Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Shaun kept one hand locked around the grid above his head while Zenko grabbed the bolt cutters and went after the padlock.
His lungs were still dragging in air far too fast, and the water was lapping against his mouth every time either of them moved.
The lock finally gave, and Zenko shoved the grid upward before hauling himself out of the hatch.
Shaun had barely registered the empty pump house beyond him before a hand reached back down.
He caught the offered forearm and let himself be hauled up and out of the water, boots hitting solid concrete as the machinery around them began humming louder with the pump gearing itself up to switch back on.
“You okay, babe?” Zenko kept hold of his arm as Shaun sucked in another lungful of air.
For one second, all he could do was stare down at the water they had crawled out of.
If he had been alone in that pipe, he would be dead.
No backup plan. No second chance. No Zen shoving his own mouthpiece between his lips and giving him the air out of his fucking lungs.
A shudder threatened to work its way through him, and Shaun locked his knees before it got the chance.
Fuck water insertions.
Fuck pipelines.
Fuck every goddamn person who ever decided swimming into a target was a brilliant tactical idea.
He was never doing that shit again. Ever.
He finally dragged his gaze away from the hatch and looked at Zenko. “Ask me that when we’re somewhere that doesn’t have enough water to fucking drown in.”
Zenko studied him for another second, clearly deciding whether to call bullshit on that answer, before dropping into a crouch and digging through his pack for their backup comms units.
Shaun stripped off the useless dive rig while he worked, and the sight of the gauges sent another spike of anger through the fear he was still trying to shove back where it belonged.
Both tanks depleted. He had checked that rig before they left.
They both had. Whether somebody had tampered with his specifically or he had ended up with equipment meant for Zenko, he had no idea, but somebody was going to answer for it when they got out of Iran.
He connected the backup comms unit to Shaun’s gear, then let his fingers skim along his jaw before he pulled his hand away.
The touch was brief enough that anyone watching through the body cams could have mistaken it for another equipment check, but Shaun knew better.
He leaned into it for the couple of seconds they could afford, letting himself take what Zenko was offering before they both had to put this shit away and finish the mission.
“TOC, this is Ambra One, we are in.”
“Ambra One, this is TOC,” Max responded immediately, the tension Shaun had heard in his voice inside that fucking pipe easing slightly. “Well done.”
“We won’t be able to use the pipe to get out.
” Zenko checked his weapons as he spoke, and he automatically did the same, running hands that were finally beginning to feel steady over his own.
“We’re out of air.” Zenko’s gaze flicked toward him as he said it, and he resisted the urge to correct him.
Technically, one of them was out of air.
The other stubborn asshole had decided whatever remained in his tanks belonged to both of them.
“Roger.” The clicking of Max’s keyboard came faintly through comms. “Moving to extraction plan two. How copy, Ambra One?”
“TOC, Ambra One, solid copy.” Zenko’s attention shifted immediately to the next problem, and Shaun followed it there, forcing the last of the fear from the pipeline behind the walls he’d spent years building for exactly this shit.
Zenko signaled toward the door, and he moved with him, weapon at ready as they carefully checked their way out of the pump house.
“Dumbasses who don’t lock their potential entry points get everything they deserve.” He kept the words barely above a whisper as he followed Zenko through the door, sweeping his sector before moving far enough to give him room.
Zenko’s lips curved into a grin, his teeth a brief flash of white against his painted face.
The sight of it did something dangerously close to settling the last of the adrenaline still crawling through him.
It was freaking ridiculous. He’d nearly drowned in a pipe, somebody might have tampered with their equipment, their original exfil route was screwed, and Zenko Marks smiling at him was apparently what his nervous system had decided counted as reassurance.
He’d unpack that particular piece of bullshit when they were somewhere vigilance wasn’t required to ensure they both made it out of here alive.
His boot caught a loose piece of rock and sent it skittering down the filthy corridor.
Fuck.
He froze for half a beat, listening for any indication the sound had carried farther than it should have, before moving again.
