Chapter 16

16

SURABAYA, INDONESIA

At least they had a little air conditioning on this bullet train. Delaney supposed there were products on board that wouldn't do well in Indonesian heat. Still, she was getting hot, and her legs were falling asleep underneath Surge's seventy pounds. She massaged his shoulders, shifted her weight.

They sat against a shipping container right across from the loading door—the rock-weapon right next to her—so they could slip out immediately when the train stopped. Somehow. Somebody from Sachaai would be picking up the LD3s, right? Could she follow them to Cantika and not be seen? She hoped so. She wasn't sure what else to do.

Delaney looked at her SAT phone. Still no bars, and that power bar was slowly but surely dropping. The team would know the train she was on, where it'd left. But what if they were delayed? So many things had already gone wrong that she couldn't count on it to be simple.

She turned off the phone and slipped it back into the pocket of her denim jacket.

Once at the coffee farm, what would she and Surge do about the chemicals before they became hydrogen cyanide? She had no idea.

I'd appreciate an idea, God, but please get Garrett there.

Surge popped into a stand, his hackles raised. He gave a low-throated rumble.

"What's up?" she whispered, suddenly very alert.

His rumble turned into a growl. What had gotten his attention? She pushed up, but her toe accidentally sent that rock rolling across the floor. "Oh n?—"

The doors of the car slid open and shut.

Sucking in a breath, she jerked back. Carefully peered around the containers to see if it was Hakim who'd entered the boxcar.

From behind, arms hooked her back into a choke hold.

The feral snapping and barking of Surge blended with her own panic as rough fabric scratched her cheek, as her air cut off.

She felt the impact as Surge lunged into the guy, clamping onto his only available limb—a leg. Though the guy cried out, his grip on her did not release. Air cut off, she panicked. Knew Surge was doing all he could.

Her vision started blurring, veins pulsing against her temples. Hearing started going.

God, help. The time Garrett taught her how to defend the choke hold wasn't enough. She didn't have any muscle memory to work from.

Or brain memory. Hands . . . something else . . . crotch, then eyes . . . Shoot. There was more. Where was her brain?

Hands, gravity, crotch, eyes, twist, ground.

She pulled down on his arm as hard as she could. Gave herself a little room to breathe. She dropped her center of gravity.

He stumbled, and though he still held her, the grip had lessened. She could breathe. Enough to remember what to do next. She leaned to the side, dropped an arm, and threw her elbow into his crotch. No pretending this time.

Amid a strained, pained groan, he dropped low. That's when she saw his sleeve tugged up . . . and peeking out from it, the Sachaai S tattoo.

Moonlight through the narrow window gave her a look at the man. Bald. Thick, trim beard. Rashid! The man who'd passed her in the alley during Garrett's second undercover operation.

A chill crashed down her spine.

Delaney used the moment to scrabble out of reach. "Surge, on me!" She patted his side and steadied herself.

"You stupid woman!"

Heart in her throat, Delaney flipped back to face Rashid, found him aiming a weapon at her. She sucked in a hard breath. Realized too late that she was blocking Surge from reaching him. Then again, she wasn't sure she wanted him in the line of bullet fire. But that's what he was trained for, right?

Firming his grip, Rashid took aim.

Choice made for her, she held out a hand. Then at the last minute, angled aside. "Surge, attack!"

The sleek black body of her Malinois sailed through the air. The report of the shot echoed in the space. She could only pray there was enough noise on the train that the others didn't hear. That the shot hadn't hit Surge.

Shock forced the Sachaai to rely on instinct—his arm raised to protect himself gave the perfect anchoring point for the maligator's powerful jaws. Surge hung onto Rashid's arm. Though the guy thrashed and fought, he couldn't keep the hold on his weapon. And Surge wasn't letting go.

Staggering around, Rashid lifted his arm, swung it around, hard. Thrashed Surge into a container. That normally wouldn't have worked—MWDs were trained to lock and hold until their handler gave a command to release. But the confined space and the angle of the hit dislodged him.

With a yelp, Surge dropped and crashed to the deck.

Her heart stopped. Delaney struggled for air. "Surge!" She started toward him.

