Page 52 of Pax

“Everyone that mattered is safe,” said Saint. “The men on the boats are dead, but we don’t know if there are more.”

“With any luck, they’ll have a welcoming party for us,” said Dan. They heard the ping of a phone and looked around.

“It’s the captain’s phone,” said Brax. He looked down to see the text.

Waiting at the pier with the buyers. You’re late.

Brax shook his head and showed the rest of the team. He quickly sent a text back and then tossed the phone overboard.

Fuck them. We’re almost there.

“They’ve got a welcome party waiting at the pier. Looks like six in suits and fifteen, no seventeen with weapons. I’d say we’ve got buyers, guards, and there are vehicles to take them away.”

“Appreciate it, Hiro. Keep eyes on it all and record. Just in case,” said Pax.

When they caught sight of the crowd on the private pier, they wanted to simply start firing. But what they wanted more was Mason and Moravo to suffer. They’d get to the buyers eventually, the sick fuckers. But the two in charge needed to go down and go down hard.

“Anybody there from Homeland or the Navy that you can see?” asked Dan.

“No. No one.”

As the yacht parked, the men on the pier tied her off, and the buyers began to board. On the upper deck, a few of the VG team had changed into the crew’s clothing, at least the stuff that would fit. For Moose, that was a hat.

“Right this way, everyone,” smiled Mason. He turned to see the empty chairs and sofas and frowned at the crew. “Gentlemen, where is our merchandise.”

“They disappeared,” said Pax.

“Disappeared? What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.

“Carr, where is the merchandise? I don’t have all day. I have to catch a flight to San Francisco.”

“Same. Really, Carr, this is getting tedious.”

“Listen to me! We had half a dozen or so that were perfect for what you wanted.” He turned swiftly toward Pax, staring at him. “Who are you? Where is my regular crew?”

“See, that’s a loaded question,” said Dan. He lifted his rifle, pointing it at the man. At the edge of the yacht was the rest of the team lined up, picking off the bodyguards one by one. Firing at the vehicles, they blew the tires, watching as the chauffeurs ran.

“What is the meaning of this?” yelled Moravo. He stared at East, Eazee, and Rett, tilting his head from side to side. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Oh, you don’t know us,” smirked East. “But damn sure bet you’ve met our grandfather.”

The recognition on the man’s face told them that Trak had been on the original team that stopped them once before.

“No. No, you should all be dead. He should be dead!”

“Funny thing about that. It seems we’re a lot harder to kill than people think,” said Saint.

“Where’s the guy from Homeland?” asked Luke. Moravo and Mason said nothing, but they stared at one another, wondering how they even knew that much. “Listen to me, you sick fuck. I’ve met men like you my entire life. I’ve seen men who got their rocks off being with children, disabled children, deaf children. It didn’t matter. You are a pathetic, worthless piece of shit, and I’m going to treat you that way. The only choice you have in this is if I treat you that quickly or slowly.”

The two men stared at one another again, watching as one of the buyers attempted to escape. Conor gripped his neck, tripping him flat onto the deck. With his knife at his throat, Conor stared at the other buyers, making sure they knew what was coming. As they watched the blood spill, two vomited on themselves.

“Where is the Homeland guy?” asked Eric, kneeling in front of a buyer. He was a small man and appeared to be Filipino or Malaysian. “You. Who helps them? I can make this hard for you.”

“I don’t know. That’s the truth. I only know the two of them.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate for you,” said Eric, firing one shot into his forehead.

“You’re animals!” yelled Moravo. Eric turned to him, frowning, his deep lines across his forehead making him appear absolutely sinister.

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