Cover of Night Page 2

  Tonight was an SR mission, search and recon. Ethan’s four-man element was here to get the dope on the enemy before a larger team mounted a full-scale assault.

  He agreed with the plan, mostly. Intel was important, but they needed to be quick. Everyone was dogged by the memory of the last SEAL rescue op in this particular corner of the world. It had been a goatfuck. A bunch of bureaucrats sitting in some conference room had decided to make it a “joint mission,” meaning that Ethan’s spec ops brethren had ended up mucking around with a bunch of local commandos. Tactical decisions were made from afar and by too many people, and the result was wasted time and three dead hostages.

  Never again.

  Tonight’s mission was SEALs only, from start to finish. And not just any SEALs. Alpha Crew was a secret, ultra-elite unit trained to get in and get out with ruthless efficiency. But the key was intel. Right now, they had precious little, and most of what they did have came from an eight-second SOS call made by a reporter traveling with the ambassador’s entourage.

  We’re under attack . . .

  The reporter’s words had been echoing through Ethan’s head since the briefing. He’d recognized the panicked hitch in her voice as she realized what was happening. Three, four . . . six men with machine guns! The call had ended in a barrage of gunfire.

  Karly Bonham was one of twenty-two civilians known to be at the resort when the terrorists launched their attack. Their presumed target was American ambassador Anthony Mancuso and possibly his daughter, Natalie, who was vacationing with him. From what the SEALs knew so far, it looked like the other resort guests and staffers were merely extras, potentially collateral damage in a targeted strike against a United States diplomat.

  Had the reporter been killed? Captured? If she was still alive, she hadn’t managed to reach out again since that eight-second phone call.

  Jake stopped and held up a closed fist. Ethan halted beside him, every sense on alert. The air was dank and still but filled with the sounds of the jungle—the low drone of insects, the faint croak of bullfrogs, the distant rush of water. All sounds you’d expect in this tropical environment . . . plus. Ethan couldn’t pinpoint the plus, but his ears registered it, same as Jake’s had.

  There it was again.

  Ethan tipped his head left, toward a barely audible rustling in the trees. It came from the direction of the resort, which was only half a klick south of them.

  Slowly, silently, Jake peered around a tree trunk. After a few moments, he held up two fingers. Ethan nodded. They waited several minutes until the rustling noise faded to nothing. Then they waited several minutes more.

  Finally, Jake crouched at the base of a tree and spoke softly into his radio. “Bravo, this is Charlie. You copy?”

  “Copy, Charlie. What’s your twenty?”

  “We’re about half a klick south,” Jake said quietly. “A pair of tangos just passed us en route to the resort. What’s the word up there?”

  “We’re in position.” The voice belonged to Ryan Owen, who had gone with Lucas Ortiz to the high point of the island to get a view using high-powered night-vision binoculars. “We’ve got two enemy west of us, looks like an overwatch detail.”

  “Think they know they’ve got company?” Jake asked.

  “Negative. These guys are clueless. They’re smoking cigs and kicking back.”

  “Copy that. So we’re looking at a total of sixteen tangos,” Jake said. “I repeat, sixteen tangos.”

  “Roger. We can confirm six guards spread out along the beach and two around the pool right in front of the lobby. That seems to be where all the action is.”

  Ethan wasn’t surprised. Their team had hitched a ride over here on a frigate, which was serving as their base of operations tonight. Just before sundown, they’d sent a surveillance drone to get a bird’s-eye view of the island. The first things they’d noticed were the lifeless bodies on the beach. Three in total, which left nineteen potential survivors of the initial attack—although Ethan wasn’t optimistic. Any number of people might have been killed indoors or under the tree cover where the drone couldn’t see.

  The second thing they’d noticed was that most of the activity was centered around a large thatched-roof building, the resort’s restaurant, suggesting that the surviving hostages were being held there. That structure was heavily guarded, while the thatched-roof cabins were not.

  Except for one.

  Drone footage showed that the largest guest cabin was surrounded by four armed men, so possibly Mancuso and his daughter were being held there.

  “You got eyes on the compound?”

  “Negative,” Jake answered. “We’ll get back when we do.”

  “Okay, over and out.”

  For a moment, Jake and Ethan said nothing. But Ethan knew what his teammate was thinking. They needed to know exactly who, or what, was in that VIP cabin. If Mancuso’s nineteen-year-old daughter was in there, it was very possible she was being tortured as a way to put pressure on the ambassador and convince him that his captors were serious. The terrorists hadn’t made their demands clear yet, but they’d been in touch with the U.S. embassy in Bangkok, so it was only a matter of time.

  “I can take the cabin, if you want the restaurant,” Jake said.

  “Better if we both take the cabin and then the restaurant so we know what we’re dealing with. But let’s approach from different sides. I’ll take east, you take west.”

  They split apart, drifting through the trees as silently as smoke. They were in jungle cammies and greasepaint, but more impor­tant, they knew how to move without disturbing anything, not even the air.

  Ethan neared the glow of the resort. He shoved his NVGs up to his forehead, preferring to go without them when he was this close to people. He didn’t want to run the risk of being rendered temporarily blind by a sudden flashlight beam.

