Notes: Huge thanks to faye_dartmouth for the beta and the great advice on how to finish the story. I'm always grateful for her patience in dealing with my continued hatred for commas. Any remaining mistakes belong to me.
The title is a quote from Alexandre Dumas.
Wait and Hope
The water was a deep blue in front of him. It was slightly blurry though his goggles, but the sight was still clear and far.
The bottoms of big yachts were throwing large shadows on the sandy ground, creating an impressive interplay with the sun's rays that found their way down into the water between the boats.
Hardly a fish was visible in the harbor, but from time to time the odd Spanish grunt swam by, the bright yellow fins and crest clearly visible even from farther back.
Bubbles drifted lazily from his mouth piece to the surface as he breathed out and Billy's eyes followed them for a second, before he continued to dive underneath the yachts anchored down.
He wasn't deep underwater, but he still felt weightless despite the heavy air tank on his back and the weights on his diving belt. The waters of the Caribbean Sea around him were warm enough that he didn't need to wear a long sleeved diving suit. And Billy enjoyed the feeling of the warm water against his bare arms. It had been far too long since he had last dived, Billy realized, as he slowly approached his target.
Diving had once been one of his favorite hobbies after he had learned how to in the Marines. But after his recruitment to MI-6 and later to the CIA, he hardly had any free time and when he could dive, it had to be for a mission.
So whenever he actually got the chance to dive into the blue, whether it was ice cold or bathtub warm like now, Billy tried to draw it out as long as possible. The mission wouldn't be compromised by a few lingering moments under the surface.
But with strong and even strokes, Billy soon arrived at his target.
It was the yacht of a Saudi Arabian millionaire that liked to meddle with the Fatah. According to their sources, he was going to meet some of the higher ranking members of the terrorist organization soon and he was going to meet them with his yacht in the middle of the ocean.
Billy was going to place a GPS tracker on the under carriage of the yacht so that the ODS could follow it inconspicuously to the meeting point and then take out or arrest the Fatah leaders. It sounded like an easy plan and a good one at that. Minimizing worldwide terror was important to him, although if Billy were honest, right now he simply relished the fact that he was able to dive again.
The rest of his team was waiting a few miles south of the harbor on a houseboat that looked like it belonged to a couple of pot-smoking hippies. And, cozy as it was, it definitely couldn't be compared to the yacht he was swimming under.
It was an 85 feet long monstrosity that had gleamed white in the midday sun when the team had arrived yesterday. The upper stories had glass fronts with a secluded foredeck used as a seating area and the floors were made of expansive agar wood. Billy had been impressed by the luxury the yacht exuded, but somehow he still preferred the houseboat his team had taken over.
As he swam toward the stern and the propellers, Billy let his hand glide along the clean bottom of the yacht. His ungloved hand slid easily along the smooth fiberglass until it reached a weld seam and the protected area of the propellers. The yacht was powered by two propellers set several feet apart. It was dangerous swimming so close to the blades, but, switched off as they were now, they shouldn't be a problem. Still, he felt his heart speed up as he drew closer to the screws. He was going to place the tracker right behind one of the two propellers in the crevice of the ship's hull.
The tracker was magnetic and, since the boat was mostly made of non-magnetic fiberglass, this was the only place where it would actually stay attached. He pulled the plastic device out of the bright yellow dive net that had been threaded to his belt and with both hands he carefully placed the magnet into the crevice where it immediately stuck to the metal.
After giving the whole make up a quick one over and deeming it secure, Billy turned around again and made his way back toward the houseboat.
He again took his time, there was still plenty of air left in his tank and since he hadn't dived very deep, Billy didn't have to worry about decompression. His mates would be anxious but Michael knew how much Billy craved the deep blue and wouldn't begrudge him a few extra minutes of dallying.
But all good things needed to come to an end sometime and far too soon for his liking, Billy arrived at the little cove where the ODS team had anchored down. Well out of sight of the harbor or any other inhabited area of the island.
The boat didn't have a ladder that led to the water, just a small ledge at the port side that Billy had used to enter the water and now would use to get out again.
He inflated his buoyancy compensator and immediately it was easier for him to get to the surface. When his head broke through the water, he spit out the mouth piece and unbuckled the weights from his belt.
Michael and Casey were already waiting for him at the ledge on the boat and took the weights from him and they helped him as he struggled out of the vest with the air tank. Once free of the equipment, Billy was able to move more easily and without much trouble, he swung himself up to the ledge and out of the water.
"The tracker is in position and working," Billy said and shook his head, spraying his friends with water.
Faint tapping of keys were audible as Rick logged into the laptop to check the tracker, "I have it on the screen and he's still in the harbor."
"Al-Dhakheel is not supposed to move until late this evening," Casey reminded them as he dragged the air tank to the side, giving Billy more space to get rid of his fins.
"That means we have enough time left to get you three into your diving suits," Billy said and grinned brightly at them, especially when he saw Rick's slightly sour face.
The sun was a fiery red ball hovering just over the horizon, painting the ocean and the sky in deep orange colors whenthe green dot on Rick's laptop monitor started to move.
Billy was standing on the bridge of their house boat, binoculars in front of his eyes and checking the horizon for any sight of the yacht and the boat it was going to meet. The cover of darkness would hide their approach, but until the sun had set, they were still clearly visible and the ODS wanted to avoid getting seen by Al- Dhakheel and his Fatah friends before they entered the yacht.
Michael was standing beside him, manning the wheel and following Al-Dhakheel yacht at Rick's instructions. Just like Billy, he was already wearing a black diving suit, ready to get on with the mission as soon as the meet was going down.
It had been an amusing experience to watch Rick as he had fought with the neoprene suit. Even when experienced, it wasn't easy putting on a diving suit and Rick clearly was a novice. And while he couldn't see Rick, Billy could hear him; the young operative was permanently moving about, shifting in his seat and most likely driving Casey crazy. Casey, who was currently cleaning a gun. Maybe, Billy thought, he should put a stop to it, before Casey did.
"Take a quick dip in the shower, lad. Makes you feel more comfortable," Billy said without turning around. "Casey can man the laptop for a second."
He could almost feel Rick's shocked stare on the back of his neck and he could see Michael's grin out of the corner of his eye.
"What?" Surprise was evident in Rick's voice and this time Billy did turn around.
