Chapter Three
Marcus and Jack sat quietly in the back of the raid van, slipping into their body armor and snugging it to their torsos. Jack checked the magazine in his pistol. Satisfied with the seating of the ammo, he slid it into the grip and locked a round in the chamber. Marcus speed-loaded his .357 revolver, slipping it into his shoulder holster. Jack cracked a smile as he checked the action of the M4 assault rifle he'd chosen.
"What?" Marcus asked, also checking his M4.
"Still carryin' that ugly revolver," Jack stated. "You may as well be retired already."
"As I remember, this mag has saved your ass more times than I can count, asshole."
"Well, that statement's certainly up for debate." Jack tapped the back of the M4's magazine to seat the ammo and knock out any dirt, then rammed it into the receiver. He racked the bolt, locking a round in the chamber.
"Look, pal, let's keep our heads straight," Marcus said. "No fuckin' around on this one. We gotta be sharp."
"Yeah, yeah."
They stood carefully and exited the rear of the van, their body armor's "DEA" lettering glittering in the work lamps.
"Troops! Group up!" Both group Alpha and group Charlie assembled at the rear of the van, eagerly awaiting the word go.
"I don't have to tell you how important this mission is, guys," Marcus said. "I want everything to go without a hitch, got it? You all know your jobs. Now let's do 'em." With that, Alpha loaded themselves into the Zodiacs, and Charlie took their strategic positions, ready to run down the short Dock C for their apprehension. Marcus and Jack crouched at the entrance to the dock at the pier as Gillespie killed the work lamps, throwing the dock into total darkness. Gillespie and Kilmeade joined Jack and Marcus at their vantage point, weapons held ready, their breath the only sound audible over the waves crashing on the jetty.
Alpha had positioned themselves in the harbor to allow them to execute a pincer maneuver to the boat's rear once it passed a predetermined line. The Zodiacs' engines idled quietly in the darker waters of the harbor, ready to strike when called.
"Alpha One, ready, over," intoned Nanez.
"Alpha Two, ready," said Garcia. "We're set for go, over."
"Copy, Alphas," Marcus said. "On your mark, over."
The anticipation was starting to get to both groups after a few minutes. The boat was lagging behind its schedule, and Jack was very aware that his knees were getting stiff in the crouched position.
"Where the hell are they?" Jack whispered to himself.
The noise of a twin-screw V8 engine could now be heard in the air, and the members of Charlie tensed.
"Target, five hundred yards and closing," Garcia said. "Be ready, over."
"Drago, you see anything on that boat, over?" Marcus looked up toward where Drago was positioned.
"Negative. It's too dark on deck, over."
"Keep your eyes peeled."
The boat was approaching slower than they had anticipated. Jack sat up on his haunches a little more, trying to relieve the stress on his knees.
"One hundred yards and closing, over," Garcia said. Jack and Marcus pivoted to face the entrance to the dock, their M4s at the ready. Kilmeade and Gillespie lined up behind them.
Goddammit, this is killing me, Jack thought, his impetuous nature taking over. The nose of the boat dinged lightly against the dock, and pulled slowly into slip J-141.
"Execute!" Garcia commanded. The roar of the Zodiacs' engines echoed through the harbor as they raced to their positions. Jack sprung up first and began jogging down the dock. Marcus was right behind him, with Kilmeade and Gillespie hot on their heels. A man on deck opened fire, forcing the members of group Charlie to dodge behind whichever piling was closest, the chatter of an AK-47 snapping crisply in the night air. Slugs from the rifle pinged off of the rusty metal pilings, sounding like an alarm.
Drago caught the silhouette of a man's head in his scope, then watched as the newly-reloaded AK-47 lit up his face like a strobe light. Drago took in a deep breath, steadied his left forearm … began putting pressure on the trigger … a little more … The rifle leapt and coughed at the same time, the flash suppressor silencing the bullet as much as it could. The AK-47 rattled a couple more rounds wildly as the triggerman's finger tensed in a death grip, leaving the weapon empty.
The Zodiacs moved in closer, and group Charlie rushed the boat, boarding it. They swept down into the forequarters, looking for anyone they could find. There was nothing there.
"Kilmeade, Gillespie, stay here. Jack, you come with me." Marcus and Jack moved aft, keeping their M4s trained ahead of them. At the stern, Jack dropped to a knee and aimed the muzzle of his M4 at the engine hatch, signaling to Marcus to open it. Marcus slung his rifle on his shoulder and gripped his revolver. He kept the muzzle pointed down toward the hatch as he reached for the hatch handle. Marcus swung it up, and Jack dove the business end of the M4 into the dark, fuel-laden engine compartment. Empty.
"Where the fuck are these guys?"
"Hill, I think I've found some …"
A blinding flash occurred, and Jack was thrown into the air. The last thing he remembered was the cold grasp of the ocean water as the harbor embraced him.