Page 6 of Fast Kill

Freeman opened the throttle and made for land under cover of darkness while every man kept their gaze pinned toward the shore and their target: a little cove off the southeast side of the island where their backup force waited for them to spring the trap.

The latest intel from headquarters said that the smugglers were going to launch the submarine within the next hour, once it was fully loaded. The plan called for FAST Bravo to approach the target dock and catch the men loading the sub off guard.

Logan leaned forward more to better absorb the bounces as the bow skipped over the waves, the heavy tropical air rushing over his wet uniform, forming goose bumps all over his skin.

As the team’s Fucking New Guy, he’d earned the right to be here, but only because he’d been called up from the selection pool after they’d lost another member due to permanent injury during their last tour in Afghanistan. He was also the only member who hadn’t come from a military background. He’d spent his entire career with the DEA, joining fresh out of college, and worked in undercover until he could apply for FAST.

It didn’t matter that he and Easton had helped save Jamie and Charlie a few weeks back. This was the first time he’d been sent on a combat op with the full team. He was itching to prove himself and earn his teammates’ respect.

Everyone had their game faces on as they sped toward shore. They were prepared to face several different scenarios, all depending on what they found once they reached the target.

Up front on the bow, Kai had his night vision binos in hand as he scanned the approaching shoreline. At a signal from him Freeman eased back on the throttle. The Zodiac slowed, the noise of the motor dropping to help them avoid detection.

So far, the intel seemed accurate. That was refreshing. Through his NVGs Logan could just make out the distant dock and the dozen or so men on or around it.

Freeman cut the engine completely when they neared the beach. Four men pulled out oars and paddled the boat closer to shore.

Logan’s muscles tensed as they rounded the short peninsula that hid them from view. Everyone watched Kai, poised there on the bow, his massive shoulders now blocking Logan’s line of sight.

As soon as they reached the shallows Kai and Logan both jumped out and pulled the boat onto the beach, well out of sight of anyone watching from near the dock. The others leapt out and together they dragged the boat over the sand behind a cluster of palms. Freeman took point from there.

Everyone fell in line behind him, careful to stay in the shadows as they approached their target. Logan and three of his teammates would take the left flank, while Hamilton and the other four would take the right.

Logan lowered himself to his belly on the back side of a low sand dune and put his rifle to his shoulder, watching intently through the scope as five of his teammates looped around to take the dock from the right. The rules of engagement specified that FAST could only fire their weapons in self-defense, or if their local counterparts were attacked. Given the unpredictable response of their target, they had to be ready for anything.

“Hammerhead is in position. Standing by,” Hamilton murmured through Logan’s earpiece, alerting the Bahamian commander that their team was ready.

Sighting down the barrel of his rifle, sand sticking to his wet uniform, Logan waited, motionless. Moments later the special police burst from behind a copse of palms near the foot of the pier, yelling at the stunned suspects to freeze and put down their weapons.

The tangos on the pier all scattered and reached for their weapons instead. Gunfire erupted in the night, shattering the stillness, the muzzle flashes lighting up his NVGs.

Logan remained in position, his muscles coiled and ready to neutralize the threat.

Then Hamilton’s quiet voice came through Logan’s earpiece with a single word. “Engage.”

Logan was up and running toward the dock without a moment’s hesitation, his boots thudding over the loose sand, Easton and Zaid right behind him.

Three tangos jumped up and headed toward them, unaware of the danger.

“Drop your weapons!” Logan yelled.

The three men whirled around and almost as one, raised their weapons. Logan fired, hitting the lead man in the chest as his teammates hit the other two. The guy barely hit the ground when another tango sprang up from inside a boat tied to the pier and swung the barrel of his weapon straight at Zaid.

Logan didn’t have time to yell a warning.

He fired and launched himself at his teammate, catching Zaid around the waist in a hard tackle. They hit the sand with a thud, Zaid on top just as a hail of bullets pounded into the trees behind them, right through where Zaid had been standing a second ago.

Pain splintered through Logan’s left knee as Zaid’s weight came down on top of it. He sucked in a sharp breath and fought through it, immediately rolling to his stomach and bringing his weapon to his shoulder to return fire.

He sighted the shooter and fired a double tap, center mass. The man grunted and dropped to his knees before keeling over sideways and hitting the sand.

Zaid scrambled into a prone position next to him, firing at one of the narcos trying to jump off the far side of the dock. It was all over in a matter of minutes, the sudden cessation of fire bringing an eerie silence.

“Move in,” Hamilton commanded in a low voice.

Logan gritted his teeth and pushed to his feet, his knee protesting each movement. Every step sent needles of fire streaking through his kneecap. Ignoring it as best he could, he forced himself forward with his teammates as they converged on the dock and the surrounding area, securing the scene.

A dozen dead tangos littered the dock and the beach. Almost as many had decided to surrender, holding their hands in the air.

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