Talon cracked his neck, the joints popping audibly. "Yeah, about that."
Ronan chuckled. "I'll tell your dad you said hi."
"How’s the old man doing?"
"You can call him an old man," Ronan laughed, "but he just kicked my ass in the ring yesterday. Not that I'd tell him that. I held up my chin until I got home. And then I died. Man has one hell of a punch."
"Yeah, but he has his weak spots, too," Talon said with a grin.
"Tell me what they are," Ronan said a bit too eagerly.
Talon laughed heartily. "No way, my man. You need to find that out for yourself."
"You really are an asshole, you know that, right?" Ronan said with mock indignation.
"Oh yeah. There's no doubt of that. Take care of yourself and that woman of yours."
"Will do. Guardian Operations clear."
The line went dead, leaving Talon alone with his thoughts and the weight of the mission ahead. Three containers of uranium, pirates, and a ship somewhere in the Gulf of Guinea. He stood up, his mind already shifting into mission mode. Time to gather his team and head into the unknown once again.
CHAPTER 3
Talon's boots hit the deck of the MV Calypso Queen with a subdued metallic thud that seemed to echo through his bones. The massive vessel rocked beneath a buffet of wind that tasted of salt. The deck plates vibrated under his feet with each swell. There was moonlight tonight, and it was a bit too much for Talon's liking. But they didn’t get the luxury of choosing when to take the cargo ship. He needed a reminder to thank the fucking CEO who delayed asking for help for over a week. Fucking Christmas Card moment, for sure. Shoemaker put himself at the top of that list with a bullet.Not. The bastard.
The silver glow painted everything in stark shadows and exposed angles, making concealment achallenge. But the metal carcass seemed to be dead and floating in the Gulf of Guinea, a ghost ship drifting with the current. Talon’s eyes searched the deck. Not a person in sight. Why? Where were the fucking pirates?
The ship's navigation lights were extinguished, and only the ebb and flow of a dim red auxiliary bulb near the bridge illuminated the deck in intermittent crimson pulses. The light cast an eerie shade of blood across the metal. Talon moved forward and leveled his MK18, the familiar weight of the rifle steadying his nerves. The weapon stayed rock-still in his grip, but his eyes moved constantly, sweeping the entire deck. The winch activated and silently hoisted another team member up the side of the container ship. The mechanical whir was barely audible above the ocean's constant whisper against the hull. Jug joined him as the winch descended to lift another team member from the rubber boat they’d paddled to the MV Calypso Queen.
The main deck was slick with ocean spray, making each step treacherous. Talon pointed out what seemed to be scorched residue from small fires. The acrid smell of burned plastic and wood hung in the humid air. Why would anyone start a fire on the deck of a ship? Jug frowned, his weathered featurescreasing with concern. In American Sign Language, Jug said,Maybe the pirates don't have fuel to run the generators.
Talon shrugged, the logic settling like lead in his stomach. That seemed like the most likely rationale. The fires wouldn't be for heat, not in the Gulf of Guinea, where the air itself felt like breathing through wet cotton. Wolf and Stryker formed behind him. He let his mind wrestle with why they’d start fires on deck. Signals. He glanced around again. Elbowing Jug, he signed,Signals?
Jug signed back,Why not just use the radio?
Good question. One he couldn’t answer right now. Once Hammer was on board, Talon conducted an assessment of his team and then contacted Dude.
"Panther team on board." His voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the wind. He used hand signals to deploy his team, each gesture sharp and precise. Hammer and Stryker go to the starboard side; Jug and Wolf would take the port side. Talon would operate as a single. They intended to clear the ship of pirates and wait for a crew to take the vessel out of harm’s way.
"I copy. You're commencing clearing operations." Dude's voice crackled through the comm, steady and professional. "Note for the record, the team is doinga full sweep, all decks, all targets. As a reminder, your instructions are to secure control of the vessel."
Talon rolled his eyes, though no one could see the gesture in the darkness. As if they needed to hear it again. However, it was Dude's responsibility to ensure all the information was recorded for the mission ops. Every word needed to be documented, every decision logged.
The two teams moved like apparitions over the metal decking of the ship. It took them a total of five minutes to split into Alpha and Bravo assets once they floated against the hull of the ship. Each of them was armed with suppressed rifles, night optics, and tactical bio sensors that synced their movements and positions in the heads-up displays they wore. The technology hummed quietly against Talon's skull, a constant reminder that they would never lose contact with each other's position even on the darkest of nights. No one spoke unless it was necessary. Their weapons would do the talking. Because the pirates had killed to claim possession of the ship, permission to take them out if necessary had been granted.
The shipping container deck was a graveyard of commerce. The stacked metal shipping containers—some half-open, some sealed—loomed over narrowwalkways. The containers rose like rusted tombstones marking the death of the boat's forward motion. The crew’s markers hadn’t been ordered yet. They needed to know who survived, if any.
Talon touched the side of a container. Its surface wept with condensation in the tropical humidity. Talon moved soundlessly, his boots finding purchase on the non-slip deck plating, but his trained eye took in everything. He did a double-take at the blood smear carved across one of the bulkheads where a crew member had likely been dragged, the dark stain dried by the salt air.
During the pre-brief, it was determined that Talon would clear the bridge as the other men cleared the massive deck. The division of labor was a tactical necessity. The decks could conceal an army of pirates, so the majority of the team’s assets would be used to clear them. Talon would take the smaller area. The bridge controlled everything, and without it, the ship was just a floating tomb.
He scaled the stairs to the bridge, each step a calculated risk. Every tread groaned and creaked under his weight, the sound announcing his presence to anyone listening. The metal stairwell was also slick with moisture. He ducked under windows that were blacked out from the inside withaluminum foil. The makeshift covering told its own story of paranoia and desperation. Several entry doors had been barricaded from the inside with heavy objects. The pirates were still on the ship, but as of yet, no enemy contact had been made.
At the sound of a suppressed rifle somewhere below, Talon tensed and kicked one of the barricaded doors in. The metal door groaned and gave with a sharp crack that echoed off the metal walls.
Talon dropped and leveled his weapon. The bridge was dark, swallowed in shadows that seemed to pulse due to the failing lighting. Shattered glass crunched under his boots. He glanced over, taking in the scene. The console screens had been destroyed—smashed with what looked like the butt of a rifle or maybe an axe. One crew member lay near the helm with a bullet through his chest, the fabric of his uniform dark with dried blood. The body was already bloated, and the smell of death and decay permeated the tropical heat confined in the bridge.
"Bridge secure," Talon whispered into his comms, his voice tight with controlled energy. "The bridge is compromised. Navigation systems inoperable."
