Chapter 27 #2
Ford wasn’t surprised. Anyone who had the resources to leave Tevenne likely already had.
Marino leaned forward suddenly. “Contact.”
Rourke lifted his head. “Where?”
Hill pointed toward the darkness ahead. At first, Ford saw only shadow. Then a faint glow appeared along the shoreline—lights, low and partially hidden by the trees.
Ford leaned forward slightly. “That’s it.”
Rourke eased the throttle back. The engines settled into a low rumble as the boat slowed. “Welcome to Tevenne.”
The island rose slowly from the darkness in front of them. Ford rolled his shoulders. Even from this distance, something about it felt wrong.
TEVENNE
Ahead of them, Tevenne slowly emerged from the darkness.
At first glance, it looked exactly like its resort advertisements.
Palm trees lined the pale strip of beach.
White villas climbed the hillside in careful tiers.
Soft amber light glowed through the wide glass walls of the main resort buildings.
From a distance, it looked calm, like nothing at all was wrong.
Marino flipped his night vision goggles to squint through the wind toward the shore. “That does not look like a crisis.”
Rourke shut the engines down completely. The skiff drifted with the swells, and the only noise came from wind and water pushing against the hull.
“Distance?” Davis asked.
Ford checked the GPS mounted beside the console. “One hundred meters.”
“Close enough to observe.” Marino continued scanning the shoreline. “I don’t see any patrols. No boats at the dock.”
Hill narrowed his eyes. “It’s too quiet.”
Ford nodded in agreement. “That’s exactly the problem. It just got dark. Everyone should be having dinner.” He flipped down his NVGs. The main resort buildings appeared mostly dark. Only a handful of interior lights were on.
He shifted his view farther inland. His expression tightened.
“What do you see?” Rourke asked.
Ford swiped his goggles clean from the spray. “Look behind the spa complex. I’ll watch the water.”
Rourke took back the helm. “Medical wing.”
Michaels stiffened as he focused through his goggles. “There are people moving between the buildings.”
“How many?” Hill asked. “I see ten.”
Marino kept watching. “It’s hard to say.”
Several small electric carts moved between structures. People were being transported across the courtyards. They weren’t walking. They were being carried.
Rourke pointed toward the southern edge of the island. “There’s the dock.”
A long wooden pier extended into the water. It was completely empty. No security boats. No skiffs. Nothing moving.
Ford shook his head slightly. “Confirms what I thought, the clients already left.”
The wind gusted harder across the water, and the skiff rocked sharply.
Ford scanned the illuminated medical building entrance carefully, moving the view across the courtyard and the smaller structures surrounding it.
Then he saw them. A small group of figures shuffled across the courtyard between two buildings, their movement slow and uneven.
One of them held her stomach as she walked. Another leaned heavily against a third.
Ford lifted his goggles. “They’re still here.”
Davis released a breath. “How many?”
Ford looked back toward the island. “Can only see that passageway. I can’t see anything more.”
Rourke reached for the ignition and restarted the engines. The motors turned over quickly.
Ford kept studying the island. Something about the scene felt wrong. The resort looked intact, but the atmosphere was off in a way he could not ignore. There was too little movement.
“What’s the call?”
Ford watched the island for another moment, seeing the harsh lights of the medical wing’s entrance. Above them, the clouds thickened as distant flashes of lightning flickered deeply within the approaching storm. “We’re going in.”
The engines idled just above a whisper as Rourke guided the skiff toward the southern dock. He used careful bursts of throttle to keep the noise low against the wind.
The villas along the shoreline looked deserted. Patio lights still glowed over empty decks. Glass doors rattled softly in the rising gusts. Farther inland, the medical complex entrance burned bright under floodlights.
Ford watched through his goggles again. “Dock is still clear.”
Rourke eased the boat alongside the wooden pier. Davis stepped forward and caught a piling, securing the line quickly. The skiff settled against the dock with a bump. The wind carried distant sounds from the island. Coughing. Voices. A faint alarm tone from somewhere deeper in the complex.
Hill swallowed. “Alright… that’s unsettling.”
“What’s the call?”
Ford didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”
Rourke climbed onto the dock first. “Stay tight. NVGs in place.”
Michaels followed immediately. Ford stepped up next, lifting one of the antiviral crates onto the pier while Marino brought the second. The six men paused briefly, listening.
There was no sign of security. No vehicles.
Ford nodded toward the resort buildings. “The medical wing is behind the building marked Spa.”
Rourke studied the path leading inland. A stone walkway wound through landscaped gardens under soft ground lights. The entire resort looked empty. “Stay frosty.”
