Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT_
HAZARD
As we get Scout below deck and lay him across the dining table, Saint gets to work on making a tourniquet.
Decaf and I make eye contact, and I can tell he’s ready to admit defeat, but I’m not going to let him do that yet.
Aside from Scout getting shot, this is pretty much going to plan. Sort of.
There’s too much going on for me to be able to reassure him, and the scene before us wouldn’t be helping.
The grunts and groans coming from Scout, the blood covering our hands and smelling like metal, the sound of the constant whoosh from the helicopter above us, the roar of the engine, which is only amplified down here … Everything is too much.
Gunfire adds to the mix.
Water splashes against the porthole, and the boat begins to rock.
“Help me stabilize him,” Saint says, and we hold Scout down.
He’s breathing heavily, and his skin is draining of color, but Scout manages to get the tourniquet in place.
“He’s good to move, but he’ll need to buddy up, and we’ll need a new strategy. He’s supposed to be in group two, but there’s no way he’ll be able to do it.”
“Nothing like swimming in shark-infested waters with a bleeding leg,” Scout chokes out. If he’s joking, that’s a good thing, right?
“I’ll go in group two,” Decaf says. “Take his place.”
Of course he jumps at the chance. He’s still trying to sacrifice himself to make sure I’m safe.
“No,” I say. “You’re not healed enough for what we have to do.”
“Don’t fight me on this,” he says.
“I’m going to go talk to Trav. Watch him.” Saint shuffles past us in the tight space and heads back up top.
I don’t miss a beat and continue to put my foot down. Yeah, Decaf, you’re not the only one who can do that. “I don’t have to fight you on it because you’re not doing it, end of discussion. You know Trav will agree with me.”
“I want to make sure you get out of this,” he says.
“I will if I’m not worried your old ass can’t hold your breath for long enough.”
Saint’s head ducks back inside. “The helo’s backing off. They’re either low on fuel or ammo, but I’m certain they’ll be back.”
It’s not until he says this that I realize the chaos of a million sounds is missing that of gunfire.
“Good news is it will give us time to work on Scout. We need to work out if the bullet is still in there and then stitch him up.”
“Isn’t that usually his job?” I ask. “Can he operate on himself?”
“I bet he wishes he could. He’s about to get some Frankenstein-inspired stitches up in here.”
“Leave me,” he says. “I’m not going to be able to get to the target point.”
That might be true, but if he stays here, he has no hope of making it at all.
“You know that’s not going to happen,” Decaf says. “I’m not leaving anyone else behind. I did it once, and I can’t live through that guilt again.”
“We’re all getting out of this,” I say confidently, but with the tight expression on Decaf’s face, it’s as if I can hear his thoughts. Yeah, we’ll get through this. Dead or alive. Most likely dead.
Decaf glances down at Scout still on the table. “Tell me what to do.”
I only last five minutes of watching Decaf stick his gloved fingers inside Scout’s calf before I head out on deck and try not to hurl over the side of the boat.
Watching the local anesthetic needle go in was bad enough, and by the sounds Scout was making while Decaf poked around in there, I’m guessing it didn’t even work.
Fuck knows how long I’ve been staring at the horizon for when Decaf appears. He lets out a loud breath. “Found the bullet, but Iris and Saint are stitching him up now.”
Considering how calm and in control he was when I left that room, I’m assuming he was faking it because now he looks as green as I feel.
“He’ll need to go in group one,” Trav says. “We’ll make group one four people and have the three of us in group two. We’ll make it work.”
Decaf doesn’t even protest. He must really feel sick.
We reach our set destination, ten miles offshore—enough to still be able to see land in the far distance—and group one is ready to go so they can do their part. Decaf, Iris, Scout, and Rogue are in their protective wet suits, their diving gear at the ready.
Scout looks like he’s about to pass out, and I don’t want to say goodbye to him, but I’m scared he has no fighting chance out there. “I don’t … I don’t think I can—”
“I’ve got you,” Iris says.
I’m worried this is killing him, but I’m even more worried about what his death will do to Decaf. Knowing him, he’d abandon his target and come back to me, getting us both killed in the process.
At least one good thing about the helo turning back is having the guys get into the water slowly and without anyone seeing.
I don’t know what the plan was if the helo was still following us.
Our plan had them in another boat. Maybe Iris’s accidental hit of the helo was actually genius in disguise of a mistake. I’m not going to tell him that, though.
Before Decaf lowers himself off the back of the boat, I lean over and give him one final kiss. For now. Because I won’t let it be our last forever. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous point.”
“You better,” he says and then puts his breathing apparatus in his mouth and sinks under the water.
The four of them disappear, and now all we can do is wait until we can do the next part of our plan.
It should take the guys less than an hour to reach the shoreline using their underwater scooters to help move them along, but that’s so much time for Scout to be underwater. With how silent Trav, Saint, and I are, I think we’re all mentally in the same boat. And physically, obviously.
I huff at my stupid thoughts. We’re in the middle of a life-or-death mission, worried about a fallen brother, and my stupid brain is making silly metaphors.
“Please share whatever you find funny,” Trav says. It’s not in anger or sarcastic. “I could do with some laughs right about now.”
The three of us on this boat have our partners heading to shore. It’s not only Scout we’re scared for.
“I was just trying to convince myself everything is fine.”
Saint narrows his gaze. “And that … was funny?”
“Not at all,” I say.
They both tilt their head backward in an “Ah” kind of understanding.
We haven’t moved since the others left. We’re still floating, bobbing up and down in the water like sitting ducks.
Trav moves to the wheel. “Let’s get to the target coordinates. If they’re bringing the helo back instead of a boat, we don’t have much time to make sure we’re in the right spot.”
The hardest part of this mission is still to come.
In theory, luring them out to the middle of nowhere and letting them think they’ve taken us out is genius.
Pulling it off? It’s not a certainty. Especially having to pivot from being chased by boat to helicopter.
We’ll have to wing it and hope the misdirection will work.
I look up to the sky, to a higher deity, to the universe, to fate, and try to keep faith that they wouldn’t hurt Decaf by taking me away. He’s already lost so much. So much more than I have.
I might have grown up without a father, but I never knew him. I can’t miss what I never had, not to the same extent Decaf could miss him.
I want to be there for him. He deserves some fucking happiness, and so do … okay, maybe I don’t deserve happiness because I don’t believe I’ve done anything to earn it, but fuck, I want it.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think my dad’s best friend would turn out to be the love of my life when I found those journals last year. Or that my life would turn out like this: adrenaline, action, fighting for a future.
All I need now is not to follow in my father’s footsteps. This won’t be my last day. I’m coming home.
Home to Decaf.
We head to our destination in silence. I’m not sure if we’re still on the same train of thought, but I’m mostly hoping that the timing of this op works out. We had it orchestrated and timed perfectly, but throw Scout getting shot into the mix and a helo being after us instead of a boat …
Mike Bravo prides itself on having backup after backup. This was never that mission.
We’re pivoting as best we can, but at this rate, we’ll be lucky to get out of here alive, let alone successful in making sure our old identities disappear from the world.
“How long do you think until—” I start but am cut off by that same whirring of helicopter blades. At least, I think it is. I can’t be sure over the engine. “Is that …?”
“We’re up,” Trav says, killing the engine. “Let’s move,” Trav orders. “You two get down below and be ready to pop through the manhole on my count. I’ll make sure these fuckers stay behind us so they can’t see you.”
“They’re above us. They’re going to see us escape,” I say.
“Not if our misdirection works.”
“And how long until that misdirection gets here?” I don’t know how long it’s been since we said goodbye to the others. It feels like minutes or hours could’ve ticked by in our combined sullen, doubt-filled moods.
As if the universe is answering my pleas, Trav’s radio fills with spotty static, along with the crackling words, “In position.”
Relief I’ve never known fills my body. There’s still a chance.
“Let’s get this over with,” Trav says. “Be ready. Be alert. And move fast when I tell you to.”
Deep fucking breath.
Saint and I move into the cabin, arming ourselves not with guns but with handheld oxygen tanks and smaller versions of the underwater scooters the others had. These won’t take us ten miles, but we won’t need them to. Hopefully.
I have one tank in my hand, my spare strapped over my shoulder, and Saint and I carry one each for Trav. Finding him under the water shouldn’t be too difficult.
Nervous energy fills my gut, and I try to see through the portholes what’s happening on the outside. There’s nothing for a beat, and then I see it. The stealth speedboat whizzes past, masked men standing at the stern, one of whom is holding his trusty ol’ RPG, aiming it at us.
“Go, go, go!” Trav yells, and Saint and I make our move.
We climb out of the manhole and slide down the bow until we go off the edge and slip into the water.
Right in time for Iris’s grenade to hit the boat.
Hopefully, our act was convincing enough that whoever is in that helo sends confirmation to our government that we’re dead.
Just like we’d planned.