"The diving suit, Martinez. It'll fit better once it's wet," Billy replied with a patient smile on his features. Rick still had a lot to learn and, more often than not, Billy was happy to teach him. It was gratifying to see the young man become the agent Billy knew he was meant to be.
"Really?" Rick asked and after Billy nodded, he shot out of his chair and the room.
"You should have waited a few more minutes, I wanted to see Casey's reaction," Michael said, smirk still in place.
Billy smiled back and turned around again to face the window. It had gotten considerably darker outside and the horizon was hardly visible. Al-Dhakheel's yacht had nearly disappeared in the gloom and, pretty soon, Billy would have to start using night vision goggles if he wanted to follow its movements.
"Would have been funny indeed, but riling Casey when he's handling a gun is never a good idea and I wanted to prevent any possible bloodshed."
"Couldn't have been that bad, the gun was dissembled," Michael replied and a second later a piece of said dissembled gun hit him scare in the back. "Okay, I stand corrected. Casey Malick can be deadly even with just a piece of a gun."
"I have worked hard for my reputation and I will not let it get slandered by you two," Casey said from his perch in front of the laptop, a few feet behind the wheel house. "And I need the slide back. Al- Dhakheel's just stopped."
The smiles immediately slipped from their faces and they became serious again. Billy brought his binoculars back up, only to find that the world outside had turned completely dark in the few minutes he hadn't watched. As he switched to his night vision binoculars, the engine sputtered to a stop and Rick came back into the main room, making soft splashing with every step he took. The younger operative must have realized that something was happening, since he didn't say anything, just stopped behind Casey.
Adrenaline was starting to pump through his system and Billy could feel his heart beat faster. It was the usual pre-mission thrill that Billy absolutely loved. Years of working for the secret service had made him an adrenaline junkie of sorts. He liked to think of it as something of an occupational hazard. While he did enjoy the quiet moments in life, he always yearned for the excitement of a mission; not that he was going to tell any of his teammates that.
He could feel his senses sharpen and his fingers tingled in anticipation as he griped the night vision goggles tight.
Everything had taken on a greenish tinge, but Al- Dhakheel's yacht was clearly visible, just like the few scattered people that moved across its deck and the second boat that arrived from the starboard side.
Billy was relaying everything he saw. It was a good thing that he could talk, since it calmed him down. And hearing the replies from his teammates was a reassurance on its own.
"So we have two Fatah members and their bodyguards, Al- Dhakheel and his crew of eight and an unknown number of crew members on the Fatah boat," Michael summarized.
Billy nodded. The odds weren't that great, but the ODS had managed far worse. What did worried him, was that everything would be happening on a boat. The space below-deck was limiting and while that meant that the Fatah members didn't have any space to hide or run away, it meant the same for them. A number of things could go wrong, and while he was sure that Michael had most of them covered in one way or another, Billy was still scared. But, as he had told Rick long ago, fear helped keeping his senses sharp.
They moved like a well oiled machine to get ready. While Casey and Rick were packing up the guns in waterproof bags, Billy and Michael secured the boat.
With the bags distributed among them, the team went to the open port side ledge and then silently, one after the other, slipped into the water.
They were swimming just underneath the surface, each with a spare air tank between their lips that would give them oxygen for at least five minutes. Just barely enough to make it to the boat. The ocean was black all around them, the only light coming from the stars and a waning moon shining from a cloudless sky. But still, it wasn't enough to light their way underwater and they had to rely on the compass that was strapped to Billy's wrist.
As they came closer to the two boats anchored side by side, the light grew even darker. Both yachts were throwing shadows that hid what little light had illuminated the water.
Billy was leading the other three men first underneath Al- Dhakheel's yacht and then underneath the boat the Fatah leader's had arrived in.
That boat was a lot smaller than Al-Dhaheel's yacht. It was just a bit bigger than a speedboat and similarly built, which also meant that there wasn't really an entry for divers, but it did have a ramp where two Jet Skis where tied down.
Now, as he approached that ledge from underneath, Billy let the air tank fall from his lips. His gloveless fingers grabbed the edge and he pulled himself closer to it. The rest of his body hung weightless in the water for a second and then he pulled himself up, slowly and carefully to avoid making too much noise.
There already was a slight straining in his lungs that told him that he was running out of air. And then his head broke through the surface. Excess water droplets on his goggles blurred his vision, but Billy didn't want to risk making any more noise by moving to wipe them away. As it was, he had only surfaced just far enough that his nose was barely above the water.
The deck was clear for as far as Billy could see and he dove back under again.
His teammates were waiting, hands placed against the bottom of the boat to keep their positions and faces turned toward him. Billy formed an 'o' with his thumb and forefinger, the diver's sign language for okay and without waiting for the rest to acknowledge the sign, Billy was pushing himself out of the water again.
Michael, Casey and Rick would be right behind him, there was no doubt about it. And they needed to keep to their schedule – sketchy as it was. They didn't really know how long the talk between Al-Dhaakhel and the Fatah leaders was going to take, so there was a need for speed. Which was something Billy usually didn't like. Casey was the one who lived for the hard and fast missions, because they usually required his kind of skill. But Billy preferred the long mission, with interpersonal interactions and manipulations, where he could use his charms and his words.
He could fight and shoot and he wasn't that bad with a knife, but he tried to avoid violent interactions as much as he could, choosing to solve conflict with his words rather than his fists.
A situation like this however needed a fast reaction and not a long groundwork. And Billy was prepared for action right now; words could come later.
Easily, Billy slipped from the water and up the deck. Small splashes followed him, indicating that the rest of his team was coming out of the water too.
Their guns and extra ammunition had stayed dry in the waterproof bags and Billy removed them, keeping his gun in his hand and placing the spare clips in the matching pockets of his diving belt. Only when he was armed did Billy reach for the earwig on the bottom of the bag and gingerly insert it into his ear. Immediately a slight static noise filled that ear and as usual, Billy needed a few seconds before he could tune it out.
A quick tap to his shoulder had Billy looking up; Casey was right beside him, gun in hand and ready to go. Michael and Rick were just a step behind him, barely visible in the bad light.
With that tap, Billy felt his heartbeat slow down; the pre mission thrill was gone, replaced by the mission calmness that helped him keep a cool head and quick reaction time in any kind of situation.
They kept their heads down, knees bent, and the four men slowly made their way across the deck, careful to stay on the side away from the yacht.