But he roused, shook his head, dazed as he climbed back to his feet.

Thank You, God! Able to breathe again, she marveled as her four-legged hero whipped around to once more face and take on Rashid. Head down, he bared his teeth in a low snarl.

She really wasn't sure who was more determined to kill the other. Her bet was on Surge any day of the year. She rounded to face the bald man too. But what could she do? She had no weapon—her gaze drifted to the rock nearby.

Rashid clenched and unclenched his hands.

In a real battle, you have to flip on a combat mindset , Garrett had taught her. But she had no idea how to do that. Not in this situation. I don't know how to get out of this, God.

Eyes fixed on her, Rashid stomped toward her, his bloody arms at the ready.

She took a step back and felt the press of the container digging into her shoulder blades. Shoot.

The train banked around a curve, jerking all of them—even the rock. It didn't seem Rashid had seen it or noticed her. He was now locked onto Surge and his now-bloody canines.

She dove for it and felt heavy weight crash into her spine, knocking the air from her lungs. Her fingers coiled around the rock.

Rashid drove a punch into her side and blinding pain erupted.

"Augh!" Arching her spine against the agony, she felt and heard the vicious snap of Surge as he careened into Rashid. The two battled and she worked to free herself from beneath Rashid.

She twisted around. Reared back and, with all her might, brought the rock down on Rashid's head. Crack!

With a moan, he dropped to the ground and went limp.

But her military working dog was ticked. With a snarl, he dove in for another lock.

"Surge, out," Delaney said, holding her stomach. The sickening crack of stone-on-skull had made her want to vomit. On all fours, she breathed deep, eyed the terrorist.

Unconscious.

So that was Plan D.

She pulled Surge into a hug. "Thank you, boy." She kissed his silky, narrow skull. As she hugged him again, she noticed something rocking on the train floor, bumping into a container.

A radio. She bent toward it—but the whirring vibration of the train and the high speed seemed to pull the radio beneath the pallet slats. Shoot.

Time to move. She turned to her Malinois and slid her hands over his sleek fur, half to inspect him for injuries—none—and half for the reassurance she found in him. "Okay, boy. Stay close. I need to make sure . . ." Nerves quailing, she inched toward the prone form. Avoided the halo of blood around his head and focused on the body. Lowering herself into a crouch, she reached toward him. Pressed her hand to his side. Felt no rise or fall. That's when she spotted the weapon holstered at his side. And the black grip of a gun. She slid it out of the leather brace and stuck it in her jacket pocket. She wasn't trained in firing weapons, but at least he couldn't use it against her if he suddenly resurrected.

Surge snuffled away . . . at blood around Rashid's head.

"On me, boy," she said, drawing the sleek, powerful Mal to herself. No idea what to do next or where to go—she did not want to stay here with a dead body—she struggled. Buried her face in Surge's fur. "We need Garrett here, don't we, Surge?"

Mercies, how badly she wanted him here. His arms around her. To hear him say that perfect phrase that would make everything better. Or at least not terrible. "I really need him." Her stomach twirled, bringing a startling realization. "I'm in love with him I think . . ."

Surge huffed.

"I know, I know. You'll be my first love . . ."

Another huff.

Delaney tousled the top of his head. They really did need Garrett. Surely he was already on the way, right? She pulled out her SAT phone. Did they even have service yet?

A clank came from the car ahead. Was she hearing shouts?

Oh no.

* * *

OUTSIDE SURABAYA, INDONESIA

Gloves heating beneath the friction of the rope, leg coiling to control his momentum and keep him from being flung away, Garrett spiraled in the open air, the rotor wash stinging his face. Concentrating as wind spun him, he homed in on the end of the bullet train tearing across Indonesia. Aimed toward the operation car.

This will be interesting . . .

As he neared the end, he used his boot to slow himself and released a hand to grab his dagger. He'd need something to stop himself from flipping off under the force of the headwind. Three. . . two . . .

Garrett let the rope go and pitched himself at the barreling bullet train. He careened into it and bounced. Shoot! Dagger in hand, he was ready when he landed, though he felt the fury of the elements tear at him, the wind a violent enemy trying to slam him into oblivion. The dagger dug into the fiberglass hull. But with the rate of speed, the forces of gravity exerting themselves against him, the dagger didn't stop him. He slid, the blade gouging a line . . .

