Rescuing Emma (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Read online

  “The inside guard is on his feet, fellas.” Eastwood’s voice came across the com link. He watched through the thermal imaging binoculars as the hazy red figure lifted a device to his face. “He’s alerting the rooftop. Repeat, he’s alerting the rooftop.”

  “They know we’re here, boys.” Nate holstered the Glock and swung his SOPMOD M4 rifle in hand. “Time to make some noise. Aim high. Don’t put the girl in any danger.”

  “Copy!” Ghost nodded to Doc and then, with one kick, busted in the door to the flat, swinging it wide.

  Doc sighted the inside guard and sent him reeling in a short burst of fire. Nate ran in behind them and located the girl. Penelope Rand was curled into a ball on a dirty mattress in the corner of

  the room. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks. She wasn’t crying now, but her blue eyes were wide with shock. Rage and concern flooded him, and Nate went to her, dropping to his knees and pulling the black bandana down off his face.

  “Penelope, I’m Captain Oliver, a friend of your dad’s. He sent me to get you.” He pulled out the pink fuzzy bear from the bag clipped to his belt showing it to her. “I brought Grover to help.”

  The girl’s eyes locked onto the toy. Shock gave way to tears as she began to cry. “I want my mommy and daddy,” she whimpered.

  “I’m taking you to them. These are my men. Now, I need you to put your arms around my neck and hold on tight, okay?” Nate opened his arms and the girl ran to him, clinging with all her might.

  He locked one arm around her and whispered, “Close your eyes, sweetie, and don’t open them until I tell you to, alright? We’re getting out of here.” He stood and headed back into the hall.

  “We’ve confiscated their phones,” Skyscraper said, indicating a clear plastic bag with three cellphones inside. “Got their pictures too so command can identify them. This one’s just a kid, for God’s sake.” He pointed at the dead young man lying on the floor who’d been guarding the little girl. He couldn’t have been much more than seventeen.

  “Al-Waleed isn’t among them,” Nate said, looking at the faces of the dead.

  “Jihadis coming your way, Six.” Eastwood warned.

  “Copy that,” said Nate. “Do we have time to get back down the stairs?”

  “No. Either shoot your way out or take the fire escape,” he said.

  “Damn.” Nate locked eyes with Ghost who, without needing to hear the words, knew Outlaw had already decided the safest route out was down the fire escape. It was for the girl’s own safety. Otherwise, they wouldn’t hesitate to take on the remaining two terrorists.

  “Uh, Six?” Eastwood’s voice came over the com link once again. “There’s a jeep coming up the road.” Everyone froze. Eastwood whispered, “And they’re parking in front of the building. There’s one, two, three more coming through the front door, and the family on the first floor is starting to move. You got company, son.” He picked up his night vision goggles training them on the three exiting the jeep. “Son of a bitch! It’s al-Waleed.”

  Nate cursed under his breath. “Fire escape, now!”

  Ghost, Doc, and Skyscraper reached the window first. Skyscraper threw the locks and lifted the pane. He locked it into place. Ghost and Doc slipped through to the rickety metal landing. They released the ladder. The screech of rusted metal as it rolled down unused tracks sounded loud enough to wake the dead.

  “You first, Doc. I don’t think that platform will hold all of us at once.” Nate sent Doc down. Behind them, Hollywood stood next to Outlaw, his M4 trained on the door to the stairwell. He could hear the booted footsteps coming their way.

  “Outlaw?”

  “Drop anyone who comes through, Hollywood.”

  Eastwood chimed in over the com. “The family inside just let al-Waleed in. They’re in the hall. The man from the downstairs flat is communicating via walkie-talkie to the other two about to land on your floor.”

  Hollywood tensed. The door swung wide and a hail of bullets flew. Skyscraper countered on Hollywood’s left, dropping low and taking the first gunman out at the knees. The terrorist behind him held back, taking cover behind the doorway.

  “Ghost, get down that ladder!” Nate shouted. As soon as Ghost began his descent, Nate slipped through the window, clutching Penelope to him. “Don’t be afraid, Penelope. I’ve got you. Your mom and dad are waiting for you. I promise you’re going to see them.” His heart pounded, and he prayed he would be able to keep that promise.

