The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(34)



Her gaze met Rif’s. “Tell me I’m not making a huge mistake.”

“I can’t, but your father would be proud of you.”

“A lot of good that’ll do if I get him killed.” She straightened her shoulders. “Okay, time to plan the mission.”





Chapter Twenty



Blackness cloaked Thea’s team as they torpedoed through the water in two modified cigarette boats, each harnessing over one thousand horsepower. Stealthy and seaworthy, the racers had deep-V hulls that sliced through the swells like hot knives through butter. The inky depths of the Mediterranean and the muffled engines masked their approach to the Damocles. The VLCC—very large crude carrier—rode low on the water, bloated with several cathedral-size tanks, and was slow-moving, which worked to Thea’s team’s advantage. Dressed all in black down to face paint, they blended into the night. She captained one cigarette, Rif the other.

She adjusted her earpiece, waiting for the pilot’s command. The low-flying Cessna was about to drop ten million euros in unmarked bills onto the deck of the Damocles in large waterproof containers. Timing was key. The ransom drop offered the perfect distraction for her seven-man team to board the supertanker undetected.

All of Paris Industries’ crews had been trained to deal with piracy, but supertankers were especially vulnerable. Mostly automated, the bulky, slow-moving vessels had small crews. A crash-stop maneuver, taking the ship from full speed to full reverse, required fourteen minutes and nearly two nautical miles. And international law prevented the tankers from carrying weapons, so the men on board were sitting ducks, the perfect prey.

But Thea’s team was ready to help the Damocles eject its hijackers. Brown and Stewart were responsible for eliminating the kidnappers’ ability to leak oil into the Mediterranean Sea—Brown had a background in engineering, a useful skill set for this type of operation. Rif and Jean-Luc were assigned to disable the kidnappers’ helicopter, leaving the two cigarettes guarded by Neil. Thea and Johansson were tasked with finding her father, if he was even on board.

She double-checked her blood sugar levels on her smartphone. All good.

“Operation Drop Zone initiated,” the Cessna pilot rasped in her earpiece. She accelerated the speedboat toward the Damocles, headed straight for the rudder. The ship’s curved hull blocked the kidnappers from spotting them. Somali pirates had perfected the use of this natural blind spot for boarding vessels undetected.

As the boats approached the expansive stern, they slowed to match the tanker’s speed. Johansson crawled up the cigarette’s deck and attached a powerful magnet to the Damocles’s hull, tossing a rope to Brown to hook onto the speedboat. Jean-Luc completed the same maneuver for Rif’s boat.

The rattle and hum of the approaching Cessna masked their sounds.

Almost time for the drop.

Johansson, an avid mountain climber, scaled the hull using specially designed suction cups, the kind used by art thieves. A few minutes later, he dropped two rope ladders for the others to use. Neil stayed with the boats while the rest of the team slipped over the transom. With the bridge positioned at the stern, they needed to stay dark.

Crouched low, Thea and Johansson quickly scouted the area for any sentries, sound-suppressed MP5s slung over their shoulders. Light glowed from the bridge, and a lone silhouette stood inside. As expected, the arriving ransom was occupying the kidnappers’ attention.

The Cessna’s buzzing intensified as the plane swooped in for the drop. The team used the distraction to spread out and execute their tasks.

She and Johansson moved to the stern stairwell. If Papa was on board, he’d probably be kept guarded in one of the cabins belowdecks.

They padded down the stairs with measured steps. Six Quantum team members, twenty-four dedicated crew, and likely ten hostiles. As in FATS—firearm training simulator—drills, they’d have to determine in seconds if the people they came across were friend or foe.

Pale yellow light from an overhead bulb cast a sickly glow in the narrow hallway. The group inched forward to the first room. Thea eased open the steel door. Empty. She signaled Johansson, and they crept down the hall.

A sound. Scratching. Moaning. Her father?

Footsteps clattered down the stairs. Her hand tightened on her silenced MP5. She and Johansson ducked into the first room, leaving the door cracked open an inch.

A man dressed in black fatigues strode down the hall, AK-47 in hand. He stopped, listened. Another soft moan. Mr. AK headed for the noise.

They had to neutralize him quickly. She nodded to Johansson.





Chapter Twenty-One



Rif and Jean-Luc crept along the deck toward the heliport. This operation had been designed on the fly because of the tight time line. Three teams executing three different missions simultaneously meant three opportunities for fuck-ups. But oddly, the riskier the situation, the calmer Rif became. And the upside was, they still hadn’t been detected by the kidnappers.

Even so, the deck was a covert operator’s nightmare. Open and expansive, it left very few places to hide as they moved toward the helipad. Large pipes spanned the length of the deck, sectioning off the starboard side. They squatted low, scanning the area before moving forward into the night.

Several loud thumps kick-started Rif’s pulse. The waterproof containers holding the ransom landed on the unforgiving deck as the Cessna buzzed by. They had to move quickly. Once the kidnappers confirmed the funds were enclosed, they’d load the containers into an incoming boat or the helicopter and take off.

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