"Augh!" Garrett two-handed the blade. Scrambled for a toe hold on a ledge. Wedged himself cockeyed. Saw the five-inch scar he'd inflicted on the roof. Eyed the hatch that was to his left, close to his waist. Man. A few more inches and he'd have been hamburger meat. He gritted his teeth, holding the dagger, and pressed his hand to the hull. Tracked it toward the hatch.

He worked the cover free, then dug into the small well and flicked up the handle, then twisted it. Felt the pop of its release. Pulled it up, but the headwind battled him. It ripped out of his hand and slammed shut. He bit back an oath and tried again. This time, he managed to pull it up—but the angry wind tore it from the hinges and sent it flying.

Garrett dragged himself to the hole. Since nobody was shooting, he guessed the operation car was empty. Hoped so. He hauled himself down into it, snapping his submachine gun to his shoulder and scanning the darkened interior. He preferred this weapon in close quarters, as opposed to his holstered Sig, because having it set against his shoulder provided stability, and the fact it used handgun bullets meant he wasn't sending lead through several cars in overpenetration. Interior clear, he keyed his comms. "I'm in. Moving to freight car," he said, glancing at his watch. "T-minus nineteen and counting."

Delaney, where are you?

Garrett advanced. Stepped into the sealed juncture between cars, marveling at the pull of gravity on the high-speed train. He readied himself to breach the first freight car. Prayed and hoped Delaney was there. That'd be nice and quick. Get her topside and one less thing for him to worry about.

He released the latch and slid open the door, easing into the large open car filled with crates. Cleared left, then angled right, moving slow and smooth, submachine gun tucked to his shoulder. He cleared one stack, then a second, continuously moving forward and too aware of the seconds falling off the clock.

C'mon, Rogue . . . where'd you go?

A head popped up above a stack of LD3s, then popped back down.

"Hands! Hands!" he shouted, angling in that direction and hustling toward it.

The unknown stepped out from behind the stack. "Garrett?"

Her voice and worried visage were a sucker punch to his chest. "Rogue!" Three long strides carried him to her. Instinct had him pull her into his arms. He tightened the hug. Then eased back and cupped her face, studying her eyes and expression. "You okay?"

"Yes! I am now."

Before he could tell himself otherwise, he set his mouth to hers. Kissed hard and quick. He pulled back.

Her eyes were wide, but she pressed her cheek to his chest and hugged him. Surge came up behind and pressed his shoulder into Garrett's thigh. "I knew you'd come. I kept asking God to help you find us." Though he heard his own relief mirrored in her words, she didn't sound right.

"You sound off." He surveyed her head to toe, as much as the moonlight through the narrow window would let him. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes went melty in the dim lighting. "I killed him," she whispered. "I killed him."

She'd killed someone? "Who? Where?"

"Rashid!" She pointed around the corner of the LD3s.

His pulse jacked. " Rashid 's on the train?" Her first kill—and Rashid to top that. "Good. You did good."

She opened her mouth to object.

"Not now. We'll talk later." He moved to the dead body and checked the pulse.

"Hakim and Tariq are here too."

That complicated things. A lot. He tightened his jaw and eyed the puncture wounds in Rashid's arm, leg, and shoulder. He smirked at Surge. "Good job." From his tac pants, he drew out zip cuffs and secured the hands. Wouldn't be the first time someone'd had a miraculous resurrection on the combat field.

"He isn't breathing—he's dead, right?" She was shaking.

On his feet, he guided her back toward the operation car. "Don't think about it. You did what you had to do. Time to get you off this train." They stepped into the juncture between the two cars. "Helo One, send the rope." He nodded to Delaney and kept moving. "Tell me what happened and what you know."

"These containers have the butterfly shoes with chem vials. Intel told us from the start they wanted to poison America's food supply, and given the coffee farm labels on the containers, I guess?—"

"Coffee-drinking America."

"Yeah. And I saw Hakim. He was talking to Tariq on his radio before he left this car."

"Anyone else?" he asked, accessing the operation car.

