8. Merlin
8
MERLIN
I’m getting too old for this shit.
I’m exhausted, adrenaline’s crashing, and all I want is a shower, a beer, and Leila in my bed, in that order. The support team has only just arrived. The dining room is in chaos, and we’ve still got cleanup to do. But the hostages are safe, and that’s all that matters.
I’m about to hand off to the support team when I see Phillip Stanton hurrying over to me.
“Sir,” I greet when he stops in front of me.
He sticks his hand out, and I shake it. “Thank you,” he says.
“No thanks needed, sir, but thank you,” I reply.
The man nods. “My Executive Assistant, Leila Asherton, left the dining room before all hell broke loose. Has she been found? Is she all right?”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Asherton was the first person we found. She safe and unharmed.”
“Oh, thank God. Do you think it would be possible for me to see her?”
“Unfortunately, not right now. We’ll be arranging for the passengers to be safely transported off this ship. You’ll be able to see her then.”
Once again, the man nods, thanks me, and returns to his group. I track his progress across the room, and my gaze lands on Edgar Mason, a very pissed off look on his face. The question is, what is he so pissed off about? Is it because he got caught up in the drama of a hijacking? Or is it because he’s somehow involved in the attempt and mad because his plan didn’t work?
The support team leader arrives at that moment, and I turn to greet him, Mason forgotten for the moment. I’m giving the man a situation report when my earpiece crackles to life. I hear a man screaming in a foreign language, and it takes a second to realize what’s going on. When I do, my blood freezes. We’re all present and accounted for in the dining room, except Ace. And Leila. I look around for the guys and see them rushing my way, listening, like me.
Fuck, we’ve missed at least one hijacker, and now Ace and Leila’s lives are on the line.
I barely take a second to explain the situation to the other team leader before the six of us take off sprinting. My gut’s clenched in fear, and nausea is a sour taste in my mouth. We’re approaching the cabin they’re in when my body jerks as I hear gunfire and Leila scream. Then nothing.
Terror is a living, breathing beast inside me, and my legs can’t carry me to their cabin fast enough. Knowing that Leila is out in the world, living her life, even if she can’t be mine, has brought me a modicum of comfort. The thought of her vibrant spirit and bubbly personality being snuffed out when we’re so close by is intolerable. A world without her in it just doesn’t bear thinking about.
But I can’t afford to think like that right now. I need to keep it together. Leila and Ace are counting on us to have their backs, and the guys are looking to me to make the right decisions to do that. The last time I felt fear like this was the day I watched my best friend die.
Silently, I vow, nobody dies on my watch today.
Thankfully, the door is open, and we’re able to see what’s going on inside the room. Ace is shielding Leila with his body, and a heavily armed man is raving like a lunatic in a language none of us can understand. We don’t need to for us to know the man is mad as hell as he brandishes his weapon about.
Like an out-of-body experience, I watch as she steps out from behind Ace and goes off on a rant of her own, despite not speaking the same language as their armed assailant. Her mouthing off at him clearly offends the man because, before anyone can react, he reaches out with the butt of his assault rifle and smashes it against the side of her head.
I watch as her legs crumple beneath her, and she collapses to the floor, hitting her head on the corner of the desk Ace has his equipment set up on. She hits the floor hard and just lies there, unmoving. Fuck, from where I’m standing, I can’t even see if she’s breathing.
I have to take a moment — a long moment — to find my calm. All I want to do is rush the man and beat the hell out of him. Instead, I reassess our options and start signaling silent orders. I see Ace’s eyes track to the door, and I move into view while the gunman’s back is to us. I signal Ace our plan. He taps the side of his nose, and I slip away from the door once more. Staying calm is difficult, so I avoid looking at Leila.
At my command, Ace creates a distraction by dropping to his knees on the floor, pretending to attempt to wake Leila. Using the cover of his hunched over body, he pulls his knife free of its scabbard. Invisible as his nickname suggests, Phantom slips into the room, hiding behind the door. Making use of the small gap between the wooden panel and the cabinet beside him, he aims his weapon at the screaming man. He gestures with his weapon, and I can only assume he’s telling Ace to move away from Leila.
In a rush of movement, Ace comes to his feet, swinging his knife arm in a tight arc. From my position in the hallway, I can hear the impact as the blade makes contact. The gunman grunts, clutches at his side, and staggers back a couple steps. Phantom’s weapon is still trained on the man, but it seems my man Ace got the job done.
Slowly, the man sinks to a knee, gasping, as he struggles for breath. He braces a hand on the floor though it doesn’t prevent him from toppling over sideways. A feeble attempt to lift his rifle to bear on Ace results in a grunt of pain, his arm falling back to the floor as if it were too heavy to lift any longer.
