Ghost gets in the boat and motions for me to do the same. I settle where he puts me, trying to follow how they all sit and stand. I hate that I’m nae able to do this on my own. Tavish ismyboy. I should nae have to rely on a slew o’ people to protect him.
“Relax, Helvig. This is our bread and butter. It’s how we make bank,” Ghost tells me.
I’m nae sure what he means by it, but I think I get the gist.
Soon, we’re bouncing on the waves, headed away from land. The castle grows tinier as we go until it is nae longer in sight. The boats we’re in are freaking fast, like tactical speedboats. Where they came from, I cannae tell ye, but I’m thankful forthem because they’re cutting the whittling between me and Tavish down quickly.
About twenty minutes in, one o’ the guys reaches toward me, holding out something. “Your headset. In case you get separated…”
“He won’t,” Ghost declares.
“But just in case…”
“I said he won’t.”
Looking between them, I snap up what he’s offering and follow his instructions on getting it set up. I look at Ghost, who’s frowning at us and say, “On your hip, so Tavish and the rest o’ us make it home.”
“We’ll see.”
I sit back, waiting and listening with half an ear to what they’re talking about. Most o’ it is some lingo or other language. Not really, but it might as well be. Then they do break out another language. I’m tempted to ask what the fuck they’re talking about, but let’s be real, they’re talking about me.
“Guiding Light this is North Star 1. How copy?”
“Lima Charlie, North Star. You are on course and on time. ETA for your birdie is five minutes.”
I look at all o’ them and the ones who looked like there were sleeping are now awake and have joined in on some weird choreographed routine that a stranger like me would never understand. Hell, I dinnae even understand what the hell they just said over the earpiece, and now they were confusing me even more.
My confusion must show on my face, because one o’ them says, “Guiding Light is Cato. Never use real names over comms. You’re Big Dipper. Tavish is Little Dipper.”
“And them?”
“Most of us are from the spec ops community, so the lingo stuck. Every mission, the team receives a call sign, and numbers are assigned to each team member.”
Ghost points out the patches on the guys’ vests.
“Gotcha.”
“You don’t, and that’s what worries me. You’re not prepared.”
“It worries me too, but Tavish is worth putting my neck on the line. I’ll kill for him or die for him whatever I need to do.”
My ear crackles, and Cato’s voice fills my head. “Passing Shooting Star.”
“What the hell is shooting star?”
“Code name for the drone strike.”
My mind runs rampant at the term drone strike. I ken they said it earlier, but all I can picture are the videos o’ strikes that take out freaking towns and buildings. Surely, that’s nae what they’re planning.
My panic at the idea they’re going to bomb the boat must be evident, because Ghost chuckles, “We’re not bombing the boat. Just causing a bit of a distraction. Cato’s going to get the drone close enough to hack into their system so we can arrive undercover of whatever chaos he’s doing to them.”
The ship comes into sight, and all the lights are out and the music is so loud I can hear the lyrics even over the sound o’ our boat.
“What’s the game plan?” I ask.
“We’re going for a coordinated attack. The other boat will take the bow, and we’ll approach from the stern. They’re going to be climbing, so we’ll hang back until they give us the green light. Cato’s drone will stay overhead to give us over watch. He’ll keep us alerted to movements on the decks.”
I nod, and almost immediately, Cato’s voice comes across the headset.