"I . . . I don't know. I didn't see anyone else."

As he stepped into the operation car, where the roar of the wind swallowed sound, he looked at his watch. His gut roiled. Sixteen mikes. Closer to Surabaya. "Chopper's waiting—they'll draw you up in a hoist."

"Hoist me? Don't you want me down here handling Surge?"

Rogue's fearlessness made him smile. "There's going to be more fighting, more shooting. More dead bodies."

Her gaze drifted in the direction where Rashid had lain, and though she couldn't see him, it was all over her face that she couldn't do that again. "I . . . Okay . . ." She paled for a minute then pierced him with her eyes. "Surge can help you. He trusts you. We do."

"Trust God."

Light flickered, and clanging drew his attention topside. He saw boots toeing the edge. He grabbed Zim's boot and guided him inside.

The scrawny guy dropped to the deck with a nervous laugh. "That was insane!" He pivoted, extending the harness. "Caldwell's ready and waiting."

Garrett turned to her. "Here. Step in." He keyed his comms. "Package ready for exfil." When she did, he tightened the straps, his knuckles grazing something in her jacket pocket. "What?—"

"That was Rashid's," she said, holding her elbow up and out as he adjusted the harness. "My other pocket has the butterfly shoe I stole out of the top LD3—and I took pics."

"Show them to Caldwell." He tugged on the harness to make sure it was tight, then opened the door.

Hand on his shoulder, she nodded, her smile wavering as their gazes connected.

If they weren't in a life-and-death fight, he'd give her a longer, more meaningful kiss than the snatch-and-grab version he'd given in the container car.

"Okay." Garrett snagged the carabiner end and with his free hand caught the harness hugging her hips, drawing her toward the opening. "Hold on tight," he instructed over the wind and roar of the high-speed train. "When you lift out, you're going to swing out and possibly spiral. Just don't let go. Caldwell will bring you up."

Blinking, she held his gaze, but the fear crouching at the corners of her eyes tugged at him.

"You can do this."

"Didn't know I'd have this much adventure when Heath told me I was coming," she said in his ear with a grin.

"Never do." He tugged again to confirm she was set. He moved into view and peered up, finding the belly of the bird holding steady as Caldwell stood in the open door. Garrett waved the readiness.

With a quick jerk, Delaney was lifted off her feet. She gave a nervous laugh.

Surge barked, hopping at her.

"Stay, boy," she said, then looked up. Guided herself through the opening. Hair whipped free of her ponytail. She pitched forward. The harness snagged on an anchor.

A scream tore his heart from his chest. That and the sight of her anchored between a high-speed train and a helicopter struggling to keep pace.

"She's stuck!" Zim shouted as he caught her feet.

Garrett hopped up onto the control console and fought the snag.

"Cut her loose! Cut her loose," Caldwell barked. "Powerlines! We have to veer off."

God, help me!

Garrett fumbled with the harness, snagged on the handle. There was too much torque to free it. He crammed his hand between her stomach and the rim of the hatch. "Hold her legs!" he shouted to Zim, who anchored her with a carabiner to himself and wrapped his arms around her legs.

Garrett found the release and squeezed the D ring. Felt the nylon rope between the chopper and train straining.

"Bear—now!" Caldwell roared in his ear.

The stupid ring fought him, but he finally wiggled the catch. Freed it. And grabbed Delaney by her waist and dropped down. She flopped back inside, whacking her head against the hatch before she crashed to the deck on top of him.

Her body was trembling.

Garrett held on tight for a second, then shifted and laid her on the floor.

Delaney pressed her hands to her face, breaths coming in snuffling gasps.

"Hey." He rested a hand on her stomach. Gave a shake. "You're okay."

"No," she said beneath her hands. "I'm not." She lowered her arms, and tears streaked her face. But her breathing was steadying out, and Surge was there, snout stuffed in her face, sniffing, licking the tears. She hooked her arms around the fur-missile's neck and held on.

Garrett was kinda jealous.

"Boss, sorry . . . but we're losing time."

"Copy that." Garrett sat up, resting a hand on his knee, realizing they didn't have time to get her back up to the helo, which had to clear off. He looked at her. "Guess you're with me."