They crossed the grounds quickly but stealthily. The place looked abandoned. Chairs lay overturned near the pool deck. Half-finished drinks sat blown over on patio tables. A few suitcases were left outside villa doors as if their owners left in a hurry.
As they cleared the perimeter of the first villa, gunfire erupted from over a stone retaining wall.
“CONTACT!” Garcia yelled.
Rounds snapped through the dark, chewing into stone and wood.
“Cover!” Rourke barked.
They broke in clean angles, returning fire in panic-free controlled bursts.
Hill jerked and dropped.
“Man hit!” Michaels yelled and dragged Hill behind a small stone rise.
Ford didn’t turn fully. “Michaels! Garcia! On him!”
Garcia hit the ground beside Hill, hands fast. “Thigh. Bleeding heavy!”
“Tourniquet high!” Ford ordered.
Michaels locked the tourniquet down, tightening the strap hard. He sprinkled QUIKCLOT on the wound.
Hill gritted his teeth. “I’m good!”
“You’re not,” Garcia called out.
The bleeding slowed to a stop. “Bleed controlled!” Michaels called.
Ford fired again, pushing forward. “Get him to the skiff,” he ordered. “Now.”
Garcia nodded. “Moving!”
They hauled Hill up between them, pulling back through cover.
“Garcia, you return,” Ford added.
“Copy!”
“Michaels, get him to Kasavoa. Don’t wait.”
Michaels didn’t argue. “Understood.”
They disappeared back toward the dock. Ford didn’t look back.
“Push!” Ford called.
Rourke and Davis advanced with him. Marino shifted left, covering angles.
Men dressed in black t-shirts and BDUs fired from behind villa walls and low structures. They were undisciplined. Their shots were scattered and wasted.
Ford’s team wasn’t. They moved as one, firing short bursts. Advancing and clearing, flex cuffing and repeating.
Ford instructed, “Try to keep them alive.”
Within minutes, the resistance started to break. Ford caught a glimpse of something he didn’t expect. Through the trees, he saw rotor movement. “Rourke.”
Rourke glanced up. “Yeah, I see it. Helo spinning up.”
An MH-6 Little Bird lifted from the far back of the compound. “It’s got to be heading to the pad near the administration building,” Ford said.
The group pushed forward harder and faster. They’d secured six guards.
OPERATING ROOM
Blake’s hands were deep inside the incision. The baby was breech. The sharp echo of gunfire broke his concentration. He froze for a second.
A masked man in a Tevenne Security uniform pushed into the room. “There’s a group invading the island. They broke through the perimeter. They’re close. The helicopter is on the pad waiting.”
The metal retractor clattered to the floor. “Finish it,” Blake said to the surgical nurse, already stepping back and stripping his mask and gown.
The nurse stared at him. “What?”
Blake pulled off his gloves, tossing them to the floor beside the retractor. “I’m not staying here to go to jail.”
“Doctor, she’ll die?—”
Blake didn’t stop. He was gone.
HELICOPTER PAD
The small helicopter strained against the wind. The pilot leaned out. “We’re tight on weight! We can’t take?—”
Blake grabbed him hard by the shoulders and popped the harness.
“What are you doing?!” the pilot yelled.
Blake yanked him out, dumping him onto the pad. The pilot hit the ground hard, stunned.
Blake settled into the seat. The rotors spun up.
Ford hit the pad at a full run. The rotors were churning the air ferociously. “STOP!” he roared over the deafening sound.
The pilot did not stop. Another man lay prone on the ground, writhing in apparent pain.
Ford stood ten yards out, rifle up. Sand pelted his face. “Get out of the helicopter!”
The pilot shook his head. “Not happening.” He pulled a handgun and shot at Ford.
Ford dove and rolled, firing his own shot into the side window. “You don’t get to leave them!” He put a perfectly aimed bullet into the pilot’s shoulder, and the gun dropped from his hand.
“With the storm and the flu, they’re already dead!” the man snapped.
When the helicopter lifted, Ford pushed to his knees. “Last chance!” He fired, but the bullet jammed.
The helicopter shimmied in the wind. Ford moved fast, swinging the rifle onto his back and grabbing the flare gun on his waist.
Flare up. Ignition. Flame.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he worked to clear the rifle’s jam. Ford fired from his knees. The flare struck the helicopter’s gas tank.
BOOM! Fire tore through the Little Bird as it dropped hard onto the pad. Rotors shredded, skittering across the concrete as fuel ignited. The second man on the pad scrambled backward on the concrete to avoid the debris, shock all over his face.
Ford scrambled toward him, his weapon raised again. “Don’t.”
The man froze. Ford hauled him up and turned him, flex cuffs snapping tight around his wrists. “You’re done.”
He didn’t fight.