SEAL in a Storm Page 2

  Dex looked at his newfound fishing hole and wondered how soon they would need him.

  “What’s the mission?” There were some things that Dex had done, because his country had asked him to, that he just wouldn’t do these days.

  “Kidnapping.”

  Silas was really tempting him. Dex had been involved in dozens of rescues, and although each one was unique, every mission he’d been on was successful.

  “Why aren’t they sending in a SEAL Team?” He hadn’t been gone that long, had he? Could they have moved international kidnapping missions away from SpecOps?

  Silas sighed. “They can’t. They were taken on U.S. soil.”

  “That sounds like a job for the FBI. Aren’t those guys the experts, at least at home?” Dex reconsidered for a second. “Or are they outside CONUS?” he asked, referring to the continental USA.

  “Yes. They were captured in the U.S. Virgin Islands.”

  “They?” Damn. There was more than one. That exponentially complicated the entire situation.

  “They must be damn important,” Dex noted.

  There was a long pause before Silas answered. “Approximately three hours ago, ten teenage girls, their teacher, and three female chaperones were taken on St. John Island in the Caribbean.”

  “Fuck.” Dex lowered his body into the bow fishing chair while holding the phone to his ear.

  “These aren’t just any little girls,” Silas explained. “Their parents are all congressmen and senators…including the daughter of the Speaker of the House.”

  As he digested all the information, Silas kept talking, dangling that bait closer and closer to Dex. “I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but the clock is ticking. You’re the right man for this job.”

  “Why me?” Dex wondered aloud.

  “They were taken by the Boko Haram.” Silas had just set the hook.

  He’d dealt with the terrorist organization twice in his career. Five years ago, when they had kidnapped over two hundred and fifty little girls from schools in Nigeria to become unwilling brides to their soldiers. His SEAL teams had helped free dozens of them during the following months. The extremists had freed a few more over the next several years, and some had escaped. All who had made it to freedom had been badly mistreated, and they told horror stories of rape, starvation, and beatings.

  Dex would be thrilled to bring some of the jihadist terrorists to justice…or simply rid the world of their existence.

  The man he really wanted in his crosshairs was its leader, Aahil Mohammed Jaja. Twelve years ago, that fucker had masterminded the theft of nearly two million credit card numbers from U.S. citizens and escaped with over four million dollars. No one was sure if he was the computer guru or if someone worked for him. It was a verified fact, though, that Jaja had a genius IQ and a photographic memory.

  Working alongside U.S. Secret Service special agents, the young Lieutenant Dex Carson’s SEAL team had gone after Jaja. Although they were able to capture several of Jaja’s highest-ranking men, they had missed the terrorist leader by minutes.

  Thoughts of that mission automatically brought along memories of Rayne Yoshida. His night with her ranked in the top five best ever.

  The disastrous morning after was definitely the worst day of his life. If he ever saw that little bitch again, he might just kill her. Or maybe he’d strip her naked for a repeat, first.

  “Dex, every second counts with these hostages. I need your decision.” Si’s bait was far too tempting.

  “I’m in.” Hook. Line. And sinker. “This one mission, only, I want that to be clear,” Dex confirmed. He heard the all-too-familiar distant whomp, whomp of helicopters and automatically looked to the east. Silhouetted by the rising sun was a pair of Black Hawks headed his way.

  Dex chuckled. “You knew I was going to say yes, didn’t you?”

  “They’ll meet you at your truck. You’d better get that bass boat pointed down the lake. I’ll see you when you get here. Branson out.” The line went dead.

  Leaping out of his chair, he quickly pulled up the trolling motor and started the big engines. He slammed the throttle all the way forward, pushing the engine as hard as he dared.

  Every second counted. Lives were at stake.

  He had the biggest fish of his life to catch.

  Chapter Two

  “Deputy Director O’Brien, I feel that I would be an asset to the joint task force and the rescue team.” Rayne Yoshida was prepared to list, and explain in detail, all the reasons why she was qualified for this mission.