  Gunfire filled their ears.

  “Two men are coming out the front, Six. They’re heading your way.” Eastwood gave the play by play.

  On the ground, Doc and Ghost got into position to defend their location. Nate looked down at his men. It was a twenty-foot drop from the landing. With the child in his arms, his hands weren’t free to climb down or shoot. Time for a change of position.

  Squatting down, Nate set Penelope on her feet. He gripped her small shoulders and spoke gently. “I need you to climb onto my back, sweetie, and wrap your arms around my neck. Whatever you do, don’t let go, okay?” He turned, reaching back and pointing. “Up you go, as fast as you can. And keep your eyes closed!”

  The fear on the girl’s face did not stop her from listening to Nate. She scrambled up, wrapping herself tight and clinging for dear life. “Good girl, Penelope. We’re going down the ladder now. If you feel yourself starting to slip, just say so and I’ll stop and pull you back up, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered. Rapid fire gunshots inside the building startled the child who whimpered.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Nate patted her hands which were locked around his neck, practically choking him. He was proud of her fortitude and in awe she’d managed not to scream. She was a brave girl. She reminded him of Jessica…and Charlie—but he couldn’t think about that now.

  He turned and gripped the railing, descending the narrow, rusted-out ladder. Above him, Skyscraper and Hollywood held one terrorist at bay. Below, Ghost and Doc engaged the two that came into view from the corner of the crumbling brick walls. Nate’s heart seized in his chest. He was used to bullets and could deal with it if one struck him, but the idea of Penelope getting caught in the crossfire had him in a near-panic to get to cover quickly.

  Doc drew near, putting himself between any incoming bullets and the child on Nate’s back as his captain jumped the last foot off the ladder.

  Immediately, Nate turned, swinging his M4 in hand. He touched the com button at his shoulder. “Hollywood, send that bastard to hell.”

  A static voice answered. “With pleasure.”

  Above, Skyscraper oozed through the window out onto the landing. Hollywood’s leg came through and he was halfway out when Skyscraper dropped down the ladder in one smooth move holding the rails while digging the heels of his boots into the lower, outside railing.

  Behind him, Hollywood shouted, “Fire in the hole!” and leaping over the rail, jumped twenty feet to the ground, landing in a practiced roll before covering his head. Skyscraper ducked as did Ghost and Doc. Nate had moved as far from the building as possible pulling Penelope around and into his arms as he hit the dirt, covering her with his body. A loud explosion split the night. Debris rained down, bits of wood, brick, and glass—all potential deadly projectiles.

  The two terrorists near the front of the building, who’d been shooting at them, were blown back abruptly. With ears ringing, Nate’s men got up, preparing to run for it. They had a two-block sprint ahead of them to the truck they’d left parked on a residential street. It was on the corner near the main road that would lead them out of Prague. Unfortunately, the two terrorists had also recovered. Shots fired anew.

  Ghost and Skyscraper took point with Ghost shouting over his shoulder. “Outlaw, take her around back to the other side. We got these two!”

  Nate nodded, tapping Hollywood and Doc as he passed. “You two with me.” They immediately flanked him with Doc in front on point and Hollywood securing their back. Moving fast, they stepped over and a
round fallen blocks of brick and metal from the fire escape to the backside of the building where they’d initially entered. Working their way south, they cleared the corner coming around to the street. All around them, windows were lighting up as curious neighbors tried to catch a peek at what was going on.

  The gunfight continued. Nate, Doc, and Hollywood reached the street, running across and ducking behind a parked car. Nate lowered Penelope to the concrete, running his hands down her arms and legs, checking for wounds.

  “You okay? Any pain anywhere?”

  She shook her head. “No. But my ears are ringing.”

  Nate cupped the sides of her head. “That’ll go away. But you can hear me, right?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  Relief flooded him. The girl was unharmed and responding well, all considered. “I need you to go with my friend here. His name is Doc. He’s a really nice guy. He’s going to take you to the truck. I’ll be right behind you too so don’t worry.” He looked over her shoulder at Doc. “Get her to the truck, get it running. I’m gonna help get Skyscraper and Ghost free of that ambush. Hollywood, protect their backs.”