But there was no one outside and while that was good for their stealthy intentions, Billy was starting to get a bad feeling about it. This wasn't the first time the ODS had come) into contact with the Fatah and generally they had more men with them than the situation really required and even more guns just to be safe. After all, any normal interaction with the Fatah was not a trifling experience. And this empty boat was not normal and it made the back of Billy's neck tingle in nervous anticipation.
One look at Casey and he knew that the other man was thinking along the same lines.
With just a quick exchange of glances, the team moved on and down into the lower decks.
Michael and Rick were watching their backs in case someone came back, while Billy and Casey covered the front. They moved as one and that was another aspect of the job that Billy liked: having people around that he could trust impeccably with his life.
When he had been thrown out of his own country, Billy had believed that he would never be able to find such a trust again, that he would never be able to trust somebody else like that again. But somehow over the years this trust had developed with Michael and Casey. With Carson too and his betrayal had hurt more than any of them had wanted to admit, but Rick was quickly stepping into Simms' old role. The more missions he went on and the more missions they succeeded in, the more Billy trusted Rick. And he was sure the same applied to Michael and Casey.
These years of working together with both men made Billy also more aware of the little changes in his partners' stances and he could practically feel that they too were starting to feel worried. Because they still hadn't come into contact with any opponent and by now they should have. At least some crew should have been on board, even if it was just to drive.
They quickly checked the lower decks of the speed boat and then stood, uncertain and with their guns aimed at the ground for a second.
"Could be a trap." Casey was the first to speak and Billy found himself nodding.
"Question is then: for whom; Al-Dhakheel or us?" Michael asked.
"You think the Fatah wants to kill their backer?" Rick asked, disbelief in his voice. And Billy couldn't fault the kid for that. It was highly unusual for a terrorist organization to murder their money source, but it wasn't unheard of.
"It can happen. It's rare, but when they think someone is betraying the cause, terrorists will do whatever they need to," Billy explained.
Rick nodded in understanding. "Are we going to continue with the mission?"
"We continue with the mission. Either way, we'll be taking out Fatah members and a supporter," Michael said, his voice was firm and Billy knew that this was the only option. He just hoped that the trap wasn't for them.
Outside, the sky had gotten darker; clouds had started to move in from the west and the wind had picked up.
Billy usually didn't care for the weather; he would listen to the weather report to whatever country they were going to, but that was it. But looking at the approaching clouds, an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. Storms on the open sea were never a good thing and Billy was pretty sure that the coming bad weather front was going to be strong one.
They definitely needed to move faster.
The waves had picked up too, getting higher and stronger and that made it slightly more difficult to jump from the boat over to the yacht.
Billy stumbled as he stepped over the railing, as a larger wave hit the side of the yacht. But Casey's hand was on his upper arm in a second, the grip bruising but steadying him and Billy knew that as soon as the mission was over he would be teased about the mishap. For now the action was just acknowledged with a nod and Billy stepped farther onto the deck.
The feeling of walking straight into a trap had intensified for Billy since they had stepped on the yacht. When they had come out of the water and onto the speedboat, the lights still had been on in Al-Dhakheel's yacht; now, as they split up to check the outside deck, everything was dark.
The earlier, reassuring light that had streamed from the floor to ceiling windows along the first and second floor of the cabin had been switched off, leaving everything in an eerie darkness that was only intermittently broken by the dim glow of emergency lights.
It was both a blessing and an ominous augury.
Crossing by the large windows would have been near impossibility without being seen if the lights had been on, (insert: but) now it was marginally safer to pass the broad expanse of glass. Still, they walked as fast as possible along the starboard and port side, hoping to reach the yacht's rear and ultimately the entrance to the cabin without being seen.
Billy kept his eyes half on the deck before him, half inside the room. But nothing was moving inside and no one was visible outside.
Wherever the fifteen men onboard where, they must have been deeper inside the ship. And that was another thing that was worrying Billy, because there was no look out. The whole thing was starting to look shiftier with every passing second and the Scot was a tad bit scared that his was not going to end well.
He could see the same fear in Rick's eyes and Billy really wished that he could say something to lessen that fear. But he knew that now was not the time and any noise they would make could give them away.
A single gunshot split the air and despite his familiarity with the sound, Billy still flinched. But he didn't let that stop him for long and the last echoes hadn't even faded before he was running toward it despite the fact that all his instincts were yelling at him to run away from the shooting. Those instincts, though, had been long buried underneath his sense of duty and his carefully cultivated foolhardy nature.
Rick was right behind him, hid youthful speed making up for Billy's longer legs. Even as they made their way toward the rear of the yacht and the doors leading into the stateroom, more gunshots fell.
Billy skidded to a stop just at the edge of the wall, luckily one of the few parts where there wasn't a window, and took a second to reaffirm the grip on his gun. Aiming it chest high, Billy swept the area he could see from his current position before he stepped around the corner.
His finger itched on the trigger as someone stepped around the corner on the other side of the deck, but Billy managed to keep his finger still in time, because it was Casey who came out of the shadows.
A quick nod and both men stepped forward and closer to the door. The window beside Billy was splintered, a spider web of cracks spreading out from a bullet hole. He chanced a quick look inside, but it was still dark and nothing moved. But someone could be hidden in the shadows and Billy was not going to believe it was empty until they had checked it out themselves.
Gunshots were still reverberating, more muted now as they came from the bowels of the yacht.
Walking into an unknown situation was, for the ODS at least, routine and the steps they were taking were well-rehearsed. Billy moved in tandem with Casey, well aware of Michael and Rick protecting their backs.
As usual Casey was going in first, with Billy just a step behind him. The height different made it possible for Billy to aim over Casey's shoulder and both men had the room covered.
Inside, Casey went left, Michael covering him and Billy took the right side with Rick close behind.
Halfway in the room they finally came upon other people, although Billy wasn't quite sure if that was really a good thing. Because both were dead.
The bodies were two of the crew men, identifiable by their uniforms if not their faces. Uniforms that were stained with blood.
The stakes had just risen, because the Fatah leaders clearly didn't care for more or less innocent casualties.
Billy felt cold, just moving past the bodies without acknowledging them, but he had long ago stopped caring about dead people he didn't know. Had to, unless he wanted to fall into depression, but still, seeing a life wasted like this made Billy more determined to stop the people behind it.