  The nearly bald man glanced up from his desk. “I’m sure the Speaker’s daughter and wife would prefer to see your friendly female face rather than some big behemoth with face paint wearing camouflage and guns.”

  “I’m sure she would, sir.” Rayne didn’t want to point out the fact that she, too, would be wearing camouflage and grease paint and carrying several weapons. This was a covert mission and not her first.

  “Have you increased personal protection on the Speaker of the House?” DD O’Brien watched her for any quirk or twitch. Everyone at the Secret Service was trained to be ultra-cognizant of body language. “Aahil Mohammed Jaja may have taken little Callie and Angelique on purpose. They may have been his primary target, and the others nothing more than collateral for him.”

  “But he put Linda Thompson as spokesperson on the video,” she protested. “Her husband is the Chairman of the Senate Armed Forces Committee. Jaja is very smart.” The man in question spoke four languages, including English, and although he’d studied religion at the university level, he purportedly had been quite the computer hacker.

  Rayne had never been convinced that it was Jaja who had hacked into one of the largest banking companies in the United States and stolen millions of credit card numbers. There was definitely a chain, though, linking the millions of stolen dollars to the financing of his Islamic radical group, Boko Haram. She had hoped, though, that she had captured the real culprit when she ran the Northern Africa Secret Service Office. The fact that there had never been another Internet theft as big as the one twelve years ago was proof enough to her that the real hacker was serving time somewhere..

  Her boss leaned back in his chair. Resting his elbows on the arms, he steepled his fingers. “Did you find it odd that he didn’t ask for anything? And if he’s as smart as you believe, is this a diversionary tactic for something bigger?”

  “To answer your first question, yes, I have doubled the personal protection for Congressman Sedgwick. We have varied his routine even more drastically and his chief of staff has cleared his appointment calendar. There are three pieces of legislation coming before Congress in the next few days that he’ll be required to oversee the vote.” As senior special agent in charge of personal security for Robert Sedgwick, the Speaker of the House, Rayne had personally chosen his detail. Technically, he was third in line to the White House, thus one of the most important men in U.S. politics.

  Earning the agency’s trust and confidence after the Nigeria debacle had taken her years and a change in career path from the Office of Strategic Intelligence and Information to the Office of Protected Operations. She was currently the highest-ranking woman in her division.

  “Addressing your first point about Callie and Angelique Sedgwick’s capture, until Jaja makes his demands, I’m not sure if he knows exactly who he has kidnapped other than fourteen politically connected females.” Rayne had studied the man for years after he’d slipped through her fingers over a decade ago.

  Without letting her boss speak, she continued, “In answer to your second question, no, I didn’t necessarily find it unusual that Jaja has not yet stated his demands. When he kidnapped all those young girls five years ago, he never asked anyone for anything because he never intended to use them as hostages. Those were brides to appease his soldiers to improve his power over his followers. His second round of female kidnappings, approximately a year later, was a completely different situation. When he took both you
ng girls and adult women, he was willing to trade the latter in exchange for freeing some of his senior-level soldiers, keeping the virgins, once again, for his men.”

  Her middle-aged boss, and father of five, shook his head. “That just makes me sick. You know I have daughters in that same age group. I’d want to ki—,”

  “Don’t go there, sir,” Rayne interrupted. “I’m not convinced that Jaja is going to try to move ten little girls across the Atlantic Ocean and all the way to Nigeria just to provide infidel virgins to his soldiers. He’s going to have a hard-enough time trying to escape with the men he’s obviously brought with him.”

  “Now, to your final question, do I believe this is a diversionary tactic?” She had to keep him focused on the situation. The task force was meeting over at the Department of Homeland Security in just over an hour and she wanted to be there. She needed to be on that team. “No. Everyone in this building knows that terrorists walk among us and are a viable threat to our way of life and to the leaders of our country. I truly believe that Jaja wants something that only our highest-ranking leadership can provide. What that is,” she shrugged. “I don’t know. Personally, I’m just glad he is so self-centered that he sent a video to the President. Last time he wanted to speak to someone in power, he put it on YouTube. At least this way, we can keep the press out of it and the general public from armchair coaching.”

