platform, veering off at the last second again.
It was then that Landry and Carson collectively tossed the duffel toward the platform. It sailed over the raging waters and Mecho caught it.
Puller brought the boat back around again.
He roared toward the platform, fighting through the pitching, rolling seas.
Now, Landry looked green and Carson not much better.
Puller said, “You ready or do you want me to come back around?”
Carson waved this offer off. “I just want to get off this damn boat.”
Landry nodded in agreement.
At the last second Puller steered to port again.
“Now,” yelled Puller.
Both women launched themselves off the gunwale.
Landry touched down on the platform, rolled, and came up to a sitting position.
Carson wasn’t so fortunate. Her foot slipped on the slick gunwale as she jumped. She came up short, landing half on the platform and half in the water.
As she started to lose her grip and fall fully into the Gulf, Mecho snagged her arm and lifted her completely out of the water and onto the platform.
Carson looked up at him, stunned by his strength.
“Thank God they grow them big and strong in Bulgaria,” she said.
Mecho passed out the weapons and they crouched down. When Diaz’s and Landry’s hands closed around their weapons, they both smiled.
Carson caught their looks and smiled too as she gripped her rifle. “Guns can be a girl’s best friend,” she said.
No shots had come from the enclosed space. No one seemed to know they were even there. The storm had obviously drowned out the noise of the boat. And their landing on the platform was nothing compared to the pounding the ocean was giving the massive structure.
They turned and looked out to sea where Puller was maneuvering the boat for the last pass.
Landry said, “I still don’t get how he’s going to get on the platform. He can’t jump and pilot at the same time.”
“We’ll find out,” said Carson.
In the boat Puller was lining up the last run. He waved to the others on the platform to clear away. They moved well back.
Puller eyed the waves, analyzed the wind direction, gauged the troughs and peaks of the water. A bolt of lightning crashed down so close by that the hairs on the back of his neck went vertical.
It was now or never.
He pushed the throttle forward and aimed the boat right at the platform.
Two hundred yards.
One hundred yards.
Fifty yards.
Every image on the platform came into sharp focus despite the raging storm because Puller was totally focused.
Lining up a bead on a target with his sniper rifle.
Figuring out how to put down six guys in a few seconds without receiving a mortal blow in the process.
Working out how to get off this boat and land on that platform at forty miles per hour.
It was all the same. It required complete focus. Special skills.
And luck.
Puller said a silent prayer and gunned it.
Ten yards away.
Five.
He ripped the wheel to port and rammed the throttle into neutral at the exact same time he jumped.
The forward momentum of the boat carried with him even as the boat turned and its hard rubber fenders—which Puller had put on before attempting this maneuver—slammed against the platform.
Puller was in the air. He looked down and saw frothing water.
He looked up and saw a dark sky full of muscle and potentially catastrophic damage.
He looked down and saw steel.
He landed, rolled, and came up in time to see Mecho starting to tie off the boat to the platform.
The platform had rubberized sides to prevent the metal from smashing the boat, and along with the fenders, the bow rider did not appear to have sustained serious damage. Still, with the seas as high and frenetic as they were, there might not be a boat left much longer.
Carson tossed Puller his Mu and an MP5.
No time to wonder how he’d made it. No time to thank God for the assist.
Puller led them up the metal steps.
Zero hour was here.
CHAPTER 88
Enclosed space.
High up.
Inside the enclosed space there would be perimeter security.
Puller wanted very much to see what it looked like.
Surveillance was tricky under most conditions, particularly so under these.
But Puller found a gap.
One metal shutter was improperly closed, leaving a significant gap. He spotted this weakness and motioned Mecho over.
Diaz, Carson, and Landry had set up perimeter points around the structure.
The rain pounded down and the wind was so fierce it was hard to stand upright.
Puller glanced into the right side of the shutter and Mecho did the same from the left.
The first thing they both saw was that the space was big and open.
That was problematic on a number of levels.
The second thing they saw was that there were jury-rigged cages full of people in the middle of the space.
That was also problematic but not unexpected.
There were some good points.
The guards were deployed in regularly spaced clusters. They were not alert, weapons held loosely. Some were smoking, chugging from gallon water jugs and beer cans, and others were sitting, their guns holstered and their focus wavering.
There were also few places to hide. But some discreet shooting positions. Firing down into the massed sentries they could do a lot of damage in a very short time with minimal exposure to counterfire.
Puller looked at Mecho and could see from his expression that he had just gone through the same analysis and arrived at a similar conclusion.
“Do you think Lampert or Rojas are here?” Puller asked.
Mecho shook his head. “Big fish don’t swim with the small.”
“Yeah, what I was thinking too. So assuming we can get past the perimeter?”
“The guards will be instructed to kill the prisoners.”
“Like burning the evidence?”
“That may have been their plan all along. Kill them, dump their bodies in the ocean, let the sharks do their job.”
“But the storm put the kibosh on that.”
Mecho nodded.
Puller glanced over at the women. Carson looked determined, focused. Landry the same. However, Diaz looked apprehensive, unsure.
“Your partner isn’t looking too good,” said Puller.
“She will be fine.”
“You know her well?”
“I don’t know her at all.”