At the far end of the room was an open stairwell, marble steps leading up and down. This time they didn't even need to exchange any glances to know how to separate.
As Billy made his way down the stairs and deeper into the yacht, he unconsciously fiddled with his earwig. He didn't like to be separated from the rest of his team and the piece of plastic in his ear was his only means to stay in contact with Michael and Casey. It helped ease the worry to know that it worked.
The last gunshot had fallen a few minutes ago and since then, an eerie silence had fallen over the yacht. Billy could only hear his and Rick's soft footsteps and the thud of his own heartbeat. And while the shots had been disturbing the silence now bothered Billy more. Because silence, in his mind, never meant anything good.
They passed a couple of corners, the hallways and rooms dark with hardly any lights on, but Billy had yet to see anybody else. Chances were that the ODS and the Fatah members had missed each other completely; the yacht was big enough for that. But when had they ever been that lucky?
Billy heard them first. Low murmuring voices, the words indistinguishable, not just because of the volume, but most likely also because they weren't English.
With a flick of his thumb, Billy checked that his gun was loaded and then took a quick look over his shoulder to see if Rick had heard them too.
Martinez nodded, his face drawn with concentration.
"One floor down, third corridor," Billy whispered after he had activated his earwig. It was worth the risk of discovery to let Michael and Casey know where the bad guys were. At least that way they knew that back-up was on the way.
Nearly instantly, the voices farther down the hallway stopped and Billy knew that they had been heard. He shoved the blame deep down and instead started to concentrate on his next few steps.
He knew that Rick was more than just a good operative, that the lad could defend himself, but still Billy found himself protecting the younger man.
Taking a deep breath, Billy centered himself just like Casey had taught him so many years ago, and then he rounded the corner.
And ran right into another man.
Billy didn't know who was more surprised, himself or the Arabic man he walked into. But again, years of training took over and pushed the surprise aside and he went right into fight mode.
In a split second, Billy brought his left hand up and smashed the butt of the gun into the other man's face. Something gave underneath the flesh and the man's legs buckled. A quick kick to the side of the knee brought him down completely.
Just as the man crumbled to the ground, a gunshot fell and Billy felt the air shift as the bullet passed by his head by a mere few inches.
Instinctively, Billy took a step backwards, back pressing into Rick and forcing him behind the corner again, as he lifted his own gun and fired blindly into the looming darkness ahead.
Just as he stepped back around the corner, Billy could see the muzzle flashes at the other side of the hall as more bullets were fired at their position.
The bullets ricocheted off the wall, leaving deep scratches in the painted plywood , but luckily not in their flesh.
"You okay?" Billy asked and threw a quick glance at Rick, before turning his attention back to the edge of their little safe heaven. He doubted that the Arabs – Fatah or Al-Dhakheel's men, Billy couldn't tell – would attack them now, not with the situation unclear on both sides.
"Yeah." Rick's voice sounded a bit airy; the lad was scared and tried not to show it. Something that impressed Billy to a certain point. "Did you recognize who that was?" Rick asked, sounding more composed now that the shots had stopped.
Billy risked another glance around the corner before he answered. "Well, he's not wearing the crew uniform and he's not looking like Al-Dhakheel either," the Scot said and waved with his right hand toward the legs that were barely visible from their position, still unmoving on the ground. "So I suppose he's Fatah."
The sound of footsteps closing in on their position echoed through the corridor and Billy and Rick turned toward the noise, eyes open wide in the darkness, but still not seeing anything.
If it was any of the remaining Fatah members on board, he and Rick were screwed, because their position was wide open. There were no doorways close by to duck into, or any other nooks they could us as protection.
The steps drew closer and then two shadows appeared in the meager emergency light. And Billy felt a wave of relief crashing though him, because he would recognize these shapes anywhere.
Billy lowered his gun marginally and let a smirk appear on his features, even though he knew that it wouldn't be seen. "Took you long enough."
"If that ship wasn't so grossly over dimensioned and if your position had been more detailed, we'd have gotten here much faster," Casey remarked, scowl firmly in place.
"What's the situation?" Michael asked, coming right to the point.
"Not quite sure. Saw maybe two, three muzzle flashes, there's one on the ground right there," Billy said.
"I saw what could have been two people," Rick added. "It would be easier if we had any light."
"The Fatah blew up the feeder pillar. We came across it on the way down," Michael told them, but he already had that far away look in his eyes that meant that he was thinking about a plan.
"Casey and I will circle back, flush them out. You two stay here and make sure they don't run," their leader explained, voice low and serious as he used his hands to additionally describe the motions.
"And don't shoot us when we've taken care of them," Casey added.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Billy replied, reassuring smile still in place.
Without another word, Michael and Casey turned around and disappeared back in the darkness.
Billy gave Rick a quick grin and then bent around the corner, careful to keep most of his body hidden and fired of three shots in quick succession.
He knew that he wasn't going to hit someone, but he also knew that taking someone out wasn't his job right now. Together with Rick, he was merely a distraction, making sure that the Arabs stayed where they were, were occupied and, most importantly, were not expecting someone else to attack from behind.
And now all they could do was wait. Something Billy wasn't even half bad at. As a spy you needed to have patience and Billy had a lot. It was the staying still part that he always struggled with. Usually he could handle it by fiddling with pens or coffee stirrers, bouncing his leg; on missions like these , however, coped by shooting at people.
Not that he had a penchant for killing but he did prefer not dying and when the mission and his life were on the line, firing his weapon was oddly gratifying. He imagined this was how Casey felt all the time.
He let Rick take the next few shots, partly to safe bullets, but also partly because Billy knew that it helped release some of the tension; made Rick feel like he was actually doing something. If it worked for Billy, he couldn't begrudge such comfort for Rick either.
There was a sudden crackle in his ear and then Michael's voice floated right into it. "Don't shoot now. We're in position."
Just seconds after the transmission ended , more shots fell, this time the echoes were a bit more distant and Billy knew that Michael and Casey were doing the shooting.
There were probably retaliation shots fired from the Arabs, but Billy couldn't distinguish between the sounds, even though he wished he could.
And then there was silence.
Billy heard his heart beat against his chest clearly in the silence and then after a moment that felt far too long for him, he heard Casey's voice yelling a clear from across the hallway. A weight immediately lifted from his shoulders but there was still a bit tension left over that wouldn't leave until he had seen the other two operatives. For all he knew, he could still walk into a trap, with Casey being forced to give the all clear by the Arabs.
