Chapter 9

9

JAKARTA, INDONESIA

"Still can't believe they slipped out from under our noses." Garrett slouched with his team in their green SUV, parked outside Cargo Building T63, which bore a red clay roof that matched the one on the Soekarno-Hatta/Jakarta International Airport and every building on the property.

Since there'd been no time to intercept the Combi 777, they'd done the next best thing and hired a faster jet to get them to the scheduled destination first.

Early morning sun shone strong, giving them a clear view into the wide-open building. And a view of the Combi 777 jet parked inside. Per intel's triple-check of the flight manifest, the nine passengers in the front third of the plane were simply shipping executives not affiliated with Sachaai. But the two Sachaai containers packed with chemicals were aboard.

Garrett adjusted his ball cap. They needed to access the cargo section and get those chems. Now. People began deboarding. "I count nine leaving the passenger section."

"Same," Zim answered, his toe tapping as he used his long-distance camera lens to stare at T63. "You'd think they'd take their eyes off their phones long enough to deplane."

Garrett lifted a shoulder. "The more they're focused on their phones, the less attention they'll pay us. But yeah, we need to get in there."

Behind them, Surge stuck his nose between them, woofed.

Garrett shifted in his seat and scratched Surge's ears. "You're ready to go, aren't you, boy? Me too." He wanted the passengers cleared out, preferably off the entire Soekarno-Hatta property.

Delaney leaned forward, her green jacket brushing his shoulder. "Who are the people that just deplaned?"

Garrett monitored the passengers heading into the cargo building. "Executives from one of the companies shipping things from Singapore to Jakarta. Now we wait for the pilots to leave too."

Zim indicated toward the plane. "And here they come. Crew is unloading the shipping containers into the building." He looked back at Delaney with a grin. "They won't be going in the wind."

They high-fived. "Like I said."

Conversing with one another, the pilots followed the rest of the group toward the long cargo building with large bay doors.

The building manager, no more than five feet tall, stood at the bottom of the stairs of the plane and waved at them. "Everyone's off. Unload crew is already finished with the combi. You've got about an hour before the plane will be moved to the runway."

Without another word, he caught up with the pilots on their way into the building.

"We're clear." Garrett flexed his hands, blew out a breath. He needed this mission to succeed so he could get his team out safely. With the chem vials.

"Stay here a minute," he reminded Delaney in the back.

Surge woofed.

Garrett chuckled. "Yeah, you too, you underwear-stealing mutt."

He and Zim shoved out of the SUV and bounded into the building to find neat stacks of shipping containers, some full size, some LD3 size that were sixty by thirty. He circled a finger in the air, and Zim nodded, jogged off to search the building.

Keying his comms, Garrett hoofed it in the opposite direction. "Eagle Three, what do you have?"

The spook was set up for oversight at their Jakarta safe house. "I've got eyes on the exterior of the building and access to local security feeds. Execs are outside on the other side of the building, waiting for rides. Pilots have already left."

That meeting he'd led last night had apparently focused the team. Garrett had to admit things were changing, maybe for the better. Caldwell wasn't even close to caustic at the moment, and Delaney was working with him, not against him. His mind ricocheted back to the safe house, that moment on the couch when their faces had been inches apart . . .

Shoot, he was starting to like her. That was dangerous.

Mind on the mission, Walker.

He and Zim met halfway around the cargo building. "Find anything?"

"Nothing."

"Me either." He signaled to the front, and they worked their way toward it as he called Caldwell. "Eagle Three, what's the twenty on the building manager?"

"Upstairs, in his office."

"Come on in, Rogue," Garrett comm'd. Maybe Surge's nose would find the chems.

He and Zim reached the front just as Delaney and Surge jogged into the building. When she gave him that little smile of hers, he couldn't help returning the smile. Then cleared his throat. "Ready?"

"We are."

She took the baggie of vials from her pocket. When she opened it, she smiled at Surge, whose tail started wagging. She let him sniff it, and the wag grew sharper, more focused. Ears alert. Body alert.

Garrett eased back from the entry to give Surge the room to work.

After returning the baggie to her pocket, Delaney nodded to the sleek black Malinois. "Seek-seek-seek!"

The fur-missile roved through the cargo building, sniffing the air, the containers as Delaney trailed him, doing her best not to influence his search with guiding.

But he didn't hit on anything.

Garrett stood in the doorway, hands on hips, surveying the room. Neither had he nor Zim. No boxes marked with the Sachaai S mark. What was going on?

On the long leash, Surge trotted past him, loped up the ramp into the belly of the cargo plane, sniffed in the air, reared on his hind legs, then lowered himself and plunked down on the ramp.

"Good job, Surge." Delaney looked up into the cave-like darkness of the entry to the plane, then back at Garrett. "I thought the cargo was all unloaded."

Having recognized the signal for a hit, he stalked up past them. "So did we."

Zim scratched his head. "Did they have time to drop a load somewhere else before landing here? Is the manifest wrong? Or maybe the building manager is?"

On his rear, Surge scooted closer to the plane's open bay door and gave a bark, his ears pointed straight into the plane.

