10. Rook
ROOK
The Northern Star disappeared into darkness.
One second, its exterior lights glowed across the black water.
The next, every light died.
Rook heard the woman’s voice through his earpiece.
“You have sixty seconds before the emergency system restores them.”
“Understood.”
Reef drove the fishing vessel toward the cargo ship’s stern.
The old engine roared beneath their feet.
Enemy fire tore across the water.
Rounds slammed into the wheelhouse and shattered one of the side windows. Reef ducked but kept both hands on the controls.
“Twenty yards!” he shouted.
Sniper fired from behind the steel housing near the bow.
A man toppled from the Northern Star’s upper walkway.
Falcon fired next.
Another shooter disappeared behind the railing.
Rook crouched beside the starboard side with Shark, Maverick, and Cobra.
Salt spray struck his face.
The cargo ship’s black hull towered over them.
Massive.
Steel.
A floating fortress.
“Ten yards!” Reef called.
Rook touched his radio.
“Fathom, incoming boats?”
“Three miles and closing. They’ll reach you in less than four minutes.”
“Can you delay them?”
“I’m working on it.”
That wasn’t good enough.
The fast boats carried at least eighteen armed men.
Twenty-three waited aboard the cargo ship.
Shadow Division was attacking with eight.
Not ideal odds.
But better than the mountain.
This time, Rook knew the enemy was waiting.
This time, his men controlled the approach.
“Stand by,” Reef shouted.
He turned the wheel hard.
The fishing boat swung alongside the cargo ship’s stern. Steel scraped steel with a sound that tore through the night.
Cobra fired a magnetic climbing launcher.
The hook struck the upper railing and locked into place.
Shark secured a second line.
Maverick pulled hard, testing it.
“Good!”
“Go!” Rook ordered.
Cobra climbed first.
Of course he did.
The enormous former SEAL moved up the side of the vessel faster than any man his size should have been able to move.
Shark followed.
Then Maverick.
Sniper and Falcon continued firing toward the upper walkways, forcing the mercenaries into cover.
Rook grabbed the line.
“Reef!”
“Go. I’ll secure the boat and follow.”
Rook climbed.
The ocean rolled beneath him.
Rounds struck the hull several feet above his head, throwing sparks into the darkness.
He kept moving.
Cobra reached the stern railing.
A mercenary rose on the other side.
Cobra grabbed the man by his vest and pulled him over.
The mercenary disappeared into the ocean without firing a shot.
Cobra climbed onto the deck.
“Clear!”
Shark went over the railing next.
Maverick followed.
Rook reached the top as the emergency lights activated.
Red light flooded the deck.
Sirens screamed.
So much for stealth.
“Contact!” Shark shouted.
Gunfire erupted between the cargo containers.
Rook dropped behind a steel housing as bullets tore through the air.
Cobra crouched beside him.
“There goes the quiet approach.”
“You threw a man off the ship.”
“He was in the way.”
Rook leaned out and fired.
A mercenary fell between two containers.
Maverick moved left.
Shark covered him.
Sniper reached the railing and fired from his elevated position. Falcon climbed over seconds later.
Reef secured the fishing vessel beneath the cargo ship’s stern before joining them.
All eight operators were aboard.
Fathom’s voice entered their radios.
“Fast boats are changing formation.”
“Approach pattern?” Rook asked.
“Two moving toward your port side. One circling starboard.”
They intended to surround the ship.
Rook fired at a man moving along the upper catwalk.
“What are my options?”
“Bad, worse, and something Cobra would enjoy.”
Cobra grinned. “Pick the third one.”
A new engine rumbled through the darkness.
Deeper than the approaching boats.
Slower.
Powerful.
Rook looked toward the water.
A large harbor tug emerged from the darkness with no running lights.
Captain Sam Cutter stood inside the wheelhouse.
Rook stared.
“Cutter, what the hell are you doing?”
Sam’s voice entered the channel.
“Saving your asses.”
“We told you to stay at the harbor.”
“You also said you were stealing a cargo ship. Somebody has to know how to drive the damn thing.”
Cutter pushed the tug harder.
The first strike boat turned toward him.
Big mistake.
Cutter waited until the smaller vessel committed to its approach.