So he kept his hand tight around his gun as he took a slow and calculated step around the corner and with his back still close to the wall, he slowly made his way down the hall. Rick was right behind him, just as slow and secure in his steps.
"You can save that tiptoeing, we were not overrun." It was again Casey's voice that broke though the silence and this time Billy chuckled at the annoyed tone.
"Just wanted to be sure I wasn't going to get shot," he returned.
"They never stood a chance against us." Casey's voice guided Billy closer and finally two darker shapes became distinguishable in the shadows.
"We may have another problem," Michael said, his voice oddly calm and Billy knew that the 'may' was an absolute lie. Dorset had too much training and experience to sound anything but calm in the field, but there was a distinct strain in his words that set Billy on the edge.
"What is it?" Rick asked, before either Casey or Billy could and the Scot was glad about it, because somehow he really didn't want to hear the answer.
"It's a bomb," Michael said, deadpan. "Think you can disarm it?" Their team leader's eyes gleamed white in the darkness as they switched between Billy and Casey. Both men were the closest they had to demolition experts and when it came to blowing things up they were pretty good. After all with enough accelerant anything would go. But disarming a bomb took a bit more finesse, which was never an ODS specialty.
"Is there a timer?" Casey asked. A valid and important question, but even if they knew how much time they had left until the detonation, Billy doubted they could disarm the bomb.
Michael disappeared deeper into the little nook where he had found the bomb, hidden halfway between a fire extinguisher and the wall from what Billy could make out.
"Yeah, three minutes and counting."
It was one thing to disarm a bomb when you have time and light to guide you, but with neither, Billy wasn't going to take the risk and he was sure Casey wasn't either.
And if there was one bomb, maybe there were more. Especially since this one didn't look as if it could bring the whole yacht down.
"If we had some light and the proper equipment, maybe," Billy said, answering Michael's question after thinking about it thoroughly. "But in our current situation and considering how much I would really prefer not to die tonight, I would choose the safest route and say no."
Michael nodded. "Okay, then I say we retreat."
That was a plan Billy wholeheartedly agreed to. Whoever else was on board was most likely dead and while it was a pity that this yacht was going to sink, no one would miss it either. And Billy liked his life too much to risk it for this boat. Higgins would have to live with the fact that they hadn't managed to get any information out of this mission. But even as they made their way at a fast clip up the halls and out of the cabin, Billy was thinking about maybe diving down to the wreckage in a few days time to look for anything that hadn't been destroyed by the explosion or the water. It was something he could propose to Michael once they were safely back on their houseboat. But first things first, they had to make it off the yacht before it went boom. Which was, perhaps, easier said than done.
The first explosion rocked the boat heavily; it lifted the front out of the water and nearly tore the bow apart. A mushroom of smoke and fire rose in the air, consuming everything in its way. Water and wooden splinters rained down on the team as they desperately tried to keep their balance on the askew deck.
A second charge exploded even before the yacht had crashed back onto the water. The fire spread further and the deck jumped in response. More water and splinters – wood and glass – sprayed down on them as the yacht broke apart and then the front did crash into the water. Oil was leaking from the damaged engine room and immediately set on fire, causing more, smaller explosions to erupt.
And this time Billy tripped. The rubber diving boots he wore provided no traction on the slippery deck and he fell right into the railing. His ribs hit the cold, hard metal and all the air left his lungs in a painful swoosh.
The deck was now already at a 30 degree angle and loose material was tumbling down, slipping past the railing and smashing into the water. And while Billy had lost sight of Rick and Michael, he still could see Casey, just like he could see the deck chair that was rushing down the deck in a direct collision course with the other man.
There was no time to shout out a warning and Billy wasn't even sure if Casey would have been able to avoid the piece of furniture. The deckchair crashed into Casey's leg and swiped his feet off the ground. He hit the ground hard and then began to slide toward the edge of the deck. Then he slipped right past Billy, underneath the railing and into the sea below.
Just like there had been no time to warn, there was no way for Billy to stop Casey's fall. With his ribs screaming in protest at every movement, he had tried to bend down, one hand clasped firmly around the railing, the other stretched out to catch Casey's hand. But the other man had been too fast and just a few inches too far to the right and while their finger tips had brushed, Billy hadn't been able to hold onto the hand.
Instead he too started to slip, feet going one way while his hand still held firmly to the railing. Staying on the yacht as it went under would be dangerous, Billy knew that. The undertow as the boat sank would pull them under as well. If they wanted to survive, they needed to be as far away as they could.
He just hoped that Michael and Rick were already off the boat too. But there was no time to worry about them, no time to let his mind drift and his worry rise.
Taking a deep breath, Billy finally let go of the railing. Immediately he felt himself slipping farther down and his feet lost contact with the deck.
And then a third explosion shook the yacht. This time even closer, as the wooden planks that made up the rear deck bent out of shape and then broke under the onslaught of fire and pressure.
Billy was just underneath the railing, still half on the boat and then he was surrounded by noise, air, and a blast of heat so intense that he felt the world go white-hot around him. It all gathered around him, then shoved him off his precarious seat and tried to rip him apart. He felt a tremendous force pull him up into the air and searing flashes of impact were followed by pain, a shower of abuse in too many places to count. A fist of immeasurable strength slammed into his back and all of his breath was ripped out of him so quickly, a scream aborted into a gasp.
Then the world closed in around him, darkness forcing out all light and sensation. He choked for clean air and found nothing, nothing but an all-enveloping black haze. It slipped over and around his senses and pulled him away, the world slipping away in confusion and pain. His last thoughts were of his team and he hoped that they were okay.
Billy honestly believed that he would die, either because of the explosion or drowning in the sea, deeply unconscious. So when he woke up again, chest feeling tight and with the taste of salt on this tongue, he was astonished and pleasantly surprised.
Rick was kneeling beside him, soaked through and looking exhausted, but relieved.
And then he started talking. At least Billy assumed that he was talking, because his lips moved, but no sound came out. Confusion must have shown on his face, because Rick's lips moved faster, but instead of sensible words, all Billy began to hear was a high pitched ringing.
The ringing was accompanied by a stabbing pain in his ears that moved effortlessly into his brain, to spiking to near unbearable levels.