Delaney tilted her head, frowned. "He's serious about this."

"Eagle Three, where are the passengers?"

"Uh, last one left about a minute ago."

"And the manager?"

"Still in his office."

"Copy that." He pivoted to the working dog team and nodded to Delaney. "Take him in."

"C'mon, boy. Seek!" she said and hurried up the rest of the ramp.

Surge plowed into the plane.

With Zim on his six, Garrett followed them.

The Mal stopped about a third of the way in, sniffing the air, looking around, ears pricked. But didn't zero in on anything.

But the manager had lied. Maybe a dozen sixty-by-thirty containers remained aboard, scattered like a kid's block collection. The hairs on Garrett's neck stood on end.

Surge suddenly took off toward the back, pulling Delaney, but screeched to a stop, circled back. He sniffed hard and long, going on his hind legs again as he traced the upper portion of the container, then back down. Alerting on it, he sat and stared at the large pot.

Delaney glanced at Garrett. "He's hitting on that container marked as Box United Corp."

"That's a well-established company," Garrett answered, watching Delaney, who was monitoring her dog.

Zim pulled out his camera to take pictures. "It is." He clicked more pictures, then tapped the container. "Sachaai S logo in the corner."

Garrett eyed the curvy S with an extra curve shooting out of both the top and bottom of the S. "Just like the tats on those thugs in the shoe factory." He scanned the container again. "This is definitely the jackpot."

"Same there." Zim pointed at the container beside it.

"Talk about a mother lode." Garrett gave a low whistle. "Let's verify what's inside." No way was he going to notify the spook until they had eyes on the vials themselves. "Cut the lock."

Zim reached to the top of the LD3. Grabbing the rim, he swung his legs up and came to a stand.

Surge whined, his gaze on the back of the plane. But he whipped his attention back to the container. His muscles quivered as he again glanced to the back.

Garrett took a couple steps to see what had Surge's interest. Nothing but metal.

Behind him, Delaney yelped. Surge lunged, barked, echoing through the hold.

Garrett spun in time to see Surge leap at a man screaming Urdu, his S-tattooed arm hooked around Delaney's neck.

Weapon snapped up, Garrett aimed it at the Pakistani Sachaai. "Let her go!"

The Mal used every bit of his nearly two hundred pounds of bite pressure on the man's arm.

With a feral scream, the man released Delaney, pitching her forward.

She fell, and keeping his weapon trained on the guy, Garrett hustled toward her.

The Pakistani tried to shake Surge from his arm, but Surge's jaw was clamped on like an alligator seizing prey.

Delaney caught the long lead and scrambled back to her feet. She eyed Garrett with his weapon, then drew down on the lead until she had the collar in hand. She drew straight up. "Surge, out."

Screaming, the man now had tears running down his face.

"Out!" Delaney yelled.

With a keening, excited whimper, Surge unhooked his jaws, using his paws as he gave one last tug. Came free.

Delaney hauled him clear of her attacker. He quivered, straining to get at the Pakistani. She dragged him behind the big metal box.

That man wasn't leaving the plane. Garrett aimed and fired, neutralizing him. He shifted?—

A fist crashed against his face even as force knocked his weapon from his hand.

Garrett staggered back with a bloody nose, straining to hear where his Sig went, but the slugger—a second Pakistani—lunged at him.

Not today. He slid in with a right hook. Knocked the guy backward, the impact ricocheting through his fist. He drove his heel into Two's chest. The man hit the side of the plane. Garrett rolled to his shoulders and arched to his feet.

Two punched at him again, but Garrett ducked. He grabbed Two's shoulders and slammed him up against a shipping container.

Two swung up between Garrett's arms, forcing them apart.

Garrett lost balance, grunted as he hit the ground. Hooked his legs around Two's, flipped himself on top, bashed his fist into the Pakistani's cheek.

The man's head slammed into the ground.

Garrett clouted him again.

Two slumped, unconscious.

Straightening, Garrett scanned for more unfriendlies, relieved Delaney and Surge had hidden. He scrambled for his weapon, searching the deck of the cargo plane. Shadows had swallowed it. On his feet, he moved toward the first, now dead, attacker. Felt more than saw movement.

A black blur streaked from behind the LD3 in front of Garrett. Surge charged toward him. He braced himself . . . but the black fur-missile sprinted past. Leaped at Pakistani Three—who'd been headed for Garrett!

Surge's jaw sank into Three's arm, eliciting a feral scream. Three shook his arm hard, slamming the black maligator into the nearest container. Surge fell but jumped back up, chasing the man as he ran for the access ramp. Garrett joined the chase.

Delaney stepped out. "Surge, out! Heel!"

The Mal skidded to a stop on the loading ramp. As Three bolted down the ramp just like One had, Surge returned to her side, blood at the edges of his jowls.

Delaney caught his lead and drew him around. Pointed past Garrett to the others. "Surge, attack! Get 'em!"

Surge hurtled past them, down the hold.

What was Surge after? And where was his gun? Garrett spun and couldn't believe his eyes. Atop one of the containers, with barely enough clearance to stand, Zim was fighting off three more Pakistanis. How'd they get up there?

