Читать книгу Point Blank Seal - Carol Ericson - Страница 8

Prologue

A light glimmered among the rocks to his right, and Miguel Estrada shifted his MK 15 in response, his heart thudding against his chest. He whispered into the mic clipped to his flak jacket. “Twenty degrees to your right, up another thirty yards.”

Miguel couldn’t tell if the SEALs on the ground were following his directions or not. They’d moved out of his view behind some rocks, and they couldn’t answer him and risk giving away their position. He just had to trust they’d heard him and reacted accordingly, especially since this wasn’t his regular team and they were missing that natural rapport.

His world became the area in his scope, and his eyeball tracked back and forth to scan that world, looking for any movement or more light.

These caves tucked into the rugged interior of Afghanistan were a maze, deep and complex. The intelligence they’d received on the whereabouts of Vlad had led a team of SEALs, including him on sniper duty, to this godforsaken part of the world.

The intel suggested Vlad would be lightly guarded and relaxed, not suspecting the hell about to be unleashed upon him. Miguel just hoped Vlad didn’t have any children with him. That made everything more complicated—like the two boys the team had run into on their trek up here.

Thank God, it hadn’t been Miguel’s call to make on how to deal with the boys. Elias had decided to release them, and it looked like that had been a good call since they hadn’t seen them—or anyone else—since those boys had scampered across the rocks.

A light flickered again in the same area, and Miguel held his breath, waiting for an opportunity. If he could take out Vlad or anyone with Vlad from this vantage point, he’d do it and save the SEALs clambering over those boulders a few bullets.

The night scope on his sniper rifle cast a green glow on the rugged terrain, with every rock and every edge standing out in stark relief. If only he could see a person, other than the SEALs, he could help verify this location for them.

The brush behind him rustled and he tensed his muscles. He could probably handle one of those little gerbils or moles, but if that was a bat flapping his wings behind him he just might lose it.

Miguel tapped his fingernail against the trigger. Snipers generally had all the patience in the world, but those SEALs down there should’ve emerged from that cluster of boulders by now. Maybe they’d discovered something out of his sight. Miguel’s own team would’ve found a way to signal that news.

He licked the grit from his lips and shifted his rifle again, zeroing in on the area where the SEALs had disappeared earlier. If they’d gotten his message, they should’ve popped up twenty degrees to the right of the jagged outcropping that looked like a mouthful of bad teeth.

He mumbled under his breath, “C’mon, guys.”

A shift and a scrape behind his location had the hair on the back of his neck quivering. Before he had time to analyze this latest noise behind him, movement on the rocks below had him tightening his finger on the trigger. A light flashed behind the rocks and a pop echoed in the distance.

What the hell just happened? Miguel hissed into his mic, “What was that? Send me a signal.”

The only signal he received was another flash and bang. Had the SEALs come upon Vlad’s hideout? Were they taking him out now?

The crack of a twig behind him didn’t sound like a nighttime rodent or even a bat, but his mission right now was to protect those men down there. Breathing heavily, Miguel swept the rocky hillside, looking for anything that hadn’t been there before.

He hadn’t liked the look of those particular rocks from the get-go, but the team had to traverse them to get to Vlad’s cave—if that was Vlad’s cave.

A head rose above the highest boulder and Miguel’s gut lurched. A man, a keffiyeh wrapped about his head, waved his arms in the air, a weapon clutched in one hand.

Miguel swallowed hard as he recognized the weapon. Then he swore when he realized the man was gesturing—toward him...or someone behind him.

In a split second, he took the shot and dropped the man while he was still waving. Then he rolled to his side, hauling his rifle with him, but it was too late. As he tried to reposition his weapon to the target behind him, he heard the click of a gun.

A heavy boot crushed his arm holding the rifle and Miguel gritted his teeth. Someone else kicked him in the head, and the tinny taste of blood flooded his mouth.

A man growled in English, “Drop your weapon and get on your knees. Your team members are all dead.”

Instead of releasing his rifle, Miguel swung it behind him, making contact with someone’s leg. The target grunted and one of his cohorts kicked Miguel in the midsection.

The cold metal of a gun pressed against Miguel’s temple.

“I’m going to tell you one more time. Release your weapon and get on your knees.”

They seemed to have given up on the idea of Miguel releasing anything because someone began to pry his fingers off the rifle, bending them back and breaking a few in the process. They weren’t about to wait for him to get on his knees either, as he was yanked up by his jacket.

Miguel raised his eyes for the first look at his captors. Three men—one pointing a gun at his head, one rubbing his shin and the third assessing him through narrowed eyes.

Miguel cleared his throat and spit some blood out of the side of his mouth. “Was this a trap?”

His question earned him another kick to the gut, and he doubled over.

There was no way anyone could’ve known their position, even if those two boys from earlier in the day had ratted them out, which they probably had. This had been a setup from the start, and in the off chance that he got out of this alive, he’d make it his life’s mission to root out the mole that had been responsible for the deaths of those SEALs down there.

“We ask the questions, pig. How much do you know about the man you call Vlad?”

Since Miguel had no intention of answering any of their questions—now or ever—it looked like he wouldn’t get that chance to track down the mole.

He spit blood again, this time at his interrogator’s foot. “Go to hell.”

As the butt of his own rifle came at his head, Miguel had one thought before the darkness engulfed him.

Jennifer.