He fucking knew better. Nearly drowning had left enough adrenaline rattling around his system to screw with skills that should have been automatic.
He tightened his grip on his weapon and forced his breathing back under control as Zenko glanced at him.
When his boot scuffed the concrete again several yards later, he grimaced and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“TOC, Ambra One?” Zenko’s whisper came through his earpiece as they continued along the corridor, his weapon tracking the empty space ahead of them.
He swept his gaze across another open doorway before checking behind them.
So far, they hadn’t seen or heard a single person since leaving the pump house, and that was beginning to bother him almost as much as the compromised dive rig.
A compound holding their target shouldn’t be this quiet.
If Zenko was calling TOC about the same thing, at least he wasn’t the only one whose instincts were starting to itch.
“Ambra One, TOC, go ahead.”
Max’s response had become almost as familiar as the voice he was used to hearing in his ear when the Ghosts were working.
The cadence was different, the call signs sure as hell were, but there was something reassuringly familiar about having someone sitting miles away watching the pieces they couldn’t see and ready with an answer the second they needed one.
“Shouldn’t there be guards patrolling this place?” Zenko kept his voice low as they moved, sweeping the corridor ahead of them.
Clever boy.
He kept his weapon up and his eyes moving as they advanced, checking every doorway and stretch of corridor for movement.
Nothing. No voices carried through the building, no footsteps warned of someone approaching.
For a compound that had shown a minimum of ten people on-site every time Red Squadron put eyes on it, the silence was becoming more than a little suspicious.
“You’ve seen the drone footage, Ambra One,” Max told them through comms. “Never less than ten seen on site in the last few days.”
“Then they’re all on freaking lunch break or called in an Uncle Charlie day.” Zenko paused at the next doorway, checked the angle, then signaled him through.
He moved past him and took the opposite side, covering while Zenko followed. An entire compound didn’t call in an uncertified sick day at the same fucking time. Either somebody had gotten here before them, or the people who were supposed to be here had been given a damn good reason to disappear.
Or they’re very, very smart fucking cookies and know we’re here.
He stuck another prepared charge to the gas pipe as he passed it, pressing it into place before moving on.
They still had a former base commander to capture and whatever intel Sheridan had on the potential mole inside JSOC who was feeding arms and money into the same network Grif’s former teammates on Delta Force Team Panther had been chasing.
Then Shaun got to do the fun part and send this entire fucking compound somewhere between hell and back while leaving enough of a gas leak behind to explain why it had disappeared.
The last thing anyone needed was the Iranian government tracing an explosion on its soil back to the US and turning one covert operation into an international shitstorm.
He pressed the final charge into place, checked it was secure, then caught Zenko’s attention and gave him the signal. Zenko acknowledged it with a quick glance before bringing his hand to comms.
“TOC, Ambra One, charges are set.”
“Ambra One, TOC, roger,” Max confirmed immediately. “Any sign of our target?”
“TOC, Ambra One, this place is a ghost town,” Zenko responded as they continued the sweep. “We’ll clear it, but I think they knew we were coming.”
His gaze went automatically to Zenko before returning to his sector.
He’d been trying very hard to keep that possibility in a separate box from the one containing his dead air rig, but the two were getting harder to keep apart.
They had both checked the equipment before it was loaded onto the mini sub.
Somebody had needed access to those rigs after the checks were complete, and now they were standing in a compound that appeared to have been emptied before they arrived.
It still didn’t tell him whether the equipment failure had been deliberate, which rig had been intended for whom, or whether it had anything to do with the missing people.
He sure as fuck wasn’t dismissing the possibility anymore.
“Ambra One, TOC, you need to make your way through the kitchen toward the rear exit.”
Max’s instructions sent them moving again, Zenko taking point as they worked their way toward the kitchen. He followed close behind, covering the angles Zenko couldn’t while trying to decide whether the continued absence of guards made him feel better or considerably worse.
“There is movement to the rear of that building,” Max warned through comms.