  Ethan remained still as his eyes adjusted. He went over his plan in his head. He visualized the layout of the resort, recalling that the VIP cabin was at the north end of the pool.

  He slipped through the foliage, taking care not to leave footprints. His lightweight boots were still soaked from hauling the boat ashore, but he ignored the blisters forming on his feet, just like he ignored the very real possibility that an innocent civilian might get hurt tonight when this whole thing went down. Ethan couldn’t think that way. He’d been trained to think positively, to visualize success instead of failure, because visualizing the desired outcome increased its odds of happening. He visualized each step of the mission going exactly as planned, and so far, it had. But the problem was, the plan was based on sketchy intel, which meant they couldn’t visualize all of it, and they were making some of it up as they went.

  Which was pretty much standard operating procedure for this team. Every man in Alpha Crew had a talent for making decisions on the fly.

  Ethan’s eyes had adjusted completely now, and he took in every detail as he neared the resort. He wasn’t following a path, but the vegetation had thinned here. The ground felt hard-packed beneath his boots. He was reaching the inhabited part of the island, and visibility increased as he neared the first cluster of cabins.

  The first two buildings were almost completely dark. Ethan caught a strip of light through a window, probably coming from a bathroom. The attack had happened in the late afternoon, so the lights had been off in many of the cabins when the hostages were rounded up and herded into the restaurant. Ethan figured even amateur terrorists would have the foresight to clear all the buildings and make sure no one was hiding out.

  Easing through the trees, Ethan spotted the VIP cabin, the resort’s most luxurious suite, with its steep, Thai-style roof taller than the rest. The cabin included two bedrooms, two bathrooms, plus a sitting area, and the whole thing was surrounded by a wide deck.

  Which was being patrolled by four guards, one at each corner.

  Eth
an’s pulse picked up as he crept around the cabin and stood in the shadows to study the enemy. The two guards he could see wore black pants and long-sleeved shirts made of the thin cotton fabric popular throughout the region. Both men were bearded, but neither wore a mask, which concerned him. Whatever their plan was, they weren’t worried about being ID’d after everything went down.

  Not good news.

  On the other hand, they weren’t wearing suicide vests, as far as Ethan could tell. Each man held an AK-47 at the ready and had a pistol in a holster on his hip. Another bit of good news: the guard nearest Ethan had a telltale bulge in his shirt pocket, suggesting that he was communicating by cell phone and not any kind of radio receiver clipped to his ear. Not a very high-tech operation.

  The back of Ethan’s neck prickled. He eased deeper into the trees and scanned the surrounding area.

  What had caught his attention? Something. He had that itchy feeling that had saved his ass more times than he could count. Slowly, silently, Ethan slipped his Ka-Bar knife from its sheath so he could confront the threat without making a sound.

  * * *

  Karly crept into the cabin ever so slowly, praying the door wouldn’t squeak. Her heart was racing. Her breath was shallow. Her legs felt like Jell-O, but she forced herself to move cautiously into the room as she scanned the dark space.

  She didn’t dare turn on a light. She hadn’t seen any of the attackers near this building, but she didn’t want to attract attention. She was here because she desperately needed to find something useful to help her out of this mess.

  As her eyes adjusted, she spied a dark heap atop what was probably an armchair in the corner of the room, assuming this cabin was laid out like her own on the other side of the resort.

  Karly tiptoed toward the heap and was relieved to see it was a duffel bag with clothes spilling out of it, and she wasted no time rummaging through it. The fabrics were thin and filmy. She held something up. A black lace thong. She found a lace bra, another thong, and then a T-shirt. The T-shirt had a sailboat on the front, and Karly’s stomach twisted as she recalled seeing the same shirt at breakfast yesterday, worn by Brianna.

  Beautiful, happy Brianna, who now lay dead on the beach, alongside her husband.

  Don’t think about it.

  Karly kept rummaging, praying her trembling hands would encounter the smooth, hard surface of a cell phone or a tablet or maybe a laptop. But she felt only fabric. She found a pair of denim shorts and pulled them on over her bikini, refusing to think about how she was stealing a dead woman’s clothes. She found socks, too, and tugged them on over her ravaged feet. The socks hurt her cuts, but she needed something to minimize the blood trail she surely was leaving behind everywhere she went.

  Giving up on the duffel bag, Karly crept to the dresser, which was cluttered with makeup and sunblock. She spied a phone charger plugged into the wall. Hope surged through her as she followed the cord, but to her bitter disappointment, she didn’t find a phone plugged into the other end. She spotted a corkscrew and snatched it up. No blade was attached, but at least it could be used as a weapon. She slipped it into her pocket and turned her attention to the nightstand.

  They wouldn’t have brought a laptop. Not on their honeymoon. And their phones were probably with them. But Karly had to check anyway—that was the whole reason she’d risked exposure to come back here instead of cowering in the jungle. She tiptoed to the nightstand and slowly opened the drawer. She found a bottle of something slippery—massage oil? And something flat and smooth.

  An iPad!

  Adrenaline spurted through her as she tapped a button and brought the screen to life.

