Page 47 of Defended By the SEAL
Her lips pressed into a tight line, but to his shock, she nodded. “I’ll cover the entrance.”
It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was the best he could hope for. He nodded back and motioned for the others to follow as they descended into the tunnels, the air becoming thick and damp. The chemical stench was stronger now.
The team moved silently, their flashlights cutting up the darkness like a thousand slices of the night. Every step echoed, the sound amplified by the tight confines of the space. Cowboy’s grip on his rifle tightened, his senses on high alert.
Ahead, voices filtered through the tunnels—low and urgent. Sarkisyan’s men were still here, likely making final preparations to blow the explosives. Cowboy held up a fist,signaling the team to stop. He pressed himself against the tunnel wall, his ears straining to pick up details.
“They’re setting the timers,” Tom whispered, his expression grim. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes, tops.”
Cowboy nodded and leaned closer to Deke. “Take the left tunnel and flank them. Booger, you’re with me. Tom and Austin, you stay here until we secure the area.”
The men nodded, splitting off silently. Cowboy led Booger down the main tunnel, their footsteps muffled against the dirt floor. The voices grew louder, accompanied by the metallic clink of tools and the faint hum of electronic equipment.
Rounding a corner, Cowboy spotted the source of the noise—two of Sarkisyan’s men working on the bomb setup, their attention focused on the timers. Another stood guard, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he paced nervously.
“Three targets,” Cowboy murmured to Booger. “On my mark.”
Booger gave a curt nod, raising his weapon.
Cowboy steadied his aim, his finger brushing the trigger. “Mark.”
The tunnel erupted in gunfire, the sharp cracks echoing off the walls. The guard went down first, his body crumpling before he could react. Two bomb technicians scrambled for cover, one firing off a few wild shots before Booger’s round took him out.
The last man dropped his tools and raised his hands, his young face pale in the light from Cowboy’s flashlight beam. “Don’t shoot!” he yelled. “I don’t want to die!”
Cowboy moved forward, his weapon trained on the man. “Then start talking. How do we stop these bombs?”
“I don’t know,” the man stammered. “Sarkisyan has themaster control. He’s in the main chamber, under the lighthouse.”
Cowboy cursed under his breath and motioned for Booger to secure the man. “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He spoke into his mic. “Deke, what’s your status?”
“Left tunnel’s clear,” Deke replied. “No sign of Sarkisyan yet.”
“We’ve got a prisoner,” Cowboy said. “Claims Sarkisyan’s in the main chamber under the lighthouse. Heading there now, and I want you on my six.”
The team converged on the main chamber—a relatively cavernous space beneath the lighthouse, compared to the claustrophobic tunnel system. The chemical smell was overpowering now, far worse than it had originally been, and Cowboy’s stomach churned as his flashlight revealed the setup for destruction. Dozens of barrels and crates were stacked against the walls, wires snaking between them like a deadly spider’s web.
Sarkisyan stood in the center, flanked by two heavily armed guards. His eyes gleamed with fury as he spotted the team entering. “You’re too late,” he sneered, holding up a detonator. “This place is rigged to blow, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
Cowboy leveled his rifle at the man’s chest. “Drop it, Sarkisyan. It’s over.”
Sarkisyan laughed, the sound echoing eerily. “You can’t stop me. This isn’t just about the lighthouse or the ship. This is a message to the world.”
“Yeah?” Cowboy growled. Going after Sarkisyan next to his guards like this was begging for a bullet between the eyes. Not taking the shot was like aiming for those veterans himself. “Well, here’s my message.”
He fired, the shot hit one guard square in the chest.Chaos erupted as Sarkisyan and his remaining man returned fire, the cavern filling with the deafening sound. Cowboy dove for cover behind a crate, bullets splintering the wood around him.
Tom and Austin flanked Sarkisyan, their shots forcing him to retreat toward the far end of the chamber. Deke and Booger pinned down the remaining guard, their combined firepower quickly overwhelming him.
Cowboy’s focus was razor-sharp as he moved forward, his rifle trained on Sarkisyan. The man was cornered now, his expression shifting from smug confidence to desperation.
“This ends now,” Cowboy said, his voice cold.
But before he could fire, Sarkisyan pressed the detonator.
Nothing happened.
Sarkisyan’s eyes widened in shock, and a grim smile spread across Cowboy’s face. “Oopsie.”