Then he swung the tug’s reinforced bow.
The collision sounded like an explosion.
The strike boat lifted out of the water, rolled onto its side, and disappeared beneath the tug’s wake.
Sniper laughed over the radio.
“Remind me never to criticize his driving.”
“I heard that,” Cutter said.
The other two boats broke formation.
One turned toward the tug.
The second accelerated toward the Northern Star.
“Fathom,” Rook said. “Help Cutter.”
“I’ve got the cargo ship’s emergency beacon.”
“What about it?”
“I’m changing its status.”
“To what?”
“Hazardous-material leak.”
Rook almost smiled.
Every commercial and government vessel monitoring the marine emergency channel would see a warning around the Northern Star.
The mercenaries wouldn’t want witnesses.
The remaining strike boats changed course again.
One continued after Cutter.
The other slowed.
“Coast Guard relay just acknowledged the warning,” Fathom reported. “Emergency response estimated in twenty-eight minutes.”
That gave Shadow Division twenty-eight minutes to secure the ship and find the evidence.
“Move,” Rook ordered.
They advanced between the cargo containers.
Falcon took the forward position.
Two guards appeared ahead.
His suppressed rifle coughed twice.
Both men collapsed before they understood they were under attack.
Rook signaled left.
Shark and Maverick moved toward the port access.
Cobra and Reef took the starboard corridor.
Rook, Sniper, and Falcon advanced toward the bridge.
Gunfire erupted from the catwalks.
Rounds hammered the containers.
Sparks showered the deck.
The trap had sprung.
But Shadow Division was already inside it.
The corridor below deck became a killing ground.
Muzzle flashes strobed against the steel walls. The smell of gunpowder filled the narrow passage.
Madow’s men gave ground slowly.
They weren’t sailors.
They weren’t ordinary security guards.
They were operators.
Professionals paid to make problems disappear.
Rook led his group through one intersection after another.
Every doorway was contested.
Every corridor earned.
A mercenary stepped from a side passage and opened fire.
Falcon dropped to one knee.
His rifle barked.
The man spun and collapsed.
Sniper fired past Rook’s shoulder.
A second shooter fell inside an open doorway.
“Port team, status?” Rook asked.
“Moving toward the engine room,” Maverick answered.
“Resistance?”
“Plenty.”
Gunfire punctuated his response.
Then Shark shouted.
The sound tore through Rook.
“Man down!”
Rook stopped. “Who?”
“Shark’s hit.”
“How bad?”
A burst of gunfire answered before Maverick did.
“Shoulder. Through-and-through. He’s still fighting.”
Of course he was.
“Get pressure on it.”
“I’m fine,” Shark said.
His voice sounded strained.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve done that before.”
“Fall back to the stern.”
“No.”
That one word carried everything Rook needed to know.
Shark wouldn’t leave Maverick and Cobra while the ship remained unsecured.
“Keep him alive,” Rook ordered.
Maverick’s answer came cold and immediate.
“Always.”
Rook turned toward the stairs leading to the bridge.
“Reef?”
“Engine room access secured. Crew members are sheltering inside two cabins.”
“Combatants?”
“Three down. Crew surrendered.”
“Cobra?”
“Trying not to blow up the engine.”
Rook heard Cobra in the background.
“The word trying is important.”
“Get control of propulsion,” Rook ordered. “Cutter will take the bridge when it’s secure.”
“Copy.”
Rook looked at Sniper and Falcon.
“The bridge is ours.”
They moved.
Rook stopped outside the bridge.
The silence on the other side felt wrong.
Still.
Patient.
Waiting.
Falcon met his eyes.
“They know we’re here.”
Rook removed a flashbang from his vest.
“Then let’s not disappoint them.”
Sniper moved to the opposite side of the door.
Rook held up three fingers.
Two.
One.
Falcon forced the door.
Rook threw the flashbang.
The explosion rattled the corridor.
White light filled the bridge.
Shadow Division entered behind it.
Gunfire erupted.
Rounds shattered windows.
Glass sprayed across the controls.
Mercenaries fired from behind navigation consoles.
Sniper dropped the first.
Falcon climbed onto a damaged station, gained elevation, and fired twice.
Two more men fell.
A mercenary lunged toward the ship’s emergency controls.
