Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(60)
And that doesn’t bode well for the rest of my career. A CIA field agent who couldn’t do what was necessary when push came to shove was of no use to anybody, certainly not the government, and definitely not the other agents she sometimes ran missions with.
If I can’t do my job, what am I left with?
Before she allowed herself to contemplate the answer, the groan of the anchor motor on the yacht and the clank-clank-clank of the heavy chain rolling into its hull sounded over the water. The Black Gold was making her move.
Leo held out the AK by its strap. “You know how to shoot this?”
“Oh, now you’re ready to let me help?” She took the weapon at the same time she grabbed on to the stainless-steel ladder attached to the Black Gold’s swim deck. If the muscles in her legs and arms had voices, their combined cry at finally getting a break would’ve sounded like a hundred gospel choirs.
“Actually, I was sort of hopin’ you’d be willin’ to hang back here while I went up to see what’s what,” he admitted.
Okay, and given her recent epiphany regarding her inability to stomach the killing, maybe he was right to ask her to stay behind. Still, had he kept her aboard the dinghy, she could have warned him that the terrorists were about to turn and head right for them. She was an asset, by God. Just as long as she could make herself sac up and do her friggin’ job.
“Not on your life,” she told him.
“I reckoned as much,” he said with a wry grin, though there was something…more in his expression.
And then before he hauled himself out of the sea and onto the swim deck, he kissed her. Just a quick peck on the lips, but it was enough to make her heart take flight.
*
2:52 p.m.…
Bran ripped the tape from the mouth of one of the men he found trussed up on the main deck. The dude’s face was lobster red, his eyes bloodshot, but he appeared to be otherwise unharmed. “Who are you?” Bran demanded in a harsh whisper, keeping his weapon trained on the guy. Mason and Wolf were watching his six in case some shit-for-brains tried to sneak up behind him. They’d already systematically checked the back of the main deck and the topside portion of the living quarters, but they’d yet to search the crew’s cabins belowdecks or the bridge. “What the hell is going on here?”
“N-Nigel Moore. First mate,” the man managed, his scratchy voice a testament to his dehydration. His English accent reminded Bran of the old Monty Python movies. In a different situation, he’d have asked the guy to say, Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries! “We-we were hijacked by a group of armed men after lunch. They sailed us here and dropped anchor.” He shook his head, his expression wild as his eyes darted to the black hole at the end of Bran’s M4. “I d-don’t know why.”
Bran did.
And it looked like Olivia was right. Morales hadn’t screwed up in his calculations. The Black Gold had simply been sailing by the wrong place at the wrong time. The guy hog-tied beside Nigel grunted, and Mason yanked the duct tape from his mouth. “And you are?”
Unlike Nigel, this guy wasn’t all that eager to open up. “Who am I? Better question is who the bloody hell are you?” he spat. “And what the bloody f*ck just happened? We heard explos—”
Bran slapped the tape back over the dude’s mouth because he didn’t have time for explanations. Someone up on the bridge had just pushed the button for the anchor. The automatic windlass—the cylinder made for raising and lowering the forward mainstay—began spinning, and the steady clank of the heavy chain collecting in the hull below them was the audio equivalent of a semaphore flag waving around and telling him to get his ass in gear.
They needed to gain control of the yacht now. Before whoever was operating the controls motored them so far away from Leo and Olivia that Bran and the boys would have a tough time relocating them. Two people floating in the middle of the ocean were the proverbial needles in a haystack.
“How many others are on board?” He turned to Nigel, the more accommodating of the two.
Nigel swallowed, glancing over at his compatriot.
“Don’t look at him,” Bran growled, making sure his expression broadcast his impatience. “Look at me. I’m the one asking the questions. How many more are on board?”
“I’m not sure,” Nigel admitted, shrinking back from the mouth of Bran’s weapon as if it were a viper poised to strike. “There were s-seven hijackers, I think. And the captain and Maddy Powers.”
Bran could only assume Maddy Powers was the Texas oil tycoon Olivia had mentioned. As in Powers Petroleum? It made sense. And seven hijackers? One short of the eight assets Olivia seemed convinced took the chemicals. Which meant either one of the dickheads had drowned, or ol’ Nigel boy had miscounted. Still, Bran liked his chances.
“Where are they? Belowdecks or on the bridge?”
“I saw them take Maddy and the captain to the bridge,” Nigel said. “But that was a while ago.” When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple appeared to stick in the column of his long, skinny neck. “Please, sir. I need w-water.”
“Later.” Bran waved him off. “After we check your story.”
He slapped the tape back over Nigel’s mouth despite the man’s sputtered objections. But he wasn’t as heartless a bastard as he was making himself out to be. He turned to his friends. “Help me drag them into the shade next to the living quarters.”