The man’s breathing becomes more labored, and I signal for the men to follow me into the room. Kicking the assault rifle away from the dying man, I kneel beside him to search his pockets for identification or anything else he might be carrying on him.
“Ace, how’s Leila doing? She …?” My voice cracks, and I can’t finish the question.
“All good, Merlin. Pulse is strong, breathing’s regular and even. Seems she’s just knocked out cold.”
I nod but continue my search. My heart kicks into overdrive, and an icy sweat breaks out on my brow when I feel the edge of a vest. Ace obviously got lucky when he took a swipe at him, and if the vest is what I think it is, he was fucking lucky .
Peeling back the bulky jacket the man is wearing, my own breathing about stalls when I see the crude bomb strapped to the man’s chest. I offer up a quick prayer of thanks that the knife missed the explosives.
I swallow hard, clear my throat, and speak softly, but clearly. “Clear the room and move to a safe distance. Make sure Leila’s well protected.”
All movement in the room ceases.
“What you got there, Chief?” Blade asks quietly.
“Our friend here seems to be all strapped up and ready to party. I’m trying to see how to disconnect the fireworks.”
“Well, shit,” Cougar pipes up. “Ain’t that a stinker. Shoulda known it wouldn’t be that easy.”
Ace fashions a brace to support Leila’s neck before easing her gently into his arms. One by one, my men vacate the room. After a couple minutes, Blade notifies me they’re clear, and I gingerly roll the now-dead hijacker onto his stomach in an attempt to mitigate at least some of the blast, on the off chance that the bomb blows. Since I haven’t found a detonator on him, I can only assume it’s connected to a remote.
I ease back onto my feet and run for the rendezvous point, praying my luck will hold and no one gets a twitchy finger anytime soon. When I meet back up with the team, Ace is still standing with Leila cradled gently in his arms, almost as if he’s reluctant to put her down.
Just as I check my watch, I hear the unmistakable sound of helicopters headed our way. Still super aware of our wired hijacker down on the main deck, I won’t breathe easy until we’re off this ship — well and truly clear of the damn thing.
A helo lands, and we begin the process of evacuation. By the time our team boards, Leila is still unconscious, and I’m starting to panic. She should have regained consciousness by now. Sitting beside her, I hold her hand, rubbing small circles over the soft skin.
I look up to find Ace staring at me, an expression I can’t quite fathom in his eyes. Without a word, he turns away to stare out the window. For a long moment, I contemplate the look he gave me, but eventually, I turn my attention back to Leila, trying to tamp down my worry. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before she’s awake and giving me grief again. Even that’s preferable to her lying like this, pale and unmoving. Lifeless.
No sooner have we landed than the medics waiting for us whisk Leila off to the sick bay. Everything in me yearns to go with her, not to leave her side. But I have a job to do, and staying with my team to get it done has to take priority at this point.
By the time I can finally get to her, the nurse informs me there’s been no change, but the doctor will be by to check on her again in a little while if I’d like a word. Hell yeah, I’d like a word. Worry is eating at me like acid.
I move to the bed and pick her small hand up, cradling it between both of mine. Protecting it between them, I rest my head on my hands, tired to my soul. And for the first time, I contemplate standing down from active duty. I doze, sitting like that, until the doctor comes in to check on Leila.
“Sir,” I say, coming to my feet.
“Good morning. Sit, sit. I’m just here to check on Ms. Asherton. No change, I see.”
“No, sir. She’s not even so much as murmured or shifted in the bed.”
The doctor nods, reading over the notes on her chart, but says nothing. I sit impatiently, waiting for something. Anything.
When nothing’s forthcoming, I ask the question uppermost in my mind. “Why hasn’t she woken up yet?”
“Sometimes, with injuries like this, there’s an underlying issue. It could be physical — a pre-existing condition that we’re unaware of. I don’t think that’s the case here since nothing came up on any of our scans or examination.”
“What else could it be then?”
“Well, sometimes it’s psychological. If there’s something stressful going on in the patient’s life, they could choose to not deal with the situation by remaining in an unconscious state.” He gives me a considering look. “I assume you know Ms. Asherton in a personal capacity, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” It’s all I give him. It’s all I can give him.
“Is there anything going on that she’s either struggling to deal with, or doesn’t want to?”
“My understanding is, she’s been under enormous stress for some time.”
“That’ll do it.” He nods. “Until she regains consciousness, there’s no telling if there’ll be any lasting effects from that rather nasty blow. Only time will tell. In the meantime, talk to her. I’m sure it will bring her comfort to know you’re here.” With that, he gives me one last nod and leaves.
Yeah, I’m not so sure about that Doc. If the reason she’s still out of it is indeed psychological, then I’m probably the reason why. And, as much as it guts me to admit that, I can understand why, after what I did to her.