  The deputy director furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t mean that he won’t release it on the Internet, or send it directly to the Washington Post, if he doesn’t like how the situation is handled.”

  “Speaking of handling the situation,” Rayne tried to redirect the conversation once again, “Sir, would you put me on the task force rescue team as the Secret Service representative?”

  The clock was ticking. He stared at her as though considering her request. Dressed in what she thought of as her uniform of black slacks, white crisp cotton button-down blouse, custom-cut black jacket that concealed her shoulder holster, reflective sunglasses hooked on the edge of her jacket pocket, she looked ready for the streets of DC, but not the jungle on St. John Island.

  Reaching for the phone, he looked at her. “I’m calling the director of operations at Homeland Security. You had better get moving. I’ll text you the meeting room.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Rayne spun on her heel and headed toward the door.

  “Special Agent Yoshida,” he called as she reached for the knob. “Don’t fuck this up, and I mean that literally. I don’t want a repeat of Nigeria on my watch.”

  She felt the verbal slap all the way to her professionally-hardened heart as it dropped to her stomach and made her queasy. After years of exemplary performance, complete dedication to her job on the clock and off, it took only one sentence to put her right back to where she was twelve years ago…in trouble and fighting to keep her position.

  “Deputy Director O’Brien, I can assure you that will never happen again.” Rayne had learned her lesson the first time she let her guard down and allowed a sexy SEAL to help her burn off the aftermath of an adrenaline rush. Besides, no one had ever piqued her interest the way Dex Carson had before, during, and after that mission.

  After rushing to the assigned room at the Department of Homeland Security, Rayne set her large duffel at the end of the row of bags. She slid into an empty chair at the conference table and glanced around.

  “Ladies. Gentlemen. Welcome. I’m Silas Branson, the chairman of this multi-agency task force. Each of you has been selected for your unique skill set and knowledge. The clock is ticking on these kidnapped women and children, so let’s get started so we can get the team on its way.” The large man with broad shoulders and military demeanor ordered the lights to be dimmed.

  The man to her left slid Rayne the briefing jacket as others were distributed.

  “Sometime last night, ten girls and their three female chaperones were taken from their tents at Cinnamon Bay on St. John Island.” A picture of large green tents sitting atop wooden platforms with waterproof tarps draped over top appeared on the screen, immediately followed by an inside view of four cots, suitcases, and bright-colored clothes strewn everywhere. A slash running vertically on the backside facing the jungle dominated the next shot.

  Rayne controlled her breathing as she sucked in air when she really wanted to gasp. She could only imagine how scared Callie had been as someone cut through her tent and grabbed her, pulling her through that slit and into the jungle.

  “These pictures were uploaded to us nearly an hour ago by the Park Rangers who were sent to the campground to confirm that they were no longer there.” photographs of boot prints in the sand, and what Rayne would consider crime scene photos, continued to flash on the screen, a light pierced the room as someone entered. The newcomer strode directly to Mr. Branson, whispered in his ear, then took the seat right next to him.

  Rayne couldn’t make out his face in the dark room, but there was something familiar about the new man. Maybe it was the way he walked? He was square shouldered, his footsteps nearly silent. Her danger radar didn’t blip so she shook it off.

  A map of the Caribbean appeared on the large flat screen behind the chairman. Rayne thought it was interesting that Branson never called himself by any official title. In the competitive pool of civil service, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown out his designation.

  Opening the book in front of her, she squinted to see how he was listed.

  Damn it. She couldn’t see a thing.

  The picture on the flat screen zoomed in on the U.S. Virgin Islands, then specifically on St. John Island. Green covered nearly the entire land designating it as Virgin Islands National Park.

  “There are nearly thirteen thousand acres of protected land. As you can see, a road unevenly bisects the island.” Using a laser pointer, Branson traced several lines off to each side. “These are several of the hiking trails through the jungle, but only one main road. There are numerous homes off the main road, but many are vacant most of the year. We’re doing what we can to check out each and every home, but to be honest, there are very few law enforcement officers on the island.”