  “Always, Outlaw,” he answered.

  Penelope looked at Doc who smiled at her, his dimples deepening, a favorite trait of the ladies in his life. The girl smiled back and tentatively reached up, sticking the tip of her finger into one.

  “And another one falls,” chuckled Hollywood, shaking his head. “Young, old. Doesn’t matter. The girls love the dimples, Doc.” He shook his head.

  Doc snorted. “Blame my mama. She gave ‘em to me. And by the way,” he said to Penelope, “my given name is Jason.”

  “I like Doc,” she said.

  “Then Doc it is, missy. You ready?” He held out his arms. “We’re gonna need to go fast so that means I’ll have to carry you.”

  She stepped into his arms. “Okay, Doc.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s roll.” He lifted her and holding her close, took off running. Hollywood followed, protecting their back.

  Nate watched them go and then turned, staying low and moving fast up the street. He found Eastwood stationed behind an old green Volkswagon. “It’s time we rescue those two before the entire neighborhood and local police are on us. Ready?”

  Eastwood grinned, lifting his rifle, cocked and locked. “About time. I was getting a little bored over here just watching like some kind of pervert.”

  “I thought you liked to watch,” Nate chuckled, M4 aimed as they crossed the road coming up behind the two Black Jihad terrorists.

  “You ain’t pretty enough for my tastes.”

  “That hurt.”

  Nate squeezed the trigger and the first man fell forward, surprise forever frozen on his face. The second man turned halfway before Eastwood dropped him.

  Ghost and Skyscraper quickly joined them.

  “What took you so long?” Ghost asked.

  Nate grinned. “You’re welcome. Now let’s get the hell out of here before we have to explain to the local authorities just what we’re doing in Prague.”

  As they took off, Nate noticed Eastwood looking towards the front of the building. “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “Al-Waleed. None of these guys we dropped was him. He’s still in there.”

  Nate tensed. He wanted to get the bastard, but there was no time, and they needed to get Penelope Rand completely out. That was their mission. A snatch and grab rescue operation, not a seek and destroy. Still, it grated. The man had kidnapped a child. He’d also ordered a woman beheaded, a fate he knew might have been Penelope’s had they not found her—or worse. He was a monster and monsters needed to be put down. Al-Waleed would elude them again as he’d been doing for the past year, crossing the unchecked borders in eastern and western Europe. Once upon a time, he’d been all for more open borders, but after years of watching terrorists come and go as they please, setting up cells in cities and blowing up innocent civilians with IEDs, he’d long since decided that tight, heavily restricted borders were the answer to help keep the menace of these religious extremists in check.

  “Dammit, there’s nothing we can do right now, Eastwood.” He stared hard at the darkened doorway wishing the man would show himself for one moment. That’s all it would take to put a bullet in his skull. A siren in the distance pulled Nate back to the moment.

  “We gotta go, Outlaw,” Ghost grabbed his arm.

  Shrugging off his second-in-command, Nate turned. His men fell in line behind him, and the stack moved with precision in the shadows to the waiting truck.

  Chapter 2

  Emma Jane Lewis typed a quick email, attached the article she’d been working on, and hit send. “There, all done.”

  “It’s about time,” Becky O’Hare exclaimed. “Happy hour waits for no man, or woman! Now, put this on and let’s get moving. Joely and Dina are chomping at the bit to get this party started.

  Emma glanced up and took note of the slinky hot-pink dress Becky held up. It had spaghetti straps at the shoulders and looked more like a tunic than a dress. The silky material would show ever single lump and bump on her body.

  “No way! I’m not wearing that,” Emma protested. “I’ll look like a hooker!”

  Becky pooh-poohed her. “Good. Maybe you’ll catch a big, hunky man! It’s your birthday, after all, and it’s been too long since you last dated anyone. Come on.” She held up the dress, shaking it at her friend impatiently.

