Chapter 4
FOUR
The helicopter bucked through the storm, rotors hammering against the wind hard enough to rattle bone.
Archer sat locked into the harness, his boots braced on the floor, shoulders squared and eyes forward. The noise sliced through the clutter in his brain and left only the op they were facing.
The chopper was always on standby, the pilot focused on getting the team in and out clean. Just what they did in the interim, they hadn’t been briefed on yet.
Sierra team was dialed in, not even exchanging glances as the chopper gained altitude. Cannon had a phone pinned to his ear, his words lost in the noise. When he lowered the device, he switched on the comms. A low hum filled their ears.
His voice came through, heavy with control. “There’s an explosive on the move. It’s projected to arrive at the joint military base near Seattle. We intercept before it reaches base.”
Cannon swept a look over the team. When he met Archer’s gaze, he paused only a beat before continuing, “It’s coming in overland through the mountains. Two-man transport. Smugglers. They know the terrain and they’re armed.”
Rome let out a low laugh. “Two? Light work.”
Rivers threaded his fingers together, flexed them and popped all his knuckles. “Mountain intercept? Sounds like a fun time.”
“Been a while since we got to stretch our legs,” Younger added like they were heading out for a weekend beer run instead of chasing a bomb.
O didn’t even glance up from his screen. “I’ve got eyes on three possible routes. Pick one and I’ll make it interesting.”
Archer’s lips twitched at one corner. Finally, life had bypassed the lemons and given him the lemonade. He’d been selected for the right team. These guys weren’t nervous—they were looking forward to the challenge.
Rome caught his eye and tipped his jaw toward him. “You worried, Spanky?”
Younger turned his head and flashed a grin at Rome. “I thought it was Sparky.”
Rome waved a hand. “Thought I’d try out a new name on him.”
Archer gave them a flat look. “I got nothing to worry about. Mountains are my playground. But why is a bomb being moved to a base—and through the mountain pass? How often does that happen?”
“They’re hiding in places they think we won’t look,” Cannon cut in.
While Cannon laid out the plan of attack, Archer was already working angles in his head.
His training at the Black Heart was extensive and left nothing open to interpretation—the operators were taught every fighting approach from close-quarters combat to long-range engagement, and how to adapt when the terrain turned against them.
Cannon met their stares again. “Got it?”
Archer gave a short nod in response. Intercept early. Control the terrain. Don’t let the target dictate movement. He let his mind drift to that quiet place where he could tune out all the noise and focus on the steps between now and a successfully completed op.
The chopper dipped, wind hitting harder as they pushed lower. Snow swept across the landscape below in broken waves. Visibility shifted with every gust. Dropping into conditions like this wasn’t easy, but he’d trained for that too.
As he took in the landscape, a certain woman he’d recently rescued slipped through the edges of his focus without asking permission.
An image of her flashed in his mind, the way relief rippled over her pretty face when she peered over the side of the railing and saw him at the bottom of the tower.
He pushed away the image and leaned forward, attention fixed on the jagged mountaintops they were flying over and would soon lower themselves down on. He’d spent too much time getting back his control to lose even a little bit to thoughts of a woman.
“Two minutes till go,” Cannon said.
Archer scanned the ridge as they approached, each point flagged in his mind. High ground. Wide exposure. No natural cover. It gave them sightlines—but it gave the enemy the same.
They touched down hard on a rocky outcropping. When the guy closest to the hatch opened the door, wind howled through the cabin. Then they were leaping out one by one.
Archer’s boots hit the packed snow, wind cutting sharp across his face. He barely registered the subzero temps as he moved forward, weapon up, sweeping the area.
The sound of the chopper faded as it lifted off again, leaving Sierra on their own.
Cannon made a hand signal for Younger to take point, and he set off, carving a path across the ridge.
Half a mile down the mountain, they hit a natural pass that wasn’t exactly ideal for moving explosives, but the half-buried tracks of snowmobiles revealed it was well-traveled.
Archer stopped. “This isn’t the best place for us to set up.”
A few feet in front of him, Cannon turned his head slightly at his statement. “Why?”
“The ridge line—there’s an open drop beyond it. It’s too exposed. No cover, no choke point. If they push through, we’re reacting instead of controlling.”
Cannon walked a few more steps before calling a halt. Younger paused in the lead and every man waited for orders.
“Sierra 3 is right. Archer, give us a new plan of attack.”
