Page 75 of All The Way Under
I adjust my grip on the throttle and can’t help a sideways grin. “They have no idea what they’re up against. Let’s show them how dumb we are.”
“Team,” I whisper into my mic on my chest. “Split and surround. Phantom cloak active. No shots until I call it.”
“Copy that,” Reyes comes back.
“Roger,” says Dalton.
We cut our engines and let the tide carry us, hidden behind a perfect veil of salt spray and quantum deception. On the pirates’ systems, we don’t exist. Or worse, we exist in the wrong place entirely.
The nav shows the enemy fleet in eerie detail, every hull marked, every movement tracked.All the Way Underdoesn’t just show us the battlefield, itwritesit in real time. Our actual position is marked in white, the cloaked projection hovering fivehundred meters in the opposite direction in red. If anyone pings us, they’re looking at an apparition.
I think of Saylor, hunched in that van on shore, watching the same feed we are because I went to bat to get her clearance to do so. It wasn’t easy, but where there is a will, there is always a way. And when there’s not a way, there is money. Plus, if anything went awry, she would be who they need to problem solve. Saylor’s system, far surpassing its predecessor Sea Tracker, is the reason this op will work. And if it doesn’t, I won’t be the one to tell her.
We breach the perimeter in under two minutes. We are close enough to see the outlines of the boats—stolen US interceptors, modified and stripped of Coast Guard insignia. They are teeming with American-made guns. I think that’s the worst insult of all of this.
Mark points forward. “Visual on command boat. That’s our brain.”
Aboard, we count six hostiles visible with night vision, and more inside. There’s one man on the roof, scanning with his own pair of night vision goggles. Fucker.
“He’s about to get a surprise,” I mutter, tone low and cold.
“Want me to say hi?” Mark growls, eager.
“Yes, but use your manners,” I reply.
Mark steadies his rifle, then squeezes the trigger once. The spotter with the night vision crumples without a sound. The rest of us surge forward.
We are over the rails, hooked on the side, and on deck in less than ten seconds. I lead the breach. First door off hinges, flashbang through the smoke. The cabin fills with light and screaming.
I move left. Mark moves right. We are muscle memory precision together. Three are down embarrassingly quickly. Onetries to toss a grenade, but we double-tap him through the chest before he has a chance to pull the pin.
The boat goes eerily still, wrapped in the silence of death.
Mark kicks aside a chair, and I shove a table off two feet to confirm no one is hiding beneath. “Command boat’s clear,” he says, barely breaking a sweat.
I check the nav hanging on a tablet near my chest.Jammer offline.Phantom broadcast expanded.We are now spoofing our position to every known frequency. Hell, we could’ve made it look like we were in Portugal if we wanted. The nerd thrill shoots up my spine. This is going to change so much for our Teams. This system is going to protect my brothers more than anything else.
I confirm the trawler we’re aboard is fully anchored, and we move out.
“Hostage boat is northwest,” says Reyes over comms. “Moving in.”
We leap back into the Zodiac, Mark already spinning the engine back to life. I key into Saylor’s custom interface and lock our nav pin on the hostage ship. The boat shimmers on-screen, marked in red—eight combatants, two civilians, and one .50 cal on deck, unmanned.
We move fast and low to the water, no spotlight, barely a sound, and definitely no warning. They never see us coming.
Reyes breaches from the starboard side. Mark and I take port. Explosives blow the hatch just as we hit the deck.
Chaos. Gunfire. Cries.
I shoot one through the wall. Mark lobs a flashbang into the galley.
Dalton’s voice crackles in my ear. “Hostages alive and present. Mild resistance.”
Two more hostiles come charging up the stairs. Ravelo.You asshole. I drop him with two shots—light work.
The memories from my time in Madagascar flash through my mind, but I don’t have time to dwell on emotions right now. Ravelo made his choice, and we all pay for the wrong ones. That’s the way the world works.
Mark tackles the other, stabbing his blade deep into the bastard’s collarbone. He falls to the ground, unconscious, and after one last gurgle, he stops moving.
