Stranded (A Samantha Starr Thriller, Book 4) Read online

  She thrust out her chin. “I’ll have you know I’ve shot plenty of people.”

  “Really? Who’d you shoot?”

  “Last fall, I shot a bunch of bad guys who attacked us during our round-the-world charter flight with Sam—and my ex-husband still has a bullet scar on his ass from when I caught him humpin’ Becky Sue Harper.” She glanced at me. “Right, Sam?”

  “Carlene’s not that drunk, and I’d trust her to have my back in a shootout.” I nodded at her. “I’ve seen her in action, and she never misses.”

  Bryce sucked in his breath. “Don’t make me regret this.” He motioned to the soldier with Carlene. “Sergeant, loan this woman your spare pistol.”

  The soldier handed Carlene the weapon, and she checked the magazine and racked the slide.

  “Let’s roll.” She stuck the Glock 26 in her jacket pocket and resumed strolling toward the new hangar with her hot escort.

  “Eh, Bryce, shouldn’t we come up with a defensive plan? There’s only four of you, plus Carlene and me. If the mercs show up before reinforcements arrive…”

  “My men know what to do. Just follow my orders and you’ll be fine.”

  I sighed and followed Lt. Hard Ass into the new hangar.

  The spotless painted concrete floor sparkled in the bright overhead lights. Sweetwater was holding court in the center, where a buffet table was adorned with aircraft ice sculptures and sterling platters piled high with delicious looking gourmet meats and vegetables. Several linen-covered tables and padded chairs bordered the buffet. Waiters with silver trays of Bollinger Champagne in crystal flutes circulated through the crowd of dignitaries. Captains of industry mingled with members of the nobility, fashion models, and movie stars.

  Newly restored airplanes representing military aircraft from early designs up to WWII airplanes in use at the end of the war stood proudly throughout the giant hangar. A German Me-262 twin-engine jet fighter with a swastika on the tail looked ready to takeoff. If the war had lasted longer, that jet might’ve turned the tide in Germany’s favor. A Russian Yak-9 sported blue and gray camouflage paint with the distinctive red stars on the tail and sides of the aft fuselage. A satin ribbon stretched between the two venerable WWII fighters, ready for us to cut it, and an oak pedestal table under the ribbon held two pairs of gold-plated scissors.

  I worried that a gun battle would ruin all these rare and beautiful airplanes, not to mention what could happen to all the VIPs. I longed for a return to normalcy in the left seat of a Boeing 767. Flying for Luxury International Airlines was far less stressful than what I’d been through the past several months. I’d be back in the cockpit soon if I managed to survive this day.

  I glanced at the podium. Sweetwater made a brief speech about preserving military aircraft and their role in world history.

  “And now, Sir Lady Samantha Starr and Actress Carlene Jensen will cut the ribbon,” the MC said.

  We faced each other with our scissors poised and simultaneously cut the red satin ribbon. As everyone cheered, I glanced around and couldn’t see Sweetwater anywhere.

  I turned and looked through the open hangar door just as his Rolls pulled away.

  Uh oh.

  I glanced around at all the people and airplanes, searching for a plan that would avoid bloodshed and destruction if Sweetwater’s mercenaries burst in. Dammit! No one would be in danger if I weren’t here. I focused on the smallest member of the four-man SAS team. He was my height—five-nine—and lean but broad-shouldered.

  I grabbed Carlene and faced the soldier. “We can avoid an attack here, but I’ll need your help.”

  Bryce was right behind me. “And just what did you have in mind, Sam?”

  “I’m about the same size as this guy.” I smiled at the soldier. “What’s your name?”

  “Kyle.”

  “Kyle, I’ll wear your uniform and sneak out before the mercs arrive, which might be any minute. You and Carlene will be undressed in the back office, pretending to fool around. The soldiers will waste time searching for us, allowing me time to get away.”

  “I can’t do that,” Kyle said. “I’m on duty.”

  Bryce frowned. “What is Kyle supposed to wear?”

  “He can put on my flight suit after the soldiers find him. It might be a little tight in the shoulders, but it’ll fit. When they discover I’m gone, there’ll be no reason for them to hurt anyone.”

  Carlene slid her hands up Kyle’s muscular chest. “Fine with me, but we don’t need to pretend anything.” She nibbled his ear and grinned.

  Kyle stiffened and took a step back.

  “Forget it, Miss Jensen,” Bryce said. “This is a potential combat situation.”

  “When the mercs ask about my whereabouts, tell them I was last seen in the ladies’ room.” I glanced from Kyle to Bryce. “This way, there won’t be any shooting.”

  Bryce’s eyes skewered me. After a brief pause, he said, “Fine, but I’m going with you.” He waved the hot sergeant over and said, “We have a plan for Kyle to switch clothes with Sam and pretend to bed Carlene in the back office so Sam and I can sneak out. We’re trying to avoid a shootout with Sweetwater’s soldiers, so tell Chris not to fire unless fired upon. If they ask about Sam, say she went to the restroom. Got it?”

  The sergeant frowned, clearly disappointed he wasn’t the one chosen to get undressed with Carlene. “Aye, sir, understood.”

  “Sorry, sugar, but you’re too tall and muscular to fit in Sam’s flight suit.” Carlene gave him a soft kiss.

  “The office is near the restrooms.” I grabbed Kyle’s arm. “Let’s hurry.”

  Carlene grabbed his other arm like we were headed off for a threesome. Bryce hung back and watched the hallway, and the sergeant and other soldier remained vigilant in the hangar.

  I shrugged out of my flight suit and stood in lacy red undies—my attempt to stay connected to my femininity, and Carlene stripped down to her sheer pink bra and panties.

  Kyle stood frozen in visual overload. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable with my unorthodox plan.

  “Hey, Kyle! Hurry up and strip. We may not have much time.” I handed him my flight suit.

  I hung onto my leather bomber jacket with the call sign “Bombshell” emblazoned on the left breast. My brother Matt’s Navy fighter squadron had given it to me after I landed a Boeing 727 on their aircraft carrier, and that jacket meant a lot to me.

  Carlene helped Kyle get undressed while I put on his uniform. She was quite adept at peeling off a man’s clothes.

  Usually, SAS soldiers wore all-black uniforms and black helmets with tinted visors to look extra intimidating. But this was supposed to be a fun event with lots of dignitaries, so the team wore camouflage fatigues and matching berets. I stuffed my hair into the beret and buttoned the shirt.

  By the time I was fully dressed, Kyle was dancing around in his boxers, struggling to fend off Carlene. An aggressive maneater, she was accustomed to getting her way.

  I pulled a tapestry off the wall. “Get under this and wait for the assault.”

  Bryce met me in the hall. He followed me inside the ladies’ room and guarded the door, while I opened the window and shoved an upturned trash bin under it.

  “One more thing.” I stepped into a toilet stall, locked the door, and slid out under it. “Maybe the locked stall and window ploy will slow them down. Let’s go.”

  Bryce led me to a door in the back of the hangar. We slipped out and sprinted to an employee lot where we found a Triumph 800XC dirt bike with a helmet on the dual seat.

  “I’ll look for a key in the saddlebags.” I unbuckled the left bag.

  He raised a brow. “You’re wasting time.” He pulled out his combat knife to work on hotwiring the ignition.

  I found a key in a zippered side compartment. “Try this.” I handed him the key.

  He stuck it in the ignition, turned it, and hit the start button. The engine purred.

  “I’ll drive so you can shoot at bad guys.” I
pulled the big helmet on over my beret and straddled the bike.

  He stood with his hands on his hips. “Are you sure you can handle one of these?”

  “I rode one exactly like this in Scotland last summer, and I have a Ducati Diavel back home.” I revved the engine. “Let’s go.”

  We zoomed out of the lot and raced south on the two-lane highway. After a few minutes, I glanced back toward the airfield and spotted four unmarked black helicopters converging on Duxford.

  Damn!

  I turned off onto a dirt path and sped deep into a forest to give us cover from the helicopters. We parked under a huge oak tree surrounded by mature trees and bushes.

  “We can shove the bike inside these bushes and hide up in that tree until your buddies from Credenhill arrive.” I pointed up at the old, well-formed boughs in the oak.

  “No one will know we’re here until I call them.” Bryce sat sideways on the Triumph’s seat. “We can relax.”

  “If only that were true.” I shook my head. “When the mercenaries discover I’m not at Duxford, they’ll come looking for me in their well-armed helicopters. Their infrared sensors will paint us and the warm motorcycle engine, and then they’ll send men to investigate.”

  He studied the tree. “The density of surrounding trees and bushes will prevent the enemy shooting from a distance at an angle. We’ll wait from above and take them out when they enter the kill zone.”

  “My thoughts exactly, and your SAS mates will know our position thanks to my new watch with a GPS locator.” I tapped the DOXA dive watch DARPA had sent me last week. It replaced the one Sweetwater had thrown in the ocean a few months ago.

  I pulled back some branches so he could shove our stolen bike into the bushes. Then we arranged the branches to cover it. Afterward, I unbuckled my helmet strap.

  He glanced at me. “May as well keep the helmet on in case you fall out of the tree.”

  “Seriously? I admit I tend to be a danger magnet, but I’m not a klutz. And I’ll aim better without this oversized helmet obstructing my view.” I pulled it off, shoved it into the bush, and rearranged my hair inside the beret.

  The helmet maneuver earned me an angry glare. He stood next to the oak tree. “Ready? I’ll give you a boost up.”

  I climbed up and found a thick branch protruding from the west side of the trunk. It had lots of side branches and would protect me from bullets fired upward. Bryce settled opposite me on the east side of the trunk so we could cover both sides of the tree. It wasn’t long before we heard the thumping blades of an approaching helicopter.

  We rechecked our weapons and waited in silence.

  Fifteen minutes passed before the helicopter flew over us. It hovered above us and then flew a short distance away, probably to land in the open field bordering the forest.

  “They’re coming,” he whispered. “Wait until I fire.”

  “Understood.” I peered down from the wide bough, my heart hammering my chest.

  It wasn’t long before men seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They crept closer, slowly moving from tree to tree as they focused their green laser sights on the bush with the motorcycle. Their leader held up a fist, signaling stop. Looking out from behind a nearby tree, he swung his MP7 with an infrared scope upward and paused with it pointed at our hiding place.

  “We have you surrounded. No use being a hero. Send the woman down and we’ll let you live. Nobody needs to die today.” Speaking with a Russian accent, he had his face covered with a balaclava like the other men who briefly peeked out from behind trees.

  There were six of them.

  I knew my boyfriend and his team well enough to know that SAS soldiers never back down or give up. Bryce would be the same. This had to be a one-shot-one-kill mission for us if we had any chance of surviving.

  “You’ve got five seconds to send her down or we start shooting. One…two…three…four…”

  When the leader peeked out, Bryce took him out with a head shot.

  Another guy leaned out for a shot, and Bryce put a bullet in his head too.

  I ducked as they sprayed our tree with bullets. When they paused to reload, I shot a guy under me and a man to his right. They must’ve thought they were safe on my side of the tree, having assumed I wasn’t armed.

  Now it was two against two, but not for long.

  They blasted out another barrage of bullets our way and then ducked behind trees.

  When the guy on my side peeked out, I shot him. Bryce hit the other guy. I still had eight rounds in my Glock and another full magazine.

  “What now?” I whispered.

  “Stay here. I’ll climb down and hand the weapons up to you. They’re sure to send more men when this team fails to report.” He dropped down and gathered the weapons.

  In a few minutes, we had six MP7 submachine guns with extra magazines and six Sig Sauer pistols. I piled the pistols on my lap. The MP7s had straps, so they were easier to manage.

  Bryce slung the nearest dead guy over his shoulder and carried him up into a nearby tree. He did the same with all the bodies, distributing them in several trees on our perimeter.