David Baldacci - The Forgotten

“I mean, someone would have to be batshit crazy to be out here attacking this place in the middle of a tropical storm.”

“Batshit crazy,” agreed Mecho.

“And they have no way of knowing that we could find our way to this platform.” Puller had a sudden terrifying thought, despite the coordinates Carson’s people had sent. “You’re sure it’s the right platform? There are a lot of them out here.”

“It’s the one I was on. I jumped from that deck.”

Puller looked up about forty feet. “And then you swam to shore?”

“Yes. With help from some fishermen.”

“No perimeter security. Wind coming from the south. Floating platform over there.”

“What’s your plan?”

“All timing.”

Puller told the others what he was thinking. Carson shook her head as she surveyed the rough seas and the approaching storm.

“No margin of error, Puller,” she said.

“No, it’s slight, but it’s there.”

Landry said, “Is this the only way?”

“Only one I can think of, and if we wait much longer that plan won’t work.”

Mecho said, “We need to try it.”

Diaz nodded. “Okay, and let’s break out the weapons. We’re going to need them.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Puller.

“And once we’re on the platform?” said Diaz. Mecho pointed up at the enclosed structure. “They’ll be in there. There are multiple entry and exit points. Prisoners and guards. The guards are not that well trained but they have heavy firepower. More than what we have.”

“So we have to hit them hard and fast and take them by surprise,” said Carson as a large wave pummeled the boat, forcing everyone to grab something to hold on to. “That will negate their superior numbers and ordnance.”

She looked at Puller. “So how are you going to get us there?”

“Two at a time,” he replied.

“What exactly does that mean?” asked Landry.

“It means, exactly, that you’re going to have to jump. Two at a time.”

Puller aimed the bow of the boat directly at the floating platform. The bow rider fought through the waves and against the wind.

At the last possible instant he swerved, missing the bucking platform by only half a foot.

“Now,” shouted Puller.

Mecho and Diaz, standing on the starboard side, leapt off the gunwale and landed, sprawled, on the platform.

Puller pulled the boat away from the platform and had Landry take the wheel while he unlocked a storage compartment on the boat and opened the watertight compartment inside where he had stored their weapons. He organized their arsenal as Landry focused on keeping the boat within striking distance of the platform.

Finished with the weapons, Puller put them in a collapsible, watertight duffel, zipped it shut, and handed it to Carson.

He retook the wheel from Landry and swung the boat back around.

He looked at Carson and then down at the duffel she held. “That’s not exactly light.” He glanced at Landry. “I think it’ll be a team effort.”

Landry gripped one end of the duffel. “We’ll get it there,” she said.

He hit the throttle and once more steered the bow rider right at the platform, veering off at the last second again.

It was then that Landry and Carson collectively tossed the duffel toward the platform. It sailed over the raging waters and Mecho caught it.

Puller brought the boat back around again.

He roared toward the platform, fighting through the pitching, rolling seas.

Now, Landry looked green and Carson not much better.

Puller said, “You ready or do you want me to come back around?”

Carson waved this offer off. “I just want to get off this damn boat.”

Landry nodded in agreement.

At the last second Puller steered to port again.

“Now,” yelled Puller.

Both women launched themselves off the gunwale.

Landry touched down on the platform, rolled, and came up to a sitting position.

Carson wasn’t so fortunate. Her foot slipped on the slick gunwale as she jumped. She came up short, landing half on the platform and half in the water.

As she started to lose her grip and fall fully into the Gulf, Mecho snagged her arm and lifted her completely out of the water and onto the platform.

Carson looked up at him, stunned by his strength.

“Thank God they grow them big and strong in Bulgaria,” she said.

Mecho passed out the weapons and they crouched down. When Diaz’s and Landry’s hands closed around their weapons, they both smiled.

Carson caught their looks and smiled too as she gripped her rifle. “Guns can be a girl’s best friend,” she said.

No shots had come from the enclosed space. No one seemed to know they were even there. The storm had obviously drowned out the noise of the boat. And their landing on the platform was nothing compared to the pounding the ocean was giving the massive structure.

They turned and looked out to sea where Puller was maneuvering the boat for the last pass.

Landry said, “I still don’t get how he’s going to get on the platform. He can’t jump and pilot at the same time.”

“We’ll find out,” said Carson.

In the boat Puller was lining up the last run. He waved to the others on the platform to clear away. They moved well back.

Puller eyed the waves, analyzed the wind direction, gauged the troughs and peaks of the water. A bolt of lightning crashed down so close by that the hairs on the back of his neck went vertical.

It was now or never.

He pushed the throttle forward and aimed the boat right at the platform.

Two hundred yards.

One hundred yards.

Fifty yards.

Every image on the platform came into sharp focus despite the raging storm because Puller was totally focused.

Lining up a bead on a target with his sniper rifle.

Figuring out how to put down six guys in a few seconds without receiving a mortal blow in the process.

Working out how to get off this boat and land on that platform at forty miles per hour.

It was all the same. It required complete focus. Special skills.

And luck.

Puller said a silent prayer and gunned it.

Ten yards away.

Five.

He ripped the wheel to port and rammed the throttle into neutral at the exact same time he jumped.

The forward momentum of the boat carried with him even as the boat turned and its hard rubber fenders-which Puller had put on before attempting this maneuver-slammed against the platform.

Puller was in the air. He looked down and saw frothing water.

He looked up and saw a dark sky full of muscle and potentially catastrophic damage.

He looked down and saw steel.

He landed, rolled, and came up in time to see Mecho starting to tie off the boat to the platform.

The platform had rubberized sides to prevent the metal from smashing the boat, and along with the fenders, the bow rider did not appear to have sustained serious damage. Still, with the seas as high and frenetic as they were, there might not be a boat left much longer.

Carson tossed Puller his Mu and an MP5.

No time to wonder how he’d made it. No time to thank God for the assist.

Puller led them up the metal steps.

Zero hour was here.

Enclosed space.

High up.

Inside the enclosed space there would be perimeter security.

Puller wanted very much to see what it looked like.

Surveillance was tricky under most conditions, particularly so under these.

But Puller found a gap.

One metal shutter was improperly closed, leaving a significant gap. He spotted this weakness and motioned Mecho over.

Diaz, Carson, and Landry had set up perimeter points around the structure.