The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(36)

Scanning for threats, he analyzed the layout of the tanker. Thea and Johansson were searching the cabins below for Christos. The closest stairs were located near the stern. He signaled for Jean-Luc to follow, then headed in that direction.

A loud alarm howled. Smoke drifted out of the staircase. What was happening?





Chapter Twenty-Four



Thea ripped off her jacket, wrapped it around one hand, and smashed through the glass to access the fire extinguishers. Smoke burned her eyes and lungs. The acrid taste of ash filled her mouth. Large bundles of what looked like burning laundry were strewn about the hallway. The kidnappers knew they’d been boarded, and they were trying to smoke out the intruders . . . literally.

Shots slammed into the opposite corridor. She tossed one extinguisher to the captain and grabbed the second one for herself. Pulling the pin, she sprayed the flaming piles of fabric while Johansson fended off their attackers with his M5.

Air—she needed air. She placed a hand against the wall and choked in a breath. Only two piles still burned. She blasted more fire retardant onto the flames.

She heard a loud grunt. Visibility was poor, so she moved down the corridor, keeping a hand on one wall, until she reached Johansson. A shot had pierced his left shoulder.

“I’ll take over.” She propped him against the wall and tossed him a QuikClot to slow the flow of blood.

“Fuck, do I have a bull’s-eye on my shoulders or what? At least it’s the left one this time.”

She fired down the hallway, nailing an approaching kidnapper, then moved behind the corner for cover. “Not sure how much longer we can ward them off.” With smoke on one side and gunfire on the other, they were in serious trouble.





Chapter Twenty-Five



In normal conditions, Rif would have slowed the pace, sniper-crawling along the deck to avoid detection, but Thea and Johansson had sent out a distress signal. Smoke billowed in large plumes from the nearby stairwell. They had to move quickly.

He and Jean-Luc traversed the starboard deck, one covering the other, moving in a leapfrog pattern. The most hazardous moment lay ahead: crossing to the stairs. Way too much open space between the gunwales and the stairwell for his liking, especially now that the kidnappers knew they’d been boarded.

They reached the spot parallel to the stairwell. He considered his options. Fuck it. Thea needed him, so he’d have to break radio silence to figure out what was going on.

“Team Tango, where are you? Over.”

Seconds stretched with no answer. Then the sound of live fire greeted him. “Deck C, starboard. Surrounded. Fire blocking us from aft. Over.”

“Coming. Out.”

Scanning the deck, he signaled to Jean-Luc. Rif would cover his teammate, then cross solo.

Jean-Luc sprinted across the open space. Out of the darkness, four black-clad kidnappers brandishing Kalashnikovs surrounded the older man. Rif considered firing, but even if he eliminated two or three of them, the fourth man would execute Jean-Luc.

Instead, he became invisible, moving deeper into the shadows while the kidnappers frog-marched Jean-Luc toward the bridge.

He followed, a predator stalking his prey. Thea would have to wait a little longer.





Chapter Twenty-Six



Thea fired shots down the smoke-filled corridor. She was almost out of ammo.

Several grunts and screams pierced the air.

Silence. She waited, fingers tightening around her MP5.

“Friendly fire.” Brown’s familiar voice echoed down the hall. She snuck a quick look. Brown and Stewart were striding toward them.

“About time, gentlemen. Do we have to handle all the dirty work?” She coughed, the smoke a corrosive presence in her lungs.

Brown surveyed Johansson’s bleeding shoulder. “Come on, mate, if you don’t want to change the baby’s diapers, you just have to say so.”

“Screw you, buddy. I’ll be a better one-armed parent than you would ever be with two.”

“Hey!” She pointed down the hall. “We need to get back on deck. Grab the captain, and let’s find Rif and Jean-Luc.”

They rushed down the hallway, desperate for fresh air. They stepped over two bodies. She helped Johansson up the stairs. His skin was ashen, eyes glassy, but he was moving under his own steam. Brown led the group, searching for hostiles. Stewart helped Captain Magnusson, who was unsteady on his feet.

They hurried to the stern, meeting up with Neil, who was guarding their boats. They left him and Stewart in charge of getting Johansson and the captain into the relative safety of the cigarettes.

She and Brown returned to a shadowed overhang near the bridge. Movement caught her eye. Four armed kidnappers surrounded Jean-Luc, and the group was headed straight for the bridge. No sign of Rif.

One of their own, captured. A ransom drop was a dangerous time during kidnappings. Emotions skyrocketed; the kidnappers became paranoid and trigger-happy. If anything went sideways during an operation, all hostages were at risk.

Her gut told her Papa wasn’t on board. But if these pirates were in touch with whoever was guarding Christos, they could easily end his life in retribution for her counterattack.

They needed to re-hijack the tanker.

But what about Rif? He’d told her he was headed belowdecks. Was he injured, hiding somewhere—or dead? Her stomach twisted. He wouldn’t let Jean-Luc get captured without a fight. She sent out the signal to meet back at the bridge and waited for a response. Nothing.