Ryan was shocked, but pleased he could move home to England. When he asked why, Lea had finally told him about what had happened so many weeks ago in Syria, and he had tried to comfort her. She had changed after that tour, but never spoken of it until that moment, and then he understood.
They would be fine. His skills as a freelance computer programmer would keep them afloat. He had just finished a certified ethical hacking course as well, and that could be very lucrative. As for his wife’s change in moods, he had no idea of the train wreck their marriage was about to become.
“Ryan — let’s get on with it,” Sophie said.
“But where the hell do we start?” he said, taking in the massive engine room.
“A good question,” said Sophie, her eyes crawling over the wall of pipes and gauges. “So I think we just start wrecking it, no?”
Now, Lea was on the upper deck, and she saw an open doorway filled with sunshine. She could smell the sea air blowing on the breeze through the gap, and slipped outside on to the side of the yacht, gun at her side. Covering every angle, she moved towards the rear of the Thalassa in the bright sunlight.
Daytimes she could handle. But sometimes she would wake in the night, covered in sweat. She never saw the faces of her men in the night-terrors, only ever their screaming shadows as the enemy carbines opened up on them in the clearing and they scattered for their lives.
The bodies of those who never made it were captured by the enemy and paraded through the streets. It was all her fault. Even now she could hardly bare to think about the pain she had caused their families. Not even leaving the army had assuaged the crushing guilt she felt when her tortured mind wandered back to that terrible day.
She wanted to tell everyone that it had destroyed her life too, that her mistake that day had ended her career, that it had ruined her relationship with her husband and led to divorce, that she doubted she could ever be happy again, but none of it could weigh up against leading the men in her charge to their premature deaths.
The only slit of light in her life had been offered by Sir Richard Eden, an old family friend of her father’s, long ago before he died. He had taken her in after the disaster and given her work, looked after her, become almost another father.
Dedicating her life to Eden’s work could be her only salvation, even if it had to be kept from the world. He had offered her a way out and she had taken it. How Hawke could fit into things would not be up to her, but up to Sir Richard.
Ahead of her she spied the chopper. It was a black Bell 429, silent and still on the rear deck, glistening in the sun. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed, and when she saw she was still on her own she moved forward to the chopper.
“Agreed. I think we just start smashing things,” Ryan said.
“C’est une bonne idée, je crois,” Sophie muttered.
Ryan lifted one of the spanners and took out a gauge, smashing the glass panel to smithereens. He then hit another, and another. Sophie did the same, and a few moments later they had taken out most of the controls in the engine room.
After a few minutes of total vandalism they forgot their situation and began to enjoy themselves. Ryan made a few jokes and was pleased when Sophie laughed warmly in response.
Then Ryan located the fuel system and shut off the valves. The engines quietened and the yacht began to slow.
Lea Donovan had no aviation training at all, but she knew it couldn’t be the hardest thing in the world to make sure a helicopter never took to the air again. She glanced around the cockpit for a few seconds and decided that sabotaging the collective was the best option, because without one of those this bird wasn't flying anywhere.
She removed the panel at its base and was faced with a thick bundle of multi-colored wires. She was about to pull them out when she heard his voice.
“Come out with your hands up, Miss Donovan.”
It was Zaugg, and he sounded pleased and in control.
Lea climbed out of the helicopter with her hands raised.
“Give Herr Baumann the weapon, please.”
She tossed the submachine gun on the deck, cursing herself for screwing things up yet again.
“I want you to know I already have men searching the ship for your two friends. There’s nowhere to hide on the Thalassa and they will be caught in good time.”
“It’s too late, Zaugg. They’ve already taken out your engines.”
“We shall see about that… I’m very disappointed in you, Lea,” Zaugg drawled. “And I think we both know what happens to people who disappoint me.”
As he spoke, Baumann unfurled a length of rope from a mounted holder on the side of the yacht. For you, it is time to join Senor Grasso.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The silhouette of the Thalassa appeared on the horizon, and Hawke and the others prepared to go to war. He’d done enough fast rope drills in his time to know what was coming, and for that reason Yannis Demetriou would be staying on board the chopper with the crew until the yacht was secured.
Hart’s V Squadron men readied the abseiling equipment at the doors while Pavlopoulos and his men were calmly talking in Greek and pointing out the window at the water below. Scarlet checked her weapons and tied her hair back.
Hawke watched her and smiled.
“I want to look my best for when I kill Zaugg,” she said.
Then the chopper veered heavily to the right, causing everyone to hold on to the grab handles and steady themselves. “They know we’re here!” shouted the pilot. “We’re coming under heavy fire.”
The pilot took more evasive action before swinging around to a parallel position along the portside. Chief swung open the door and unleashed a terrific burst of fire from the M60 clamped inside the chopper. It spat fire all over the boat, splitting the wooden deck and taking out two rows of cabin windows on the superyacht’s upper deck.
“Damn that’s fun!” he shouted, spinning the gun around to take out an offensive position on the rear deck. Down on the boat, the surviving men scattered to take cover.
“We can’t get near the rear deck and the helipad,” the pilot told them over the radio. “Too heavily defended. We’ll go to the front as per Plan B and you fight your way back.”
The pilot brought the chopper down to a hovering position over the broader front deck and Hawke led the way down the ropes while Chief provided cover with the M60. Then with Chief on the deck, the chopper banked hard to the right and flew to safety.
It was time to fight.
As soon as they were on the deck, they fanned out in a standard position and began their assault. Hawke staked out his territory by firing into the bridge and taking out two men in a hail of hot lead and smashed glass. Maybe he would get back in the saddle faster than he thought.
He approached the lower deck, submachine gun raised, butt in his shoulder and eye firmly down the sights. A man appeared at the top of a flight of metal steps on the starboard side of the yacht. He was holding a pistol, but a cool double-tap from Hawke and he was over the side of the boat, gun and all.
Between Hawke, Scarlet, Pavlopoulos and one of his men, they made the classic four-man SAS patrol, with Sparky set up behind them on the bow with the M60, pinning down Zaugg’s men inside the boat. On the other side of the boat Hart led Chief and the other two Greek men.
Hawke’s unit arrived at a door on the starboard side which he smashed open with a solid kick from his boot. Behind them they heard more blood-curdling screams as Sparky took out another man on the bridge.