Page 94 of Surge

OUTSIDE SURABAYA, INDONESIA

Gloves heating beneath the friction of the rope, leg coiling to control his momentum and keep him from being flung away, Garrett spiraled in the open air, the rotor wash stinging his face. Concentrating as wind spun him, he homed in on the end of the bullet train tearing across Indonesia. Aimed toward the operation car.

This will be interesting . . .

As he neared the end, he used his boot to slow himself and released a hand to grab his dagger. He’d need something to stop himself from flipping off under the force of the headwind. Three. . . two . . .

Garrett let the rope go and pitched himself at the barreling bullet train. He careened into it and bounced. Shoot! Dagger in hand, he was ready when he landed, though he felt the fury of the elements tear at him, the wind a violent enemy trying to slam him into oblivion. The dagger dug into the fiberglass hull. But with the rate of speed, the forces of gravity exerting themselves against him, the dagger didn’t stop him. He slid, the blade gouging a line . . .

“Augh!” Garrett two-handed the blade. Scrambled for a toe hold on a ledge. Wedged himself cockeyed. Saw the five-inch scar he’d inflicted on the roof. Eyed the hatch that was to his left, close to his waist. Man. A few more inches and he’d have been hamburger meat. He gritted his teeth, holding the dagger, and pressed his hand to the hull. Tracked it toward the hatch.

He worked the cover free, then dug into the small well and flicked up the handle, then twisted it. Felt the pop of its release. Pulled it up, but the headwind battled him. It ripped out of his hand and slammed shut. He bit back an oath and tried again. This time, he managed to pull it up—but the angry wind tore it from the hinges and sent it flying.

Garrett dragged himself to the hole. Since nobody was shooting, he guessed the operation car was empty. Hoped so. He hauled himself down into it, snapping his submachine gun to his shoulder and scanning the darkened interior. He preferred this weapon in close quarters, as opposed to his holstered Sig, because having it set against his shoulder provided stability, and the fact it used handgun bullets meant he wasn’t sending lead through several cars in overpenetration. Interior clear, he keyed his comms. “I’m in. Moving to freight car,” he said, glancing at his watch. “T-minus nineteen and counting.”

Delaney, where are you?

Garrett advanced. Stepped into the sealed juncture between cars, marveling at the pull of gravity on the high-speed train. He readied himself to breach the first freight car. Prayed and hoped Delaney was there. That’d be nice and quick. Get her topside and one less thing for him to worry about.

He released the latch and slid open the door, easing into the large open car filled with crates. Cleared left, then angled right, moving slow and smooth, submachine gun tucked to his shoulder. He cleared one stack, then a second, continuously moving forward and too aware of the seconds falling off the clock.

C’mon, Rogue . . . where’d you go?

A head popped up above a stack of LD3s, then popped back down.

“Hands! Hands!” he shouted, angling in that direction and hustling toward it.

The unknown stepped out from behind the stack. “Garrett?”

Her voice and worried visage were a sucker punch to his chest. “Rogue!” Three long strides carried him to her. Instinct had him pull her into his arms. He tightened the hug. Then eased back and cupped her face, studying her eyes and expression. “You okay?”

“Yes! I am now.”

Before he could tell himself otherwise, he set his mouth to hers. Kissed hard and quick. He pulled back.

Her eyes were wide, but she pressed her cheek to his chest and hugged him. Surge came up behind and pressed his shoulder into Garrett’s thigh. “I knew you’d come. I kept asking God to help you find us.” Though he heard his own relief mirrored in her words, she didn’t sound right.

“You sound off.” He surveyed her head to toe, as much as the moonlight through the narrow window would let him. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes went melty in the dim lighting. “I killed him,” she whispered. “I killed him.”

She’d killed someone? “Who? Where?”

“Rashid!” She pointed around the corner of the LD3s.

His pulse jacked. “Rashid’s on the train?” Her first kill—and Rashid to top that. “Good. You did good.”

She opened her mouth to object.

“Not now. We’ll talk later.” He moved to the dead body and checked the pulse.

“Hakim and Tariq are here too.”

That complicated things. A lot. He tightened his jaw and eyed the puncture wounds in Rashid’s arm, leg, and shoulder. He smirked at Surge. “Good job.” From his tac pants, he drew out zip cuffs and secured the hands. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’d had a miraculous resurrection on the combat field.

“He isn’t breathing—he’s dead, right?” She was shaking.

On his feet, he guided her back toward the operation car. “Don’t think about it. You did what you had to do. Time to get you off this train.” They stepped into the juncture between the two cars. “Helo One, send the rope.” He nodded to Delaney and kept moving. “Tell me what happened and what you know.”

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