tried to ignore the tension, but it had been there since the moment he’d laid eyes on her again.
“Are you making time with our new liaison?” Mad Max asked, then nudged him. “The tadpole is growing up.”
“And getting legs, apparently,” Striker said wryly, eyeing his brother.
Dragon grinned. “I’m glad I’m not the youngest here,” he said, fist bumping with Hemingway.
“Keep it down back there. This isn’t a knitting circle,” Fast Lane ordered. But Mad Max waggled his brows and pursed his lips making kissing gestures. The tension on the team seemed to have abated immensely since they’d started operating together. But even with their banter, 2-Stroke felt outside looking in. He hadn’t been able to open up, and even though he knew it was a detriment to the team, he felt mired in his inability to trust as deeply as he should. These guys would never let him down.
Chry’s soft kiss lingered on his lips all the way to the flight line and the chopper Kat had secured for them. A Czech-operated Bell UH-1Y Venom, seating ten. It was often referred to as a Super Huey and Yankee, based on the NATO phonetic alphabet. The big rotors were already spinning, beating the air like a quickened pulse.
They climbed inside the big bird.
“Keep this tight,” Fast Lane said. “Let’s go.” He gestured to the pilot, his index finger making a whirling motion.
The helicopter lifted off and zoomed toward the private airport just outside the city where they would apprehend the original target. They could only hope Darko and Kelly’s impostor were also there.
Leaving the historic city behind, looking like something out of Cinderella with its clock tower and magical architecture with a fairytale flavor, they were soon flying low over a checkerboard of green pastures, moving at about one hundred and fifty-eight knots. They would get to the small airport in record time.
“Two miles out,” Fast Lane called out.
As they approached, 2-Stroke saw the runway stretched out in front of them. “There’s the jet,” he yelled into his comm. To his left he could see the Vltava River and one of the picturesque stone arched bridges, lush greenery on either side of the banks.
They came up behind the taxiing jet preparing to take off. There were several full-sized aircraft to the right of the plane and peppered along the runway. If they failed, they would lose the financier, and everything they had endured since they began pursuing him would be for nothing. Saint would have been wounded, and the boy and Charlotte would have died in vain.
“Pitbull, you’re on scope,” Fast Lane ordered.
“Copy,” Pitbull responded. As the lead sniper, it would be his responsibility to take out the pilot if they didn’t comply with the SEALs’ takedown orders.
“TOC, double C on the tail number for HVT’s jet.”
Chry’s voice came over the line from the Tactical Operations Center. “That would be seven-foxtrot golf.”
“Confirmed,” Fast Lane said, then yelled to the pilots, “Set this bird down.”
“Where, sir?”
“Right in front. Bar them from accelerating.”
The chopper roared in and banked one hundred and eighty degrees, now facing the approaching jet head on. The pilot saw them and hit the brakes hard enough to make the tires squeal. But didn’t turn off the engines.
As soon as the rails of the chopper set down, 2-Stroke was off first, followed by the team as they fanned out and fast-walked toward the plane, bristling with automatic weapons at the ready.
“Turn off your engines and open the door,” Fast Lane shouted. Into the comm, he said, “2-Stroke, you board, the rest of us will watch your six.”
Suddenly from their left, a black SUV roared toward their position, four guys spilling out with automatic weapons just as the team made it to the cover of the jet. Several others crouched underneath one of the planes, open fired. The sound of rounds hitting metal pinged along with the rat-a-tat of the gunfire.
“I don’t like this exposure,” Fast Lane said, “Take them out.”
The SEALs returned fire. Seconds of gunfire exploded across the runway as 2-Stroke took out the man under the plane, then focused on the four thugs by the SUV. Most likely Darko’s men. Sucked to be them. The SEALs always shoot to kill, assholes.
Finally, the men were all down and Fast Lane pointed his weapon at the pilot. “Open the door, now!”
2-Stroke heard the latch release, and he pulled the handle to open the door as Pitbull and Dragon trained their weapons on the interior. 2-Stroke pulled down the stairs. When