the night’s events one more time, step by step. He was honest enough to know where his performance was up to grade and humble enough to know when he was luckier than good, especially on this op. The rescued hostages were grateful and in good spirits and would soon be examined by the medical staff at Haakonsvern Naval Base. But Adara was a terrific combat medic and she’d already treated the minor flesh wound one hostage sustained.