Engaging his Enemy (Shattered SEALs #4) - Amy Gamet Page 0,44

late for Moto to stop, the situation demanding they finish what they’d started. He tackled the first man and disarmed him, quickly fixing his hands with zip cuffs. He looked up just in time to see another man, gun drawn, flailing around too close to Razorback as he wrestled with the third tango.

Moto withdrew his gun as the man fired, and aimed directly at his central mass, taking him down with two shots. “You all right?” Moto asked Razorback.

“Fine.”

“Jesus Christ, Moto,” said Champion. “One of them is your brother. They’re getting into a van.”

Moto pushed out of the smoke and into the open air, staring in the direction of the warehouse. Of course he could see nothing, the distance and the darkness making that impossible.

“Stand your ground,” barked Razorback. “We need to finish this first. Trace, is the crew still on the ship?”

“Affirmative. No one’s come down the ladder yet.”

Razorback turned to Moto. “Cover me.” Together they crossed to the vessel, the ladder some fifteen feet from shore. Razorback didn’t hesitate, securing his weapon and jumping into the water. Moto worked to keep his attention on the ship and not his brother as he scanned the ship for tangos.

“I’ve got a jumper!” said Trace. “Backside of the boat. I’ll grab him.”

Razorback started up the ladder. A head appeared over the edge of the boat and Moto fired several times, making the man retreat. In his ear, Champion said, “They’re heading your way. Two tangos, two hostages. Ben and a woman.”

Gunfire sounded from the top of the boat, and Moto returned it as Razorback neared the top. He stopped just before cresting the edge. “I’ll cover you,” he said, waving Moto on. Moto secured his weapon, jumped into the water, and quickly found the ladder.

More shots were fired, but he kept climbing, grabbing his weapon when he reached Razorback, and the two of them crested the edge of the ship. A figure ran between two shipping containers and Moto went in pursuit, Razorback heading down the alternate corridor.

Moto rounded a corner, the flash from the barrel of a gun bringing him up short before a bullet lodged in the Kevlar of his vest and knocked him down. He returned fire, hitting the man twice before checking to see that he was in fact dead. “One down,” he said into his comm set. “With our jumper, that leaves one.”

“I don’t see him,” said Razorback. “Not on the bridge.”

“He’s heading down the ladder,” said Trace.

Moto raced back to it and looked over the edge, aiming his gun down the ladder’s length. The tango raised his arm to fire, and Moto fired first, the man falling dramatically into the water. “That’s three.”

He lifted his head as headlights crossed the field of pavement between the road and the ship. Razorback moved to stand beside him. “The hostages,” Moto said.

“Trace, start swimming,” said Razorback. “We might have to sink this baby after all.”

26

Davina squinted against a bright flashlight as the van door opened. She was lying next to Ben, who was coughing up blood at an alarming rate, much of it seeping into her blouse and wetting the skin beneath.

“Give me your feet,” barked the man, and she twisted her torso to do as she was told. Using a knife, he cut the rope that bound her ankles together. “You try to run, and I’ll shoot you.” He hauled her up and out of the van, setting her beside his sidekick. She winced as the first man yanked Ben out of the van, the severity of his injuries making even the slightest movement difficult.

“Go,” said the first man, gesturing into the darkness with his gun, and she blindly headed in that direction. His flashlight illuminated only a few feet in front of her, the air strangely hazy with an acrid, swampy tang.

Ben stumbled beside her and fell to the ground. “Get up!” snapped the smaller man, kicking him in the side.

“Don’t kick him, you imbecile! How’s he going to walk?”

Davina squinted into the haze, barely able to make out the shape of something looming just out of range. A foghorn sounded nearby. Ben got back to his feet, and they slowly resumed their march. The hull of a ship materialized from the thick evening air.

“Get off my ship,” called the big man, shining his light to the top of the boat, though it wasn’t strong enough for her to see what was up there.

“Let them go,” came the reply, Zach’s voice as clear and familiar to