  The new man typed feverishly on the computer controlling the large flat screen.

  “At four forty-five this morning, this video arrived in the President’s secure email.” Branson nodded toward the man who flicked a few keys.

  A black man with an extremely large lower lip held a gun to the head of a dark-haired woman in a dirty tank top and what looked like silk running shorts. “Mr. President, I am Lynda Thompson, Senator Carl Thompson’s wife.” Her voice cracked on almost every word as her body shook. “We’ve met several times.” Her eyes moved as though she were reading cue cards, then quickly darted to the side. “I have a message from…Aaa…hill,” she struggled with the word.

  The man looked directly into the camera lens and lifted his chin. Rayne felt like she was looking into the eyes of pure evil. “You know who I am.” He spoke in clear English with a slight British accent. “I am Aahil Mohamed Jaja.” His snide smile held a secret.

  He jerked his head to the side and the camera panned slowly across his captives. Two other women were tied back-to-back, gagged with dirty bandannas.

  “The curly-haired brunette is Rita Garcia and she is tied to the girls’ teacher, Annamarie Rogers,” Branson announced.

  Their pleading eyes almost broke Rayne’s heart, just before panic struck.

  Where the hell was Angelique Sedgwick? The new wife of the Speaker of the House had decided hours before Callie was to leave on the fall break trip that the Caribbean would be a great place to shop. Against the advice of Rayne’s Secret Service team, the persistent woman had packed several bags, and jumped into the limousine provided for their family’s security. She’d trotted in four-inch heels and a designer sundress, behind her stepdaughter and boarded the private jet, uninvited.

  Rayne wished she had a picture of the new Mrs. Sedgwick’s face as she rolled her bags through the sand and saw t
he tents for the first time. Rayne knew she shouldn’t think so little of Angelique Sedgwick, but she had adored Bette, the first wife.

  “Take a good look at who I have.” Jaja bragged. Two men carrying automatic rifles crossed the screen as they paced in front of the frightened women and children.

  “Slow down the video,” Branson ordered. He opened up his file and started shuffling through photographs. “I think the first one is Violet Russell. Next to her, that looks to be…Sophia Edwards.”

  “No, sir, that’s Luna Collins,” Rayne corrected before she could stop herself.

  Branson looked down the table at her. “Can you identify all these girls?”

  “Yes. I watched them grow up over the last three years. They’ve all been in the Sedgwick home multiple times.” Rayne said with confidence.

  “Please, tell everyone else seated here so we can start to memorize their faces and names.” It was an order, and everyone gathered there knew it.

  Rayne took a deep breath. “Just to repeat, the first young girl is Violet Russell. Next to her is Luna Collins. Gia,” she corrected herself, “Gianna Mason, then Sophia Edwards. That’s Callie Sedgwick holding Charlotte Thompson on one side and Brynn Olesen on the other.”

  It was just like Callie to be the one to soothe her friend or defend her if necessary. The little blond-haired twelve-year-old had an old soul. While watching her mother slowly die of cancer, the young lady—and she was a lady at heart—had always greeted her mother with an encouraging smile and a hug. The child somehow knew that was exactly what her mother needed.

  Now this had happened to that poor little girl.

  Rayne had to do everything in her power to get Callie out of Jaja’s clutches.

  Refocusing, she continued, “Aria Moore, Elianna Martin, and the last one is Zoey Garcia. We saw her mother tied to Ms. Rogers.”

  Just as Rayne was about to point out that Angelique Sedgwick was missing, the camera jerked as though someone was walking away from the others. The woman in question appeared by herself, in a corner. She tried to talk around several bandannas stuffed into her mouth and another holding them in place tied behind her head. She seemed to be screaming Let me go. When she realized she was on video, the words sounded as though she was saying No, no, no one can see me like this, as she hunched her shoulders and tried to bury her face in the corner.