Chapter Sixteen

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Loco growled into the communication link.

Night, kitted out in solid black, complete with gas mask, edged closer to the cement foundation. All five men wore the same camouflage, blending in with the moonless night sky. Each sat on pins and needles, awaiting the signal from the sole female in the group.

Night hated sending her in first, his primitive protective instincts shouting that she needed to stay behind, well out of harm’s way, while the men shielded her. His logical mind knew better. Women warriors were rare in the time of his ancestors, but Lark would’ve fit that very image, eagerly accepting her assignment, slinking her way through a small tunnel and the narrower ventilation system.

“Soon. Hold your positions.” Night whispered into the microphone located inside his mask. All of them exuded patience and none would break, but that didn’t always make the waiting easy.

A female voice broke in with rapid-fire speech. It took Night a moment to realize she jabbered away in Lakota, the words a bit muffled due to her mask. He responded firmly, asking in the same dialect for her to repeat. She did.

Their targets had picked up on the communication frequency his men used, and were now tracking the team through the links. Lark had managed to crawl through the system to the control area, overhear the men talking in Spanish about their discovery, and relay back to him in Lakota.

Shit. Switching to Navajo, Night threw out orders, demanding immediate action. They had to move now or be located with powerful rifles probably fit with night vision capabilities, more than capable of tearing a man to pieces.

Lark’s voice carried across the channel once more.

She’s jammed them.

He translated, surging ahead as he relayed messages to his men. She needs to learn Navajo, damn it. Translation takes too long.

“Poison apple initiated.” Lark muttered in between pants.

Night’s mind automatically changed the words between languages, alerting the men. Rifles at the ready, they swarmed the entrances, throwing open doors and firing at anything that moved.

A rifle boomed from several yards away. Dillon, the master sniper, having positioned himself in a small trench earlier, now shot at random to cover the advancing group.

Weapons barked as men yelled. Night moved from shadow to shadow, heading for the innermost sanctuary of the building, praying with each step that the anesthesia gas Lark had released had worked. If it had failed, things would go to smithereens real quick. Sneaking through one door, he followed the barrel of his gun, only to find men sleeping through the noise of defensive fire. Some lay across desks, others flat on the floor.

With a sigh of relief, he tapped on the keyboard which turned off all alarms and opened the entrances. The beauty of getting into the control center while the program remained open—not having to waste valuable time trying to circumvent a password in order to achieve the same results.

As the noise level began to diminish, he pushed flash drives into three of the computers, downloading their contents. While that took place, he snatched up a laptop, slipping it into his jacket for ease of transportation. He scooped up the drives, dropping them all into his pocket, and glanced at his watch. Five minutes until wake up.

Frantic yelling drew his attention, sending him racing for the opposite side of the room and through a doorway. The sight, through a large glass upper story window, nearly stopped his heart.

A hundred yards away and a story down, none other than the leader of the drug cartel, Ravini stood in an atrium area, right behind a large rock column, his waving arms and running mouth showing fury and agitation toward Loco. His handgun presently aimed at Loco who was flanked by two guards, both with weapons aimed at Night’s man. Loco stood empty-handed with one hand held up in the air, the traditional sign of surrender. His other arm hung, as if injured and immobile, but Night’s acute vision noticed Loco’s hand inching toward his back, obviously seeking his backup pistol.

The gun never wavered as Ravini aimed at Loco’s face, still shouting obscenities and threats, the words flowing to Night, muffled and soft through the thick glass.

Frantically considering options, Night noted the large columns partially covering the two guards, while Ravini stood far enough out now for him to hit. He would have to break the glass, put down a hail of bullets, which would still not leave him enough time to save Loco. A bitter taste entered his mouth as his stomach clenched. He gripped the barrel of the rifle and prepared to bang the butt end against the glass, hopefully shattering it quickly in order to give him the tiny opportunity he needed.

Just as Ravini began to squeeze the trigger, loud pops sounded, bullets ripped through the ceiling tiles, pummeling into Ravini and sending him crashing to the expensive marble floor. The men at his sides fell just as quickly, their weapons dropping harmlessly. Blood splattered and stained the formerly glossy white stone, the raw carnage leaving no doubt they were dead.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Night watched Loco snatch up his rifle and continue on, pausing for a moment to give a short salute to the ceiling. Lark. He owed her big time.

Night checked his watch then yelled for a retreat, setting explosive charges as he went. Nothing could remain of this structure or another man would step up to the plate, taking Ravini’s place within days, using the guards and computer systems already in place, making the whole transition seamless and way too easy. In order to stop this bunch, they had to destroy anything and everything associated with Ravini. Sure, other drug lords could and would move in on his business, but at least this head of the mythological hydra would be severed forever.

Bursting out of the back door, he hollered at Lark in Lakota, urging her to get out of the vent system immediately as the timer ticked down. Shadows began to emerge from the structure, one by one, each identifying themselves with a code name as they headed toward the pre-set rendezvous.

Dillon would keep an eye out for tails or hunters, protecting their backs as they worked to leave just as quickly as they came.

Cussing to himself, Night frantically scanned for Lark, watching for a small-framed female to appear from an exit, any exit. His breathing escalated as he hurried to put space between him and the building. “Lark. Get out now! If I have to go back in there and drag your ass out…”

“Coming. Damn it,” she answered in English in between pants. A moment later, she flew out of the cave entrance and kept going until she managed to get well away from the range of any flying debris.

A huge explosion rocked the area, the ground trembling under the power. Chunks of the fortress flew through the sky, falling to the earth. The walls gave before the whole building collapsed upon itself, sending a huge cloud of dust rising into the air.

* * * *

“Shit, I’m beat.” Cale stretched out his long legs in the cramped quarters of the middle row in the SUV.

Dillon wiped at his eyes. “That so wasn’t pretty. A stealth bombing would have been tons better.”

Night nodded his head, agreeing with Dillon for once. Trudging into a cobra’s hole after the vile creature proved dirty, difficult, and downright deadly. He hated to do it himself and to put his men through that. Someone had to do it, but the next fucking drug lord he’d gladly leave to another team.

He’d checked each and every one of his team members, ensuring they were unhurt before they’d all climbed back into the SUV and headed for home. They looked a bit ragged but none the worse for wear, despite the action and close calls. Loco as well, even though he would probably sport a few bruises tomorrow. Even Lark seemed to be fine, her black clothes gray with dust from the ventilation system.

“I have something for you.” He pulled out the laptop and flash drives, passing them back to her.

She took them with a small grin. “My supervisor will be singing your praises for a month of Sundays.” He watched as she methodically stuffed each one into her backpack with steady hands. If adrenaline rode her hard, he couldn’t see it.

“By the way, nice work back there.” She’d impressed him more than once, holding her own and then some, thinking for herself and essentially saving Loco in the process.

Her face colored prettily with the compliment. “Thanks.”

“It would have helped if you spoke Navajo, though. Lakota worked, but it took too damn long for me to translate.” He bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to see her reaction before he let on about the teasing.

She snorted, curling up in the back seat. “I do believe your page of Navajo words lacked the ones I needed. In retrospect, I don’t recall the majority of them being of any assistance in that particular situation. I figured they employed someone who spoke German and English, which left me with Lakota.”

“Hey. She nailed Ravini and his thugs cleanly through the ceiling tiles before they could riddle me with bullets. That counts for a lot in my book.” Loco’s gaze met hers in the rearview mirror. He shot her a congratulatory grin.

“The least I could do for a fellow soldier.” She shrugged, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Marine,” the guys corrected in unison with a chuckle.