They would shoot Morgan as he was passing over them, and there would be nothing that he could do, except maybe . . . He looked down, and did some quick mental math. The men took aim with semiautomatics. He pulled the emergency release just as bullets started flying. Freed from the parachute, he fell precipitously, and the bullets sailed over him. He hit the deck rolling, and searing pain went up his bad leg. But before the men could react, he pulled his handgun and shot one of them between the eyes.
There was the matter of the second man, however, who was now taking aim. Morgan had no time to fire back As he braced for the impact of the bullets, the man was taken down by a hail of gunfire that came from somewhere to Morgan’s left. He saw Spartan running toward him, holding her weapon of choice: an AR-15 she had nicknamed Mandy.
“Thanks,” said Morgan. “I owe you one.”
“Damn right you do,” she said. “I just saved your ass.”
“Perimeter secured,” said Rogue.
“Come together on me,” said Bishop.
They moved stealthily, covering each other as they did. Once together, they moved across the deck in formation.
“There’s their chopper,” said Diesel.
“They’ll have heard us,” said Morgan, “Wherever they are. We’ve got to take cover.”
Morgan heard the sound of a chair scraping on the deck behind him, and he turned around, gun cocked. What he found was a little girl looking up at him. She’d been hiding in a sconce on deck.
Morgan looked up at the rest of the team, and saw that they were looking at Spartan.
“Hey,” said Spartan, “Don’t look at me. I don’t know how to talk to kids!”
This was taking too long. “Hey,” Morgan said to the child. “Don’t be afraid.”
“I think I should be,” she said. “I’d never seen people shoot guns before. Did you come to rescue us?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what we’re here for. What’s your name?”
“It’s Alison.”
“Alison, where is everybody?”
“They’ve got all the passengers trapped inside, on the upper deck. My parents are there. Are you going to help?”
Morgan nodded. “Leave it to us,” he said. “You should go back to hiding. It’s not safe for you to be out here. You’ve been very brave, Alison.”
She just nodded vigorously. “Please. Please save them.”
She scurried off, and the team ran to take cover by the stairwell to the upper deck.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” said Bishop. “We go for the passengers first. If their intention is to massacre everyone, our mission ends there. But if they’re planning to sink the whole ship, we move down to vital systems. It’s most likely they’d be targeting the hull. Shep?”
“I’ve marked the most vulnerable spots on the map,” broke in Lincoln Shepard through the comm. “I can give you directions from here.”
“All right. Upper level. Rogue, find a vantage point and back us up. Cobra, you run lead. They’ll be expecting us, so this is going to be tricky.”
All but Rogue moved in synchrony toward the upper deck, Morgan and Spartan through the nearest stairway, Bishop and Diesel up the other. Reaching the upper deck, Morgan noted that the ballroom had windows all along its four walls, and Morgan had to crouch down to avoid being seen. He walked along the outer wall of the ballroom when he reached a door and peered inside.
The boat’s ballroom was decked out in the finest linens. Each table had a towering centerpiece blooming with white flowers, and there was a stage over on one end. All the passengers and crew were huddled together on the dance floor. There were sobs coming from the crowd.
“Who’s out there?” yelled a man with a Russian accent, standing at the door. “We have hostages. Show yourselves with your hands up and weapons on the ground.”
“Rogue, do you have visual?” asked Bishop over the comm.
“Affirmative. Three hostiles. One by the door, two more hiding among the hostages.” The one who had yelled out did not dare come outside, and seemed to be taking what cover he could.
“I want you to incapacitate the farthest on my mark,” said Bishop. “Cobra and Spartan, take the one closest to you two. Diesel and I will deal with the other. In position. move out.”
It all happened in an instant. Spartan threw in a flash grenade. Morgan heard the buzz as Rogue’s bullet whizzed past him, and the tinkle of broken glass as it tore through the window. At that, Morgan rolled sideways into the ballroom and put a bullet in the closest man’s forehead. The one that Rogue had hit was on the ground, his leg bleeding. He yelled out in pain as blood poured from his wound. The other, closer to the far door, had been taken out by a bullet from Diesel’s rifle. There was screaming among the passengers, and some began to stand up and look for the exits.