Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(25)
“Okay, so before you go getting all bent out of shape, let me assure you our donkey isn’t in the ditch. He’s teetering on the edge of the road, sure, but he’s—”
“Drop the metaphors and get to the point, cara pincha.”
“I hate it when you call me dirty names in Spanish,” Dan declared.
“You’re stalling,” he accused.
“Fine. Okay. So Leo’s SEAL team has been delayed,” Dan admitted, by the sounds of it more than a bit reluctantly. “There’s one witch’s brew of a typhoon blowing in the South China Sea. Ozzie’s transport barely made it in before all flights were grounded.”
Steady digested the bad news and commented on the good. “But he made it? He’s in surgery?”
“Roger Dodger. No worries on that front.”
Okay, so that was a bright spot in this otherwise bleak situation. “And the SEAL team? What’s their adjusted ETA?”
“The carrier group is steaming for the edge of the storm, but it looks like Leo and his boys won’t be here for another six hours minimum.”
Steady looked down at his Victorinox Swiss Army Infantry watch. Six more hours of Abby lying on that filthy bed in that smelly hut. Six more hours of her being injected with whatever foul drug he’d seen them administer when he crept, quiet as a ratón, into the encampment just as the morning sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. Six more hours when any one of those hijos de putas could take it into his fool head to lay a hand on her.
No. Hell, no. It was untenable.
A plan began to form…
“The president is trying to scramble another team,” Dan continued, unaware of Steady’s racing thoughts, “but it looks like we’re simply gonna have to wait. In the meantime, Penni and I will scour through the hotel security footage and try to find out how those bastards were able to place the incendiary devices in the rooms and also how they managed to get the drop on Agents Tucker, Silver, and Bosco. If we find anything, we’ll keep poking the hive until we see which bees flight out. And, excuse the mixed metaphors, but maybe one of those bees will lead us to the mole inside the—”
“I’m getting her out,” Steady interrupted, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder while digging inside his backpack.
“Huh?”
“I’m Lone Wolf McQuade-ing it. I think that’s our best shot.”
“Steady…” Dan’s tone was full of warning. “Come on, man. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. In fact, it may be brilliant. Those JI boys are a sloppy bunch. They’re not even keeping watch over her except to slip in occasionally to administer some sort of sedative.” And, yes, it’d been incredibly difficult for him to leave her there when he realized her guard had no intention of returning to the hut anytime soon. But leave her he had…when he thought help was imminent. Things had just changed. “And besides, aren’t you always spouting that AA quote about not letting someone else do your dirty work for you?”
“Uh, that’s not AA, man. That’s my fellow Michigander and all-around Dirty Harry with a guitar and ponytail, Ted Nugent.”
Steady shook his head even though no one could see. Dan had always been proud of his upbringing on the mean streets of Detroit and was known to quote a lot of Eminem and Kid Rock. But now that he was in recovery, when he spouted little truisms, it was hard to tell if he’d picked them up at a meeting or from listening to the ramblings of some Motor City rock star.
“Whatever, hermano. The point is, I’ll duck in, grab her, duck out, and make for the Thai border before they even know she’s gone. It’s only fifty miles away. I…uh…liberated a Ducati Monster 1200 off the street in KL, and this bad boy”—he patted the seat of the Italian-made motorcycle affectionately—“will make the trip in no time.”
The bike didn’t have a big, throaty engine or the artistic flash of Ranger, his custom-made Harley chopper back home. But what it lacked in sheer badness, it made up for with full throttle, ball-busting speed. Exactly what he needed right now. And he’d make damned sure the poor schmuck he stole it from was richly compensated.
After he rescued Abby.
“You and I both know the JI won’t cross the border since the RTAF”—the Royal Thai Armed Forces—“tend to shoot first and ask questions later when it comes to militants,” he added.
“Yeah, but that’s fifty miles of open highway,” Dan argued. “And that Ducati may be fast, but it’s not fast enough to outrun a bullet.”
“So I’ll stick to the logging roads.” His plan continued to evolve as he loaded the extra clips into the various pockets on his cargo pants. “It’ll take longer, but the jungle will provide cover. Besides, what’s that old saying? Faint hearts never saved fair lady?”
“You’ve been hanging around Wild Bill too much,” Dan said, referring to their BKI teammate who had a penchant for quoting the classics. “And if I remember correctly, it’s faint hearts never won fair lady. If this plan of yours breaks bad, there won’t be—”
“I saw on the maps you had Boss send me that there’s a small village right across the border on the south side of the Bang Lang National Park,” he interrupted. Now that he’d decided on a strategy, he was itching to get Abby hell and gone from that godforsaken militant campsite. Every minute she remained in the hands of those filthy terrorists was one damned minute too long. “We’ll head there, lie low, and wait for you to come in with that SEAL team or whoever the hell else el Jefe manages to scramble to the scene.”