Billy closed his eyes against the pain and then tried to push it down, tried to suppress it because he needed to know where he was, how the rest of his teammates were. And the only way to find that out was to open his eyes again.
Rick was still kneeling beside him, now accompanied by a grim looking Casey. Behind the two men, Billy could vaguely make out the shabby furniture of their houseboat kitchen. His vision was blurry, but at least the buzzing in his ears was slowly abating.
And when Casey started to say something, Billy actually heard him over the tinnitus. "You with us, Collins?"
Nodding was the absolute wrong thing to do as pain exploded behind his eyes and caused white spots to dance across his vision. Nausea rose in his stomach and when the boat was rocked heavily from one side to the other by a big wave, Billy found himself retching.
Mostly it was salt water that came up, mixed with bile and it burned in his throat. It wasn't the first time he had vomited in the presence of his friends and, knowing his tendency to get injured on the job, it was unlikely to be his last time. He was still embarrassed by the process and hoped to avoid a repeat performance. No matter how much he trusted his teammates, there were some things they didn't need to see. Puking was definitely one of those things.
The heaving caused his ribs to shift and the dull pressure in his chest became a fierce, sudden stab. But over the years Billy had become a master at ignoring his own pains and concentrating on the matters at hand. So he ignored the stabbing in his chest and the fierce throbbing behind his eyes and tried to concentrate on his surroundings.
With the pain pushed aside – more or less successfully – he was getting more aware and realized that the boat was rocking worse, as bigger and bigger waved were crashing against the hull. The storm outside was picking up and they needed to get to the protection of the marina before the peak hit. Anything else was secondary until then and that included his injuries.
"I'll take that as a no," Casey said, voice cold, but eyes soft and gleaming with worry.
"No, no. I'm okay. Just help me up," Billy replied, carefully swallowing down more bile as the boat was tossed about more violently. He forced his eyes to stay focused; he still hadn't seen Michael and he needed to know if their leader was okay, although Billy was sure that Michael had already taken up his position at the helm.
Casey reluctantly took his outstretched arm and helped him up to a sitting position with Billy's back resting against the wooden wall opposite their dining table.
The pain immediately shifted with the movement, robbed Billy of his breath for a second and then settled deep in his lungs and behind his forehead. Dark spots promptly covered his vision and no matter how much he blinked, the edges of his vision stayed gray.
"Are you okay? What about Michael?" Billy asked, realizing as he spoke that his voice sounded breathless.
"He's steering the boat . Unlike you, we managed to avoid most of the explosion by being under the water while it occurred," Rick explained with slight smirk on his face.
Billy rolled his eyes toward the little bridge, where he could just barely make out Michael's shape with his still woozy vision. Lightning split the outside world and lit up the bridge for a second, showing Michael and his tight grip on the steering wheel more clearly. After having reassured himself that their fearless leader was okay and that he had the situation more or less in control, Billy turned his attention back to Rick.
"Aye, proper precaution that. I'll keep that in mind for the next explosion we're caught in," he replied with humor in his voice. The gray that had tinged his vision was spreading as the pain in his head increased with every throb of his heartbeat.
"You better. I have other, more important things to do than drag your unconscious body out of the sea," Casey grumbled.
"Ah, you just pretend to not care. You would always fish me out of the sea," Billy replied, because he knew that his teammates would always pull him out of trouble, because he would do the same. Right now, however, was one of the situations where they all needed to work together to get themselves out of the mess. He couldn't let his team down by passing out.
"How's the weather out there?" Billy asked, knowing that they didn't have much time to form a plan.
Casey and Rick exchanged a quick glance, clearly trying to gauge whether to really tell him about the situation out there. But Billy needed to be kept in the loop, needed to know what was going on outside to not feel so helpless and useless. And he knew that if the situation were reversed, they would feel the same, so Billy knew that it would only be a matter of seconds until one of them would break.
"Storm is approaching, but by Michael's calculation we should hit the harbor in time. Nothing to worry about," Rick told him. "We have everything under control."
Billy didn't doubt that for a second, well aware of his teammates' capabilities, but he couldn't help but worry about them, about getting back to safety. "We may need to find a calm cove and sit it out," he said, eyes already searching for the map that he knew was on the table.
"I'll doubt your vision is clear enough to even see anything on the map," Casey replied, having followed his line of sight and successfully found the map. But Casey still got up, and on unsteady legs, took the few steps toward the table to lean over it.
The boat was rocking stronger now, bigger waves tossing it around and playing with it as the lightning stuck more regularly outside and a deep thunder growled right behind every flash.
Billy felt himself being tossed about, unable to hold himself up as he tried to breathe through the agony that the involuntary movement brought. Another strong wave caught the boat and Billy's head smacked against the wooden wall behind him, as Casey and Rick were tossed off their feet.
The stars that had already danced across his vision broadened and the darkness that he had fought back for so long finally won and overtook his sight. And the pain finally receded with his waning consciousness.
Someone was retching.
The sound was coming from close by and together with the smell, his own nausea rose, just barely kept in check by swallowing excessively.
Billy knew that he had been moved; the ground underneath him was soft, not the hard wooden deck from the boat's living room. He was covered with a blanket, which meant that he was most likely below decks in the sleeping quarters. Far more comfortable than the upstairs chairs, but he immediately felt removed from the action, even though Billy knew that it was the best solution.
The boat was still cast about, rising and falling with every wave and the incessant movement did nothing to ease his queasiness. He tried to take deep breaths to get it under control, but it was near impossible. His chest felt constricted and his breathing was heavy. It felt as if the air didn't reach his lungs. His limbs felt useless and heavy; everything was sluggish and Billy knew that the lack of oxygen was already affecting him. He tried not to panic, even as his heart rate sped up.
The sounds of retching abated and paper started to rustle as Billy forced his eyes open. The light in the cabin was low, but it still stung in his eyes and aggravated his headache to nearly unbearable levels.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light and his vision was fuzzy; no matter how hard he tried, nothing came into focus. The person sitting by his bed was nothing more than a blurred figure; still, he managed to recognize Rick by his rough shape and by his mannerisms.
"You alright?" Billy asked. He was worried about his young friend, wondering if he too had been injured in the explosion.
Rick looked up and a small smile appeared on his waxen features. "Yes, I just don't do boats in bad weather." Now the smile looked distinctly sheepish. "Casey and Michael have sent me down to watch over you and to not disturb them."