  Emma bit her lip. “I can’t believe you wenches dragged me all the way to London and now you want to dress me up like a prostitute. You know I don’t wear stuff like this, Becky. I’m going to regret this, I just know it!” She closed her laptop and stood, taking the hot-pink man-trap of a dress from Becky’s hands.

  “Go on, try it on. It’s my present to you,” her friend giggled.

  “Can I at least wear my Doc Martin’s with it,” Emma asked, thinking to punk it up a bit and save her toes from the silver heels dangling off Becky’s other hand.

  “Good God, no! I know you love your comfort wear, Emma, but tonight, you’re dressing like a proper, sexy, thirty-year-old woman, not a Sid and Nancy reject. Go!” Becky pointed to the bathroom and handed over the shoes.

  Emma threw her the stink-eye and slipped into the bathroom. Her friends had booked suites at the Corinthia Hotel in central London days ago as a surprise. It was her first trip across the pond, one for which she’d been practically kidnapped. Even her boss, Derek Riley, had cooperated by clearing her schedule and forcing Emma to take three days off so she could have a weekend getaway to celebrate her thirtieth birthday.

  With the promise to complete her latest exposé on the growing standoff between political parties on immigration, she’d packed her bag, grabbed her passport, and allowed her posse of pals to whisk her off to the airport for an overnight flight to London. They’d arrived in the early hours of the morning, exhausted, but excited. With check-in not until the afternoon, they’d left their baggage with the front desk and gone exploring. Big Ben followed breakfast and then it was off to Picadilly Circus, a two-hour bus tour, and back to the hotel where Emma slept over an hour before finishing her article. Becky slept on in the next bed, snoring loudly, her red curls spread out across the pillow. Emma still felt exhausted, but she had a deadline. Summarizing the points on easing the pathway to citizenship and emphasizing that America was not only built by immigrants but was greater for their cultural contributions because they made the economy stronger, she smiled.

  Becky rolled over, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and looked at Emma. “I’m getting up and we’re going to get gussied up, missy. Hurry and finish because after that, no more work until Tuesday!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Emma replied.

  Now, here she was standing on the cool tile floor in a hot-pink, silky shirt. There was no other word for it. If she bent over too far, her backside would be on display to Queen and country.

  “Becky, my ass is hanging out!”

  Becky poked her head in,
looking down. Snorting, she said, “then you better put on your prettiest panties. Show that sweet tush off. With any luck, some gorgeous Mark Darcy-type will be tearing them off with his teeth later.”

  Emma made a face. “Becky! Mark Darcy types don’t tear panties off with their teeth. They bow respectfully and ask if they can kindly remove them.” She readjusted the neckline, tucking her breasts in.

  A loud peel of laughter rang out. Becky ran up behind her, grabbing the hem and lifting the dress before performing an awkward curtsy. “Pardon me, madame, but may I please rid you of those drawers so that I might poke you repeatedly with my magnificent cock?”

  Emma swatted her friend’s hands. “That is the worst British accent I’ve ever heard.”

  Becky raised a dubious eyebrow. “Maybe, but when Mark Darcy asks, you’ll change your tune.”

  “Only if he’s nice, educated, and not some ‘roided up muscle-head.”

  “I don’t know what you have against muscles. Personally, I love a strong man.” Becky moved around her, shedding her clothes as she walked into the shower, turning it on.

  “I just prefer brains over brawn. That’s all. And strong doesn’t have to mean bulging biceps and other…um…bulges. It can also mean strength of character and having compassion.” Emma curled her lip in disapproval as she looked at herself in the mirror, turning left and then right, sucking in her stomach. Her brown wavy shoulder-length hair framed an oval face with big brown eyes made larger by dark-rimmed glasses. At five-foot-two, she was shorter than most women. She made up for it by wearing heels and trendy platforms as often as possible, but she preferred her Doc Martin’s when not representing the paper. Those, and jeans and concert t-shirts. She was a nerd at heart and, at the moment, she was sure Mark Darcy types went for delicate females, not glasses-wearing writers.

  “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive. Still, you never have seemed to care for the type, but I’m telling you, Em,” Becky poked her head around the shower curtain, “there’s a lot to be said about those ‘other’ bulges.”