“We move lower. Force them into a narrower path. Limit their options,” he said without hesitation.
A beat passed, then Cannon’s order came. “Sierra 3, you’re in the lead. Move.”
He took the order and relocated them fast, dropping into the lower terrain that would give them the advantage over their enemy. Archer waved a hand at the natural rock formation, and Cannon gave hand signals to move them into position.
Archer’s nervous system was still and calm as he braced against the rock wall and locked in where he needed to be before the target hit.
At the wind blasting over his face, Jolie seeped into his concentration again, and he pressed her back.
When the strike came, it came fast.
Movement cut through the snow, barely visible until it was too close. Archer tracked the sled, timing the intercept.
Two figures. One driving, one riding shotgun. Snowmobile moving fast, but not fast enough because they’d had to slow to get through the pass.
He stepped out from cover at the exact moment the uneven terrain brought the target in sight.
“Sierra 3 moving,” he said into comms, already in motion.
The driver saw him a split second too late. Weapon up, Archer closed the distance in three strides. The driver darted a look side to side in search of escape. But they’d played right into Archer’s plan, and there wasn’t any way out except in restraints or a body bag.
The driver tried to power through, but the snow was deeper here, the path a tight switchback. Archer grabbed the handlebars and rode the momentum, forcing the sled to decelerate.
“Kill it!” he barked.
Rome moved in from the opposite side, weapon trained on the targets, cutting off any escape. “Engine off! Now!”
The driver hesitated, and Archer drove a forearm into his chest and ripped him off the sled, dragging him clear of the machine. The passenger went for a weapon, but six more Sierra team weapons snapped up, the safeties clicking off.
A sharp crack split the air from the ridge above.
“Third shooter!” O barked over comms.
Archer’s head swung up, gaze cutting to the higher ridge. Movement broke through the snow—two figures shifting into position, rifles already up.
Rounds tore into the snow and rock, white spray exploding around them.
Archer shoved the driver into the ground and pinned him with a knee, returning fire in controlled bursts. Rome dragged the passenger behind cover, but not before a round clipped his shoulder, spinning him off-balance.
“Talk to me, Rome,” he bit off.
“I’m good.” Rome was already swinging his weapon back up.
Another voice cut in, sharper this time. “More movement—left side!”
Archer shifted as a third group pushed up through the lower trail, closing the distance. Three more figures moved in, weapons raised.
“Third team, closing fast,” Archer said.
“Sierra 3, hold position,” came Cannon’s order.
“Negative. They’ll breach the sled and get away.”
He pushed off the rock just as a round cracked past him, close enough to feel the air stir. Another slammed into the rock at his side, sending fragments in an outward blast and driving into his ribs. Pain flared sharp, but he stayed on his feet.
“Younger, suppress left!” he snapped.
“On it.”
One man broke right and Archer hit him before he could reposition. Younger controlled the second threat and the last man’s finger twitched on the trigger.
Rome—bleeding and pissed—put him down with a single shot. Silence followed, broken only by wind and the echo of the last round.
Archer held the position a minute longer, scanning every angle and waiting for more that didn’t come. “Clear.”
“Everyone sound off,” Cannon ordered.
“Good.” Younger.
“Hit,” Rome said, voice tight.
Archer acknowledged the line of heat along his ribs. “Minor.”
More responses came, the guys reporting injuries.
“Bomb located. Back of the sled,” came Rivers’ voice in his ear.
“Confirm,” Cannon said.
Archer watched his teammate drop to a knee beside the sled. The device was strapped tight, wired with a crude but effective housing.
“Device is cold,” Rivers said after a swift inspection.
“They wouldn’t travel with it live. They’d arm it at the destination,” Younger put in.
The man on the ground rolled onto his side, one eye glaring up at Archer.
He aimed his weapon at him. “I advise you to remain still.”
The prisoner’s mouth twisted into a sneer but he stopped moving.
“Rivers,” Cannon ordered.
Rivers started pulling tools. “I’m gonna need a pair of steady hands to help me pull this thing apart.”
“Not Younger. He’s got the tremors of old age.”
Someone laughed, enjoying the banter as they worked to disarm the bomb completely.
“I got it.” Townes, aka Townie, stepped in.
“Someone hold the sled steady. I don’t want this thing shaking,” Rivers directed.
“Can’t be me. I’m too feeble to make the walk,” Younger ribbed even as he took a step to brace the machine.
“Hold it there,” Rivers muttered to Townie.