Showtime. Salt, sand and the heavy, lush weight of the water-soaked jungle air made breathing difficult. Even after dark and in the pouring rain, it was still hotter than hell, and the full camo didn’t help. Gray had water in his boots, and if he tipped his head back and opened his mouth, he ran the risk of waterboarding himself. Good times. At least he wasn’t packing fifty pounds of gear like the incoming SEALs.
The deployment bags came out first, dropping from the open door and hitting the beach. Then the first SEAL swung his legs out the door, grabbed the rope and dropped. As soon as his boots hit, he ran for the jungle cover, a green blur in Gray’s night-vision goggles. The team commander slid down the rope last, then the Black Hawk rose up and banked sharply, moving out and away in a quick blast of sand and water.
Gray checked the time as the other team leader loped across the sand to join him. They were on schedule. Twenty minutes to go-time, and the Zodiacs’ arrival at the main dock, if Marcos’s advance team didn’t decide to shake their shit up. It was a mighty big if. Signaling for the other SEAL to follow, he headed toward the dock.
Marcos’s advance team was playing it cool, pretending to be resort guests. They had to land on the helo pad or arrive at the dock to avoid arousing suspicion. The pad was set a half mile away from the resort to preserve the peace and quiet of the bungalows. Guests arriving by helicopter were then driven to the resort in jeeps or golf carts. Ashley’s intel said the advance team was coming in by Zodiac. That meant there was a yacht cruising just offshore, hence the Black Hawk’s stealth approach.
When they reached the dock, he signaled for a halt. The pier was too close to the guest bungalows for his liking. If they failed to contain Marcos’s advance team, all hell could break loose. Still, Laney didn’t know what was going down, he reminded himself. She wouldn’t be wandering around and into danger. If he did his job right, she’d sleep through tonight and wake up in the morning none the wiser.
At sixty seconds to go-time, the familiar dark shape of a Zodiac hit the slot, driving through the channel, and rode the swells toward the beach. Marcos’s men had dropped the boat from a fishing vessel several miles offshore. He scanned the Zodiac with his night-vision goggles, grabbing a quick head count. Six men. The expected number and no surprises. The SEALs from the second team would be moving into formation behind them as they closed on the dock. It should be straightforward, but Gray had had far too many missions go strange to tempt fate.
So far, so good, though.
The Zodiac bumped against the dock and resort “staff” moved out to greet the new arrivals, carrying trays of chilled juice and hot towels. Since using civilians was an unacceptable risk, the two men were actually undercover operatives. The plan was to avoid a shooting war, so he had two snipers up in the trees. His receiver crackled in his ear as the first of his shooters reported in. “I don’t have a clear shot.”
The SEALs kicked up out of the water, taking down their targets, and the two SEALs on the dock hit the ground as they palmed the weapons they’d concealed in their waistbands. And just like that, gunfire erupted. Damn it. Someone would hear the noise and investigate.
“Backup plan.” Gray lunged out of the jungle, rifle up, running all out for the Zodiac. One hundred yards of sand, followed by another thirty feet of shallow water. It was remarkably similar to running through concrete. As his boots hit the water, the splash giving away any remaining element of surprise, he decided there was probably a market for a workout DVD like that. He aimed and squeezed off a round as heads turned in his direction. Unlike Marcos’s advance team, his had a silencer.
A sharp stinging sensation in his side announced the unwelcome news that somebody on Marcos’s side had both excellent aim and armor-piercing rounds. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
Well. Hell.
* * *
FANTASY ISLAND’S EMPLOYEE quarters were no military hospital with state-of-the-art equipment. The small single room housed a bed and a straight-back chair in addition to a sink and a mirrored medicine cabinet. Compared to the luxury bungalows dotting the beach, the room was positively spartan. Still, Gray was damned glad to see a bed even if lying down wasn’t an option at the moment. Hitting the mattress could be his backup plan. He peeled off his equipment and then his T-shirt. The bullet had grazed his side, just below his rib cage, the worst of the potential damage averted by his body armor.
Patching up the damage was never fun.
The door opened and closed behind him. Since Mason was standing watch out in the hallway, his incoming guest had to be an ally.
“If you bleed on the floor, you clean it up.” The voice belonged to Sam, their field medic. Good times. Gray didn’t get to bleed alone anymore.