Despite the pain, Billy smirked. That did sound like Michael and Casey. Rick was turning into a very good field operative and one step in the right direction was to realize one's weaknesses and learn how to compensate for them. It seemed that for now the two older operatives were balancing the shortcomings out, which was, ultimately, what a made them a good team.
"Don't worry about that, lad, everyone has a weakness. Most of us just learn to hide it better," Billy told Rick. It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe; air moving in small painful puffs and still hardly reaching his lungs. And it wasn't just the boat that was moving restlessly; his vision swam in and out of focus as the room rotated on its own. "How bad is the storm now?"
"Pretty bad," Rick replied as another wave shook the boat, tossing it about. "But Michael knows what he's doing."
"Did Casey find a cove close by?" Billy asked. He knew that they would have to sit the storm out should it become much stronger. Their little houseboat was not meant to sail under conditions like these. It probably wasn't even meant to drive on the open sea.
"Yes, nice and secluded; at least on the map. But Michael is pretty sure that we can reach the harbor in time," Rick replied. There was some hesitation in his voice and Billy could guess why. The weather conditions were probably worse than Rick let on and the only reason they were still driving and not hiding in that cove was because of Billy.
The Scot knew that his condition was bad, could feel it with every grating breath he took, and Michael knew just how quickly everything could turn for the worse. So he was pushing the boat to its limits. In that moment, Billy was incredibly grateful that he had teammates like that, who would risk everything to get him to safety. At the same time, it also scared him, because they shouldn't risk everything including their lives just for him.
"You shouldn't risk that," Billy said. "Anchor down in the cove."
"We can't risk stopping either." Rick was serious and his brown eyes were staring into Billy's blue ones. "And we all know the dangers and are willing to take them. We're a team; it's either all of us or none. "
"Read a bit much Dumas lately, have you?" Billy replied. His words were getting more breathless as it took more and more effort to draw in air. He should have guessed that Rick was a fan of the Three Musketeers. Although he could see the appeal and the correlation with the ODS. The team was a tight knit group and each member would do anything to keep each other safe; including jumping right into danger. And he knew if there was anyone who could steer the boat back to safety, it was Michael, especially with Casey at his side.
"One for all and all for one," Rick quoted. "But he's right. We stick together, no matter what. Although I didn't know that Michael could steer a boat, where did he learn that?" It was a clear attempted to distract Billy, which was a hard task considering the circumstances and Billy's stubbornness. Still, Billy had to give the lad credit: he was learning.
But it was getting harder to concentrate on Rick's words, the syllables running together and losing their meaning to Billy even as the younger operative spoke. The world started to warp around him, leaving just a pinpoint of light left in his vision. His muscles started to scream in agony as they tightened up against his will. His back arched of the mattress and his nerve endings burned with pain.
The shaking started in his calves, went up his thighs and then engulfed his complete body. He had no control over his limbs as they flailed about wildly; his head was bouncing off the mattress and his tongue felt like a foreign thing in his mouth.
He heard Rick calling his name desperately, but Billy was far beyond answering, he was beyond thinking, just hoping that everything would stop.
And then it suddenly did as even the small pinprick of light disappeared and Billy sunk into the darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, Billy had no idea where he was. He didn't recognize the ceiling he was staring at, didn't recognize the mattress he was lying on. What he could identify was the stabbing headache of a bad concussion, together with the low churning nausea and the slowly revolving world. But it was somehow worse than when he had been concussed before.
His whole body hurt; a deep muscle ache that had settled in and made his arms and legs heavy and stiff. His chest felt tight and while he tried to take even breaths, he couldn't; as if something was stopping him from breathing properly.
There was a metallic taste on his tongue – clearly blood – but Billy didn't understand where that came from. Not much made sense to him right now and it was an awkward, unknown feeling, one that he wished to get rid of sooner rather than later. But his own aching mind was drawing a blank and none of his teammates were around to help him out.
Billy could feel his heart beating against his chest, every thud sending new spikes of pain through his body as the worry rose in him. Where were Michael, Casey and Rick?
He forced himself into a sitting position, ignoring the fire that spread through him and his inability to breathe. His fear pushed him on, his need to find his friends drove him forward even as his knees buckled on the uneven ground.
There was a clatter, then a curse and suddenly arms were around his chest, guiding him back to the bed.
"Damnit, Billy," Rick's voice broke through the haze that had clouded his mind, sounding annoyed and worried at the same time. "What are you doing up?"
"Needed to find you," Billy replied, out of breath and struggling against the upcoming sickness. Everything was moving around him, going first clockwise, then moving abruptly up and down. And the more he moved, the worse it got. The second he was sitting down, he couldn't force the bile back down again.
The next thing he realized was that a bucket was shoved under his face and Billy mentally thanked Rick and his fast reflexes. He tasted bile and blood and he could feel tears running down his face as he heaved breathlessly into the bucket. Every single movement tore in his chest and when he was finally finished, every breath he could drag into his starved lungs was a painful wheeze. His lungs felt strained and the dull pressure that had been there since he woke up intensified and he just couldn't get enough air in.
Billy was drowning on dry land and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
He could still feel Rick's arms around him, as the rest of his body sagged into the hold. There was no strength left, all energy wasted on the futile attempt to breathe. For now Rick's constant murmuring was holding him in the present, was stopping him from giving in to the dark. But every second that passed, this darkness drew closer and even Rick's: "Don't do this, Billy. Just keep breathing," was drowned out by the ever increasing buzzing in his ears.
Trusting in Rick to take care of him, Billy let go completely.
The taste of blood had been replaced by a strong taste of plastic when Billy woke up next. There was something struck in his throat and he felt his lungs fill with air without him doing the breathing. It was a scary, if not entirely unknown feeling and Billy would panic if his mind wasn't so insensible or his limbs so lethargic.
He didn't know where he was, but he didn't feel alone. Voices washed over him, words without meaning, but the familiar cadence was a reassurance. He knew that his friends were there. There was no need to see them or really understand them to know that; Billy could feel it.
And if his teammates were close by, he knew that everything was alright or that at least everything would be alright. Billy could always trust them to right the wrongs.
Right now that was all he needed.
With the sense of security washing over him, Billy drifted back into the deeper blacks of his mind.
