Page 46 of Defended By the SEAL
Charlotte.
Charlotte.
Charlotte.
Sariskyan’s boat was listing to one side. The dinghy was upended in the harbor and drifting away, its two-man crewlost in the water back when time still moved in a familiar comforting pattern. Cowboy fired and fired again, desperate for the one shot that would make it all stop, that would allow him to go in search of the woman he loved.
“They’re falling back!” Deke’s voice came through the earpiece. “They’re regrouping near the boat.”
Cowboy peeked out from cover, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the boat again. Several men were loading the last of the crates onto it, their movements frantic. The boat tipped at a more extreme angle, one pile of crates tipping into the ocean. Sarkisyan stood near the stern, barking orders, his face a mask of fury.
“He’s on the boat,” Cowboy growled. “Don’t let him get away.”
“Not if we can help it,” Tom said grimly.
The frequency of gunshots increased, their combined firepower or the urgency of their sinking ship forcing Sarkisyan’s men out of sight. Cowboy’s focus was razor-sharp as he fired, his shots precise and deliberate. The pain in his body made it more surreal, more artificial, more terrifying.
A sudden explosion rocked the harbor, a plume of fire and smoke erupting from one of the crates near the dock where the dinghy had departed. Cowboy swore, shielding his eyes from the light. “What the hell was that?”
“Diversion,” Austin called out. “They’re trying to cover their escape.”
The blast had created a temporary smokescreen, and Cowboy’s gut told him Sarkisyan had planned it that way. Through the haze, he could see the crippled boat beginning to move, its engines churning water.
“No way in hell,” Cowboy muttered, his rifle trained on the boat. He fired as fast as his weapon could manage, aiming for the engine, but the boat’s hull must have beenreinforced. It had gotten to a thirty-degree angle, but it wasn’t getting worse—it was merely getting farther away.
“We’re running out of time!” Charlotte shouted, crouching beside him.
He wanted to weep with joy at hearing her voice. She hadn’t been hit. She wasn’t dead. Cowboy’s mind raced. They couldn’t let Sarkisyan escape—not with whatever plans he had in motion. But as he tried to figure out their next move, a deep horn blared, cutting through the chaos like a thunderclap.
The sound froze everyone in their tracks. Cowboy turned the other way, his heart sinking as he saw the massive cruise ship emerging from the haze. Its lights were dazzling against the gray sky, its towering form a stark contrast to the desolation around it.
“Oh, shit,” Charlotte whispered.
The moment he saw it, he knew exactly what cruise it was. The special voyage to honor America’s veterans that ran up and down the east coast. This was Sarkisyan’s actual target. The lighthouse, the bombs, the photos—it all made sense now. The man wasn’t just planning destruction; he was making a spectacle for the veterans—or of them.
“They’re going to hit the ship,” Tom said, his voice grim. “For the love of god, they’re going to blow up the veterans.”
Cowboy’s jaw tightened. “Not if we have anything to say about it.” The cruise ship was going what, ten, maybe fifteen knots? That would be pretty standard for being so close to the shore. It was maybe three or four miles down the coast, which gave them… he did the math in his head. Twelve to twenty-four minutes.
Sariskyan’s men had stopped returning fire. “Let’s get back to the lighthouse. We don’t have a lot oftime to stop these motherfuckers from blowing up the world. On my mark. Go.”
Turning to head back toward the lighthouse, Cowboy saw that same eerie glow coming from the lamp room. “I hope that’s a good sign,” he said under his breath. “Because we do not need anymore shit right now.”
26
The team sprinted toward the lighthouse, every step through the snowy terrain weighted with urgency. Cowboy’s heart pounded in his chest, the lingering pain from his earlier beating forgotten by his mind in favor of the adrenaline bathing his neurons. Sarkisyan was pulling out all the stops, and if they didn’t act fast, the maniac would succeed in turning the lighthouse into a bomb factory that would kill hundreds of veterans aboard that cruise ship.
As they neared the lighthouse, Cowboy’s earpiece crackled to life. “The ship’s less than fifteen minutes out,” Austin’s voice came through. “We need to neutralize those bombs now or this whole coast’s gonna light up.”
“We’re on it,” Cowboy replied, his tone grim. “Everyone stay sharp. This is it.”
The lighthouse stood like a foreboding sentinel, its towering form casting long shadows in the pale morning light. The storm had passed, but the cold remained, the air biting at Cowboy’s exposed skin as they approached the tunnel entrance leading to the lighthouse basement. Smokefrom Sarkisyan’s diversion at the harbor still lingered faintly, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.
Cowboy threw a glance at Charlotte, who was keeping pace with him despite his earlier orders to make her stay behind. Her determination was evident, her gaze hard as steel. He wanted to yell at her, to order her back to safety. He seriously considered doing it. But in the stress of the moment, the terror inside him had converted completely to rage, and if he let even a little of it out, the bottleneck would dislodge on the mother load.
He didn’t have time to fight with Charlotte, to insist that she stay alive. If this was the endgame, he needed everyone focused, including himself.
“All right,” he said as they reached the tunnel entrance. “Tom, Austin, you’re on disarming duty. Deke, Booger, and I will clear the way and handle any resistance. Charlotte—” He turned to her, his voice dropping into a growl. “You stay here. No arguments.”