  Immediately, she dropped into a crouch, fearful. Had anyone seen the light? Grabbing a pillow from the bed, she shielded the glow from the view of anyone passing by and then touched the screen.

  Password protected.

  Karly’s heart pounded as she stared at the screen. She was four digits away from being able to send a plea for help to the outside world. On impulse, she tapped the first numbers that popped into her mind: 1-2-3-4.

  Nothing.

  1-1-1-1.

  Nothing.

  0-0-0-0.

  Tears burned her eyes as she held the device in her hands, desperate for inspiration. If she guessed wrong again, the thing would probably lock her out for good, and then where would she be?

  She’d be right where she was now, stranded on a tiny island overrun by terrorists, with the bodies of her fellow tourists strewn around like garbage.

  Don’t think about it, she ordered herself again. If she thought too much, she’d have another anxiety attack like the one she’d had hours ago, after she’d stumbled ashore and darted into the trees. She’d huddled there, shaking and shivering and heaving up ocean water until she felt like she’d turned herself inside out.

  Footsteps nearby.

  Karly froze. She glanced down at the tablet in her hands and tucked it beneath the pillow, praying it wouldn’t make a noise. She ran her fingers over the side until she found the mute button.

  Silence. Whoever it was had stopped just outside the window. Had they seen the glow of the tablet? Or maybe she’d left the cabin door ajar. She glanced across the room and saw that she had.

  Panic flooded her, and she debated whether to dive under the bed.

  The footsteps resumed, the heavy crunch of shoes on gravel. The guard was continuing his patrol, and Karly released the breath she’d been holding.

  She stood up and tiptoed to the door to peer out at the curved path. The entire resort was beautifully landscaped—lush flower beds brimming with bougainvillea and brightly colored orchids and birds-of-paradise.

  Paradise.

  A hysterical bubble of laughter clogged her throat. More like hell. She pictured the bullet-riddled body she’d tripped over on her way here. Her stomach clenched, and her inappropriate laughter turned into bile in the back of her throat.

  Don’t think about it. No fear, no tears.

  She tucked the iPad into the back of her shorts. It seemed silly to take it with her on the off chance that she might figure out the password. But it was her only link to the outside world, and she couldn’t bear to leave it behind, at least until she found something else. Maybe the next cabin she tried would have a cell phone.

  Karly opened the corkscrew. She gripped it in her hand with the metal part jutting between her fingers. It wasn’t much compared with a machine gun, but at least she was no longer weaponless.

  She scanned the moonlit path in both directions. No terrorists. No noise. Summoning her courage, she eased from the cabin and crept across the gravel. Then she slipped into the woods, even though the leafy canopy blocked out the moon and made it harder to see. She couldn’t risk someone spotting her on the path.

  What next? She still needed a phone. Or some other means of communication. Her own phone, which was now tucked into her swimsuit top, was water-soaked and dead. She had a laptop in her cabin, but that was right beside the restaurant, which was the epicenter of all the activity.

  Could she risk going there?

  Maybe her plan to place an SOS call was foolish and she should duck into the jungle and take cover. But then she remembered the sobs coming from Mancuso’s cabin. They were doing something horrible to Natalie. And Karly couldn’t slink away and hide. She had to call for help.

  She headed toward the next-closest cabin, Malai’s. She pushed away thoughts of Malai’s smiling face and the excited sparkle in her eyes as she’d told Karly about the reef shark. Malai hadn’t had a phone with her on the boat, so maybe she’d left it charging in her cabin. Setting her sights on the thatched roof, Karly picked her way through the forest.

  Find a phone. Call for help. Find a phone. Call for help. Repeating the plan calmed her nerves and made her feel like she was doing something useful, even if—

  A hand clampe
d over her face. Karly’s heart lurched as a powerful force lifted her off her feet and hauled her backward. She flailed and kicked. She tried to scream, but the giant hand made it impossible. She tried to bite, to scratch. She remembered the corkscrew in her hand and swung her fist back at her attacker. Pain zinged up her arm as her wrist was clutched in a viselike grip and the corkscrew disappeared. The powerful arm tightened around her waist.

  “Don’t say a word.” The male voice was hot against her ear. He spoke with an American accent. “I won’t hurt you. Nod if you understand.”

  Her heart hammered, pounding adrenaline through her veins, and she felt the press of an impossibly strong body surrounding her. She couldn’t move her arms, her hips, not even her mouth. In the dimness, she couldn’t see much, mostly a black glove smashed against her face.

  “Nod.”

  She nodded. And then she felt herself being lowered. She felt firm ground under her sock-clad feet, and the hand over her mouth dropped away.

  She turned her head and found herself staring up at a face. It was dark and shadowy, and she didn’t understand at first. And then she did. She understood the helmet, the camo paint.

  The lethal look in those pale eyes.

  He held a finger to his mouth, telling her to stay quiet.

  She nodded again.

  Then he took her hand and pulled her deep into the woods.

  TWO

  * * *

  Karly’s heart raced as he towed her through the trees. He seemed to have a destination in mind. He ducked under limbs and dodged around tree trunks, holding her hand in a firm grip as he pulled her behind him. He moved briskly, seeming to know precisely where he was taking her, despite the darkness.