Rook intercepted him.
They crashed into a navigation console.
The man drove an elbow into Rook’s ribs.
Pain exploded across his side.
Rook slammed the mercenary against the console and struck him hard enough to drop him.
Another shooter rose behind the captain’s chair.
Sniper fired before the man brought his weapon up.
The fight lasted less than a minute.
It felt like an hour.
Then silence descended.
Smoke drifted across the bridge.
Broken glass covered the floor.
Several monitors sparked.
Madow’s strike team lay scattered around them.
Rook swept the area.
“Bridge secure.”
Cutter answered immediately.
“On my way.”
“Reef, send the captain up with him.”
“Copy.”
Rook looked through the shattered bridge window.
Cutter’s tug still battled the second strike boat. The smaller vessel fired toward the wheelhouse, but its rounds bounced from the reinforced steel.
Cutter turned the tug toward it.
The mercenaries broke away rather than risk sharing the first boat’s fate.
Both surviving strike vessels raced into the darkness.
“They’re retreating,” Fathom reported.
“They’ll regroup,” Rook said.
“Coast Guard response is twenty minutes out.”
Cutter boarded the cargo ship from the stern and arrived on the bridge with the Northern Star’s terrified captain.
The captain looked at the bodies.
Then Rook.
Then Cutter.
“What do you want?”
Cutter pointed toward the controls.
“Can you operate your ship?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Change course.”
The captain swallowed. “To where?”
Cutter gave him coordinates.
The man stared at them.
“That’s an abandoned cannery inlet.”
“That’s right.”
“The water isn’t deep enough.”
“It is along the northern approach.”
The captain shook his head. “The charts?—”
“I helped survey that inlet thirty years ago,” Cutter said. “The charts are wrong.”
Rook looked at him.
Cutter shrugged.
“You aren’t the only one with secrets.”
Rook contacted the rest of the team.
“Secure all remaining crew. Collect weapons and communications equipment. Fathom, erase our emergency broadcast and give the Coast Guard a new position.”
“You want me to misdirect the Coast Guard?”
“For twenty minutes.”
“That is extremely illegal.”
“So is stealing a cargo ship.”
Fathom sighed. “Fair point.”
Cutter took control of the helm.
The Northern Star began turning toward the hidden inlet.
Shadow Division had taken the ship.
Now they had to discover what it carried.
The hidden compartment sat beneath the engine room.
Fathom found it by comparing the ship’s construction plans to its internal measurements. A six-foot gap existed between two bulkheads where no space should have been.
Cobra opened the false wall without destroying the evidence.
Mostly.
Rook stepped into the compartment.
Then stopped.
Rows of sealed boxes filled the room.
Financial records.
Personnel files.
Photographs.
Shipping manifests.
Encrypted drives.
Years of evidence.
Years of corruption.
Years of buried secrets.
The room felt less like storage and more like a confession.
A metal desk stood alone in the center.
Something about it felt intentional.
As though someone wanted the compartment found.
Then Rook saw the photograph.
His breath caught.
Nine men stood together.
Alive.
Laughing.
Three years earlier.
Hammer.
Ghost.
Viking.
Tex.
Ridge.
Bishop.
Sniper.
Fathom.
Rook.
It had been taken after an operation in North Africa. Viking had insulted the photographer seconds before the camera flashed. Hammer was laughing. Tex held two fingers behind Ghost’s head.
One of the last truly good days.
Rook had kept the photograph inside his office.
It disappeared after the mountain.
He had assumed investigators took it while clearing his belongings.
Yet here it sat.
Perfectly preserved.
He picked up the frame.
His fingers tightened around it.
A message had been written across the back.
Five words.
I TRIED TO SAVE THEM.
The compartment fell silent.
The others gathered behind him.
Nobody spoke.
Because the woman wasn’t merely watching.
She wasn’t only helping.
She was grieving.
Rook stared at the photograph.
He understood the guilt hidden inside those five words.
The belief that he should have seen the trap.
That he should have stopped it.
That he should have brought all of his men home.
For months, he had carried that wound alone.
Now he realized the woman with the silver sword carried one exactly like it.
For the first time, Rook stopped seeing her as a mystery.
He saw another survivor.