Garrett sprinted after the Mal, who sailed through the air and landed atop the container. Bounded and latched onto the nearest Pakistani, shook him like a rat. Screams filled the hold.

The Pakistani wrestling Zim was startled by his buddy's agonized howls, giving Zim an opening. The wiry guy threw a hard right into the terrorist's jaw. The man stumbled backward and fell off the container.

He lay there in obvious pain, his ankle at an awkward angle. Broken.

Not willing to give the guy time to get up, Garrett landed on him. Yanked out a zip tie and restrained him even as a second Pakistani thudded to the deck next to him, Zim twisting in midair so the terrorist cushioned his fall.

"Dropping like flies," Garrett muttered, sliding in to help secure the second.

With a grunt, Zim flew upward. Collided with the third, who had high-ground advantage this time and pitched the tech nerd backward. He thudded to the ground. "Augh!" Grimacing, he grabbed his left wrist even as Surge barreled into Third. The two careened off the container.

Garrett tossed the flex tie to Zim, who caught it with his right hand and flex-cuffed the Pakistani with one hand. He reached up to the rim of the container, swung himself onto the LD3.

Surge was relentless, snarling and using that powerful Malinois neck to do serious damage to the fourth terrorist, who shrieked and writhed on the ground, his arm tearing to shreds.

"Surge, out!" Delaney ordered from below.

The intense force multiplier complied. Panting, he sat, laser-focused on the Pakistani.

Garrett grabbed Four's arms and flex-cuffed him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the man's ink—that S tattoo. Sachaai. "Eagle Three, we have four unfriendlies in need of escort." His gaze then hit on a dark spot—his weapon! It was somehow wedged beneath one of the container corners. He retrieved his Sig, checked the chamber, and holstered it.

"Already on it, Bear. Local assets en route to retrieve them."

Garrett took Four by the elbow, forced him to the edge of the container. "Let yourself down," he ordered.

Shredded Arm sneered at him. With a grunt, he sat at the edge of the LD3 container, and Garrett lowered him down.

One-handed, Zim pushed him into a sit against the hull, next to his buddy.

Garrett jumped down, walked over to Delaney. He pulled her into a hug. "You did good," he whispered in her ear, then stepped back.

Zim's jaw hung open. Oops. Then he grinned, deliberately turned and started taking pics of the Pakistanis.

Garrett awkwardly put his hands on Delaney's shoulders and looked her over head to toe. "You're okay. Right?"

Tilting her head, she looked deep in his eyes, bit her bottom lip. Nodded.

Surge jumped down from the LD3 like a superhero—which he was—and stood next to Delaney, glaring at the two Pakistanis closest to them.

Garrett returned Delaney's nod and walked over to the man he'd just zip-tied. He grabbed the collar of his shirt. "What's going on here, Sachaai?" he demanded.

The guy spat onto the deck.

Garrett pressed his leg onto the guy's legs and pulled out another zip tie, secured his ankles.

Zim lifted the unconscious man's wrist as he flex-tied him.

Shaking his head, Garrett eyed the S tattoos all around. "Pics of their tatts, Zim."

"You got it. But first, here's Broken Ankle's phone. Guy's face got me into it." He handed it over, then reached for his camera and began to snap photos. "The last text convo was four minutes ago. With Hakim."

Garrett read the message.

Hakim

Americans coming. Don't let them live. On my way.

This team was ready for Hakim.

Except Zim's wrist was clearly dicey. The extent of Delaney's training was a couple short self-defense sessions with him. He looked at his watch. They couldn't secure two LD3s to the semi, much less figure out the semi, in one minute.

"Enough photos. Let's cut out of here."

They raced to the nose of the plane, down the stairs.

Of course, Surge beat them to the SUV. Delaney jumped in the back with him and shut the door.

Outside the SUV, Garrett paused. "Zim?"

Zim slid his camera back into the pocket of his tactical pants. "Yes, Boss?"

Once the guy looked up, Garrett held his gaze, pointed at the wrist he was rubbing. "I'm driving."

A defeated Zim huffed and tossed him the keys, then climbed in.

Behind the wheel, Garrett was more than ready to get out of here. He nailed the gas, tires squealing as they pulled onto the street.

Caldwell keyed the comms, sounding breathless. "Bear, that building manager? Just spotted the same Sachaai S tattoo as those guards in the shoe factory."

"That explains everything. What a bunch of—" Garrett bit back a curse, slammed the heel of his hand against the dash. "That building manager straight up lied to my face when he told me the unload crew was finished with the plane!"

Sometimes a leader failed. Sometimes a leader just plain got lied to.

Sometimes full intel—like Sachaai hiding on the plane, like cargo still on the plane—got held back from a leader.

The spook was good at that.

Another slam of his hand against the dash. Can't believe You did this to me, God!

His breath stopped for a long moment.

He'd just yelled at God.

Again. Sorry, God.

"Bear, what happened in the cargo plane?" the spook asked, snagging his attention back to the mission.

All his anger wasn't at his dad. It was at the intel-hoarding spook. And at God.

He didn't have time to deal with it right now.

"Not now. En route to you. Ten mikes out."