Ten.
Bullets peppered the air around her. She dove behind a tree. Her forearms bore the brunt of her landing, the pain rumbling up to her shoulders. She low-crawled toward Johansson. Blood seeped from his shoulder. His face was ashen, his eyes unfocused. She grabbed a QuikClot from the first-aid kit in his backpack and placed it on his wound. “I’m too scared to face your pregnant wife alone, so keep your shit together.”
He gave her a weak smile.
She removed the morphine syringe from his front pocket and jammed it into his left quad. He’d be comfortably numb soon enough.
A group of rebels climbed the embankment. Brown maintained his disciplined fire but couldn’t keep up. Thea aimed her own M4 at the oncoming attackers and pressed the trigger. Several men fell. She shoved a fresh magazine in.
Figures appeared in the distant mist, the heat of their bodies a hazy green through the night-vision goggles. She counted them. Four. The tallest one, Rif, had a body slung over his right shoulder. Sampson. They’d found him, but she couldn’t tell if the hostage was dead or alive.
“Jo, Team A’s back. Can you walk?”
His breath was rapid and shallow. “Hell, yes.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him, given the morphine. She was strong for a buck-thirty but couldn’t run while carrying over two hundred pounds. They’d make too easy a mark.
“Stand up, soldier,” Thea said.
Johansson groaned. “My wife’s going to kill me.”
“She’s going to have to take a number.” She helped him to his feet. He stumbled, unsteady in the mud. She wrapped his left arm around her shoulder, supporting his weight. “Let’s get you home.”
The faint sound of incoming rotor wash spurred her. They only had a few minutes to reach the clearing.
A burst of nearby gunfire startled her. She looked up, prepared to shoot, but realized it was Rif firing suppressive bursts while sprinting across the ridge. Having handed off the hostage, he joined them behind a massive tree. Rain smeared his black camo paint, giving his face a sinister look. “Team A’s headed back to the clearing with Sampson.” He slung his rifle across his back and hoisted Johansson over his shoulder. “Cover me.”
Thea stormed after them, heart and rifle on full auto. The rebels dove for shelter as she and Brown laid down covering fire. She shouted at Brown, “Chopper!” She wanted everyone in the Hughes before she would jump aboard.
The three of them ran for the clearing as another hail of bullets peppered the surrounding trees. She used a large mangrove for cover and returned fire, giving Rif time to help Johansson board the chopper.
She zigzagged across the open field. Her ride was in a valley over three hundred feet away. The other Hughes carrying Team A and Sampson lifted off into the rain behind her as she ran. Bullets whipped by. A sharp sting flared in her left arm as she plowed into thick underbrush. She ignored the pain and ran faster.
She scrambled down the gorge and dove into the chopper. Johansson, Brown, and Rif were already on board. She ripped off her night-vision goggles and grabbed her headset.
“Go!” she yelled at the pilot.
“Hold tight.”
The winds gusted from the east, which meant they would have to power up while heading straight for the barrels of the rebels’ AK-47s. The rotor blades strained as the group of armed men ran toward the Hughes. Come on, come on. Her fingernails dug into her palms. The chopper plunged into live fire like a flying pi?ata.
She kept her gaze straight ahead, willing the chopper to reach sixty knots so they could turn. Seconds felt like hours as they finally accelerated and swerved away from the camp. She glanced into the cockpit. The pilot’s shirt was soaked with sweat.
Rif glanced at the blood on her sleeve. “You hit?”
“Just a graze.” She stared at bullet holes in the fuselage, realizing how close a call it’d been—and how Rif’s changing the plan mid-mission could have cost her teammates their lives.
“Is Sampson okay?” After all this, she prayed the hostage was alive.
“He’s dehydrated and a bit roughed up, but he’ll make it.”
“Amen for that.” Saint Barbara had done her job again. Thea slumped against the fuselage, grateful the rebels didn’t have an RPG. She checked her phone. As expected, the intense stress had sent her blood sugar levels skyrocketing. But rapid-acting insulin would counteract that soon enough.
She inhaled a deep breath. Another hostage safely returned by Quantum International Security. Looked like she’d make Papa’s party after all.
Chapter Two
Quantum International Security headquarters, London
November 28
3:00 p.m.