Page 43 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)
Chapter thirty-five
The wind snatched at him, whistling over his body armor and helmet as it tried to drag him out the open cargo door. Aiden tightened his grip on his harness and stepped into open air.
The Chinook was directly over the refrigerated hold. With each second in the sea-soaked air, the chopper’s winch lowered him closer to the O-ring. The wind buffeted him in waves of mist and sea salt while spinning him in circles.
Between spins, he scanned the boat. The Bountiful Harvest’s crew were lying crumpled on the deck. They’d be out for a while, giving him time to attach the cable to the O-ring and lift the hold’s door.
He was within arm’s length of the hold when— crack.
The sound was weak, barely audible above the whistle of the wind. But it was unmistakable. He’d been shot at enough to recognize the crack of a rifle. He twisted in the harness to look at the wheelhouse and watched the rifle barrel in the broken window move.
Crack...
Crack...
The captain was awake and ready for target practice. Thank God he wasn’t much of a shot.
“Cover,” Aiden yelled into his mic as he dangled from the cable. He pulled his legs up to his chest and curled into a tight ball. “Taking fire down here!”
The wind kicked up again, spinning him in circles and long arcs. Which was fine with him. The movement made him harder to hit.
Crack...crack...crack...crack.
The new onslaught of rifle fire came from above. There was his cover, as requested. The cable spun him again until he faced the wheelhouse. Chunks and slivers of wood were flying everywhere. Cos and Winters were trying to keep the bastard away from the window.
The Chinook soared straight up, and like a yo-yo on a string, Aiden went up with it.
“New plan,” Aiden shouted into the mic. “Take me over to the wheelhouse. Drop me on the roof.” Opening the hatch would have to wait until he subdued the captain.
He’d slung one tranquilizer gun over his shoulder and double checked his holstered handpiece before stepping out of the Chinook. At least he had a couple of options when it came to taking down the captain.
But fuck, there went his minimal exposure if the bots were on board. Nothing to do about it now, other than pray the hold was empty.
The Chinook went up, up, up, and then swung him over until he was directly above the wheelhouse. He dropped his legs and uncurled his arms and waited for the pilot to lower the bird. Bountiful Harvest’s captain couldn’t line up a shot from this angle.
Soon as his boots hit the roof, he crouched and unclipped the cable. The Chinook rose again as Aiden shucked the harness. The roof rolled beneath him, making each step a challenge.
“No sign of the target,” Wolf said through the comm. “Rifle is no longer in the window.”
No surprise. Their target would have heard the Chinook hovering above him. He must know they’d dropped someone on the roof. The fact the bastard hadn’t charged outside and started shooting meant he was hunkered inside, waiting. This insertion was not going to be a sneak attack.
Prior to engaging with the Bountiful Harvest, the Chinook had circled the vessel, so he knew there was a large window facing the bow, as well as smaller windows to the starboard and port.
No window on the stern, only the door. The target was likely expecting him to insert through the door, so he’d access the window opposite it instead.
The dude couldn’t watch two places at once.
With the dart gun slung over his shoulder, and his side arm safely holstered along his thigh, he crab-walked to the edge of the roof, keeping one hand on the weathered wood for balance. Fuck, walking the roof felt like riding a bucking bronco. One big wave and he’d be down for the count.
“You’re good to go, alpha one,” Wolf said through the comm. “No sign of your target.”
Cautiously, Aiden dropped to the deck and waddled along the starboard side of the wheelhouse.
Each step was a challenge as the boat pitched beneath him.
He crouched as he approached the glass, adjusting his stance to compensate for the rolling beneath his boots.
The window was too small to dive through.
But a perfect fit for a rifle barrel. He only had one dart though.
This shot had to count.
Squatting beneath the window, he unholstered his Sig and cradled the rifle.
A quick up and down peek showed his target watching the door with his back to the starboard window.
Perfect. He pulled his side arm, using the butt of the weapon to break the glass, then quickly shoved the rifle barrel through the opening.
The target was already swinging around when Aiden lifted his head, looked through the glass, and squeezed the trigger. The dart sank into the dude’s beefy shoulder. Aiden dropped and rolled. Then kept rolling as the deck pitched beneath him.
Boom...
The rifle blast was much louder, this close to the barrel. Glass sprayed everywhere.
Boom.
He braced his hands against the deck to stop the rolling and pushed himself back into a crouch.
“He’s out the door.” Wolf’s voice broke the silence. “Headed for starboard.”
Fuck. Was the bastard going to ditch the boat and jump overboard? Aiden launched himself forward, but the boat was having none of that and rolled hard, sending him stumbling back instead.
Crack...crack...crack...crack.
Cosky and company were laying down fire, trying to pin the dude before he bailed on the boat.
Aiden staggered around the corner of the wheelhouse, the pitching deck fucking with every damn step. At least the captain wasn’t handling the waves any better than Aiden was. He’d abandoned the rifle and was crawling toward the starboard hull on his hands and knees.
A wave broke over the railing as Aiden passed by, crashing over him in a waterfall of freezing, salty water and soaking every inch of him. His target was still crawling toward starboard, dogged and desperate, as though his life depended on making it off the boat.
It didn’t. His life depended on what the captain had in his hold.
Aiden threw every ounce of strength and coordination into his staggering steps before launching himself at his target in a final hail Mary.
He slammed into the target from the side, pinning him against the streaming deck.
As his captive thrashed beneath him, Aiden fumbled for one of the flex cuffs stuffed in the back pocket of his soaked pants.
“Son of a motherfucking bastard, you have no right—”
Aiden wrestled his furious target’s hands behind his back, knelt on his shoulders, and zip-tied his wrists together.
Just in time too. The captain suddenly exploded.
Twisting and turning. Then thrusting his body up.
When neither of those tactics won his freedom, he threw his head back, slamming it into Aiden’s forehead.
His ears ringing and head throbbing, Aiden slammed the target back down to the deck. When was the tranquilizer going to kick in? Between the roll of the boat and this asshole’s antics, he was getting queasy.
“Play fucking nice,” he ground out. “We could have spattered you all over the deck instead of putting you to sleep. But there’s still time to change my mind.”
“You have no motherfucking right to board my boat,” the target spat, his voice as grizzled as his face and hair. “I’m a citizen of the United States. I have rights!”
There was a familiarity to the ranting that Aiden couldn’t quite place. It took a few seconds of listening to the guy’s profanity-laced tirade for the familiarity to snap into place. Mackenzie. The captain’s profanity-laced cadence was pure Mackenzie at his most furious.
Finally, the drug kicked in. The target’s twisting and turning faded. His breathing calmed. Aiden waited until the dude was limp before scooting down to secure his ankles with another pair of flex cuffs.
“Brother…” Cosky sarcastic voice filled the comm. “You need to hit the weights and obstacle course harder. That take down was embarrassing to watch. You barely kept that old fart pinned to the ground.”
Aiden paused long enough to glance up and offer his brother-in-law a fuck you finger. “How ‘bout you could focus on watching our sleeping beauties, rather than running your mouth?”
As soon as he’d secured the captain’s ankles, he climbed—or more like staggered—to his feet. When the hell had he lost his sea legs? He’d been in much crankier weather than this without losing his balance and stride.
Every instinct he possessed urged him to head directly for the hold and find out how fucked he was. He headed for the closest deckhand instead, checked his vitals, then secured his wrists and ankles. He did the same for deckhands two through four.
By the time he’d finished handcuffing the four captives, the Chinook hovered above the hold, a cable dangling next to the magical O-ring. As he stumbled toward it, a single thunderous question echoed through his brain.
Was the hold full of fish?
Was he screwed?