We all agree to keep digging and hang up, going back to our research.
One of the technicians picks up an incoming boat not registered on the harbormaster doctrine. A few minutes later, a DEA agent on the highway team reports a convoy of shipping trucks crossing the state line outside of Savannah.
This could mean nothing, just like so many other nights we’ve thought we’ve gotten ahead of the game. But the difference is, tonight, my gut is telling me this is it.
At two a.m., we get our break. The convoy pulls up to the dock where the boat slipped in earlier.
“Gear up,” Kelly commands, sending a dozen of us scrambling.
We’ve planned for this, run through the scenarios, and every man knows his place. DEA isn’t shutting me out; I’m in for the raid.
Once we’re all equipped with the right communications and vests, we break into our groups. Kelly, a DEA agent, and myself take off on foot, going through the dark alleys between the warehouses, until we have a clear vision of the activity.
A few men gather in a huddle talking, before one of them barks out a command and the others move to their trucks. I watch as crates, disguised as produce, are unloaded and transferred to the boat.
“Our divers are in place. One is climbing up now. When we have confirmation, we’re on,” our DEA contact whispers.
Kelly and I draw our weapons, knowing the other teams are doing the same. As soon as we get the word, we’re going in.
Another ten minutes passes, my adrenaline spiking with each second. From what I can see, we have over a dozen men between the trucks and the boat. If I’m right, it’s a man on man scenario because there are twelve of us spread out.
“We’ve got confirmation. Drugs are in the crates.” The agent does a five-second countdown with his hand. “Good luck, men,” he says before storming forward.
“DEA! FREEZE AND DROP IT!” can be heard from all directions.
The men drop their crates and grab weapons. Bullets fly all around as chaos ensues. People pile off the boat, firing in every direction. I realize too late we’ve underestimated their manpower. Flash bombs explode, hindering my vision, and I duck behind a dumpster to let the smoke clear.
I spot two men coming off the boat with machine guns, and I fire, one of them dropping instantly. The other slides behind a truck for cover. The noise becomes deafening as everyone yells orders. A shot whizzes by my ear, and I drop to my knees and fire again, hearing a loud thud from a body falling.
The firefight continues as we close in, Kelly and I are close enough to communicate with only our eyes. There’s a loud roar of an engine starting as someone tries to take off in one of the trucks. We both aim and shoot out the tires. He jerks his head to the right, and I go left to get to the boat.
I use as much cover as I can until I’m forced into the open, bolting across the open expanse. In a split second, I count a dozen bodies down, three of them with DEA vests.
“Fuck!” I scream and spot a flash out of the corner of my eye right before I hear the shot.
I go down, feeling my ribs crack with the impact to my vest. My head bounces off the pavement, temporarily stunning me. There’s another shot, this time grazing my thigh, and a searing pain shoots through my leg. I have no choice but to roll to my stomach and crawl on my elbows to the nearest truck, using the wheel to hoist myself to standing. My ribs and leg scream in protest as I reload, ready to spin and fire.
But I don’t get the chance. Out of nowhere, my ankles are jerked out from under me, and I go down again, this time, landing so hard I know something’s broken.
The breath is knocked out of me, but my instincts kick in and I fight, kicking with all my force at the man holding my feet. There’s a crack followed by a howl of pain. I shoot in the direction and feel a spray of warm blood hit my face.
The next thing I hear is the sound of a gun being cocked at my head. Training from the Army pulses in my veins, but Emi’s face flashes through my head. I could risk my life, turn on this guy and try to overtake him.
But the danger is too great.
I drop my gun and raise my hands, knowing I’ll get out of this for her.
Chapter 26
Emi
Maren and Nina hold me back as I fight, trying to get my arms free to throttle the man blocking me. He’s eyeing me like I’m a madwoman, his hand resting on his hip, where I assume is a gun, or a taser, or something meant to subdue hysterical women trying to claw his eyes out.
“Where is Captain Corny?” I scream, not caring the whole station is gawking.
“Ma’am, Captain Cornelius isn’t taking visitors right now.”
“He’ll see me!”