Time was meaningless for Billy. He knew that he woke up from time to time, saw blurry shapes above his face whenever he was aware enough to open his eyes, but he was never awake enough to speak.
He knew that the taste of plastic disappeared in between his moments of wakefulness and was replaced by the stench of plastic. Not much of an improvement, but at least he realized that he was breathing under his own stamina again. Heavy and slow, but he could control it.
The voices of his teammates were always there whenever he came close to awakening, either talking to him or talking with each other, but all Billy knew was that he was never alone.
This sense of security was always around him and in the end, it was what forced him to open his eyes and stay awake long enough to speak with his teammates. Because he knew that they were worried, could hear it in their tones and he wanted to alleviate their concerns. So when he was close to waking up again, Billy forced his eyes open and forced them to focus, despite the still underlying pain and haze of drugs that was swirling around him.
It took a while to bring Rick's face into focus, but when he did, the relieved smile he saw was definitely worth the effort.
"Billy?" Despite the smile, Rick's voice was still uncertain.
His eyes felt gritty, dry despite the fact that they had been closed for so long and his throat was scratchy and raw when he swallowed. Immediately Rick was there with ice chips and when the frozen water slid down his abused throat, Billy closed his eyes and moaned in delight.
Rick was chuckling and that jolted him into opening his eyes again. "This is no' funny," Billy replied and felt the words grate against his vocal chords, but they brought out another smile from Rick, so it was worth it again.
"Where's the rest?" The rest of his small cubicle – and really it wasn't a room, not with just curtains separating from the rest of the unit – was conspicuously empty, now that Billy could actually see it.
"Out for lunch. They'll be annoyed that they missed you being aware," Rick said and now Billy could hear the exhaustion in his voice and he could see it in the shadows underneath Rick's eyes and the stubble grazing the other man's jaw. It had been more than just a few days that he had been out and he could see that reflected in young Rick. And he would really like to stay awake longer, just to see Michael and Casey too, reassure them as well, but he could feel the darkness creeping in again, a mixture of exhaustion and the drugs coursing through his system.
He was blinking heavily again, wanting to stay awake just a little longer.
"I'll them that that you were up and then they'll just have to wait for you again. Wouldn't be the first time."
"Thanks," Billy replied, although he wanted to say more, but his eyes and his mind betrayed him and he could feel himself slipping back into the waiting black.
A warm hand grasped his forearm, squeezing it gently and as his consciousness was slowly slipping away, he heard Rick say: "Told you that we would get you back safely."
It was hard for him to stay awake for more than just a few minutes at a time. The longest he had managed to keep his eyes open was for an hour yesterday. It was a frustrating situation for him. Billy hated being tired all the time, hated sleeping his days away even though he knew that his body needed the rest.
In general he had nothing against a good lie in, but those usually involved a good book, a comfortable bed and most definitely no medical equipment. But Billy was adaptable and with his teammates close by it was easier to endure it.
The doctors had explained all the medical details and although Billy had tuned out most of the medical talk, he still got the gist of it. The shockwave had caused a severe pulmonary contusion that caused blood to accumulate in his lungs. Blood that had nearly drowned him. He'd been more dead than alive by the time his team had dragged him to the closest emergency room. But he still had been lucky, because he had managed to avoid pneumonia and further blast injuries, except for a concussion.
He had finally been moved to a normal unit and that alone meant more freedom from medical equipment and less regular checkups from nurses and doctors alike. With less supervision, the rest of his team managed to smuggle in some forbidden goods in the form of chocolate and coffee. Billy didn't understand why the doctors banned that from a healthy diet, when it was clearly a stable source of untold nutrition and psychological value in everyone's diet all the time; especially if you were a harassed CIA operative.
It was nearly nine in the morning now and knowing his friends, they would arrive any minute now. Billy himself had been up half an hour now, happy that he managed that long without feeling exhausted again. The doctors had reduced his pain medication, which was probably one of the reasons why he managed to stay awake longer every time he woke up, but now, as a result, his broken ribs ached dully, throbbing, and his lungs still felt constricted. At least the room had stopped spinning and his headache was slowly decreasing in magnitude. They were small favors and Billy hoped that he would be released in another few days to finally go home again.
The door to his room opened wide and Michael, Casey and Rick stepped in, Rick holding a cardboard box with four disposable coffee cups.
"My heroes," Billy exclaimed and stretched his left hand, the one currently not pinned down by an IV, toward the coffee.
"You better remember that," Michael said and handed the cup over, grabbing another one for himself before he settled into a chair right beside the bed. "How are you doing?"
Billy wiggled carefully and then took a sip of his coffee before answering, "Better and ready to go home. Any chance you could smuggle me out of here?"
"None," Casey deadpanned. "I did not drag you out of the ocean just so you can collapse on the plane."
Billy tried to look wounded, which he supposed wasn't that hard in his current situation. "When did I ever collapsed on a plane?"
Not that his teammates were fooled by any of this, they simply knew him too well to fall for it.
"Israel," Michael replied without hesitating for a beat and that made Billy hesitate for a second. Israel had been a long time ago and he really didn't remember a lot from the flight home. He'd heard stories, though only vaguely. It was apparently among Casey's top five least favorite missions, right behind the jaunt in Mongolia, which had involved yaks, snow and sleeping in a yurt.
"Point taken," the Scot conceded and tipped his cup at them.
As with all of their references to earlier missions, Rick looked at them with interest in his eyes and as usual, none of the team was reacting to his unposed question.
"But that's why I've got you around, don't I?" Billy continued, trying to keep his voice light, but hoping that the rest would still realize the meaning behind the words.
"You do have your uses in the field, so it's in our best interest to keep you alive," Casey remarked as he took up his usual position against the wall opposite the bed.
"See, I knew you liked me," Billy said, grinning brightly even as he felt his energy waning again despite the sugar laced coffee he was drinking.
"As I said, you have your values in the field. My continued survival depends on your well being."
"And we'd be lost without the human weapon. Besides I really don't want to carpool with Casey to save gas money. So your continued well being is for all our sake's," Michael added with an askew grin.
Billy simply continued to grin. He knew the truth, no matter how hard Casey might like to deny it or how hard he tried to find excuses.
"One for all and all for one, aye?" Billy said, aiming a smirk right at Rick, who grinned back.
"The classics never die," Rick continued.
And while Michael chuckled along with them, Casey just groaned but neither of them disagreed.
The End