Apparently Bran was doing much the same thing. “Should we try to outrun them?” he wondered aloud.
Leo nodded. “Olivia can call Morales and have him give our coordinates to the contractors. Even if they have to run on one engine, if they bust ass in our direction, they might have a shot at reachin’ us before we run out of fuel or before the tangos catch up.”
“I’d say that’s a negative,” Wolf said, grabbing the satellite phone from the small, webbed pouch attached to the inside of the dinghy. When he lifted it, water poured from the phone’s plastic case. “I stuck it in there thinking it’d be safe. I wasn’t banking on the skiff ending up facedown in the drink.” He punched a button on the satphone, then another, before shaking his head. “No go.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Mason grumbled, the butt of his M4 raised to his shoulder so he could use his scope to get a better view of their targets.
“Why’s that?” Leo demanded.
“Those cocksuckers have a six-HP engine on that fuckin’ thing. They’d catch us before we banged out two miles.”
“So we make a stand,” Wolf said.
Usuallymakingastanddidn’t fill Leo with dread. He’d made plenty of them during his Naval career, been outnumbered and outgunned too many times to count. But he’d never had Olivia by his side while doing any of that. And, by God, he’d be damned if he’d have her by his side now.
“Get into a life jacket, Olivia,” he told her, grabbing one of the bright-orange preservers and thrusting it at her. “Then get out of the boat.”
“What?” Her face showed equal parts confusion and alarm.
“We’re about to have ourselves a real-life gun battle here. And I can’t have you in the middle of it.”
“No.” She shook her head, letting the life jacket drop to the bottom of the dinghy. “No, I can help you.”
He flicked a glance at the skiff and the terrorists now whizzing toward them. The heat of rage burning through his blood froze solid at the thought of her taking part in what was coming next.
Overmydeadbody.
But it was the thought ofherdead body that had him picking up the life jacket and pushing it toward her again. “Put it on,” he told her in his best commanding-officer voice.
“I’ve got my…” Her eyes widened when she reached behind her back to feel for her pistol. It was gone. No doubt sitting on the sandy bottom some two hundred feet below them. He was pretty sure he’d inadvertently unclipped the top strap on her holster when he sent her flying overboard. But there’d be time for explanations later. For now, he needed her to Get. The. Hell.Out!
“Exactly,” he told her. “You’ll just be a distraction. One we don’t need.”
“But I—”
The gentlewhirof an outboard engine reached his ears.Time’s up.Hating himself for what he had to do, but seeing no other choice, he stood and grabbed Olivia around the waist. Before she registered his intent, he tossed her overboard.
She hit the water a couple of yards from the dinghy, arms and legs akimbo, and came up sputtering. “Goddamnit, Leo! Stop doing that!”
He flung the life jacket after her. “Grab it before it floats away! And then stay put!” he bellowed. When he saw her reach for the bright-orange life preserver, he turned to his men.Yessir.In this situation they were certainly hismen. “Okay, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time to Jason Bourne some things. I know it’s been a while, but I suspect it’s like ridin’ a bike. So let’s give it to ’em with both smokin’ barrels and a punch to the throat, hooyah?”
“Hooyah!” three voices rang out right before Wolf laid on the throttle and they took off on an intercept course with the terrorists.
Chapter Eleven
2:29 p.m.…
I’m going to kill him!Olivia thought as she struggled to thrust her arms into the life jacket.Ifwelivethroughthis, I’m going to—
But that’s as far as she got before the bullets started flying and all thoughts of murder instantly turned to prayers for his safety. For the safety ofallthe men. Her heart became a black hole, sucking away everything but her fear as she watched helplessly—utterly, infuriatingly helplessly—as the two dinghies raced toward each other.
Therat-a-tat-tatsof the tangos’ AKs were constant, but the distance between the little boats was too great for their rounds to hit their marks with any accuracy. In contrast, Leo and his men had yet to take a shot. Wolf was piloting the zooming skiff with one hand, his weapon raised to his opposite shoulder. Mason was in the middle of the boat, his M4 resting against the side, ready and willing. And both Bran and Leo had positioned themselves on the front of the dinghy, lying lengthwise along each side, one leg in, one leg out, their weapons poised for action like a couple of snipers, waiting until it was time to lay on their triggers and make their rounds count. She held her breath.
Suddenly—Thump! Thump!—Bran’s machine gun jerked once, twice. He was the best shot of the bunch, his reputation as a crackerjack gunman known far and wide within the spec-ops community. That point was proved a split second later when blood exploded from one of the terrorists’ skulls in a pink cloud. The tango toppled overboard, arms flying wide and AK-47 falling from his lifeless fingers before he hit the water and rolled in the wake of the boat.
Olivia had only seen two other men killed in her entire career—well, one, really; she’d onlythoughtRusty was dead—and those memories still haunted her, made her sick to her stomach anytime she replayed the gruesome scenes in her mind. This time wasn’t any different. Her gut contracted, spewing burning bile into her throat until she gagged. Being shot at with RPGsshouldhave been a mitigating factor for squeamishness and a motivating factor for vengeance, but apparently she’d been absent the day they handed out steel stomachs in field-agent training.
She managed to blow out a breath, beat back the urge to spew, and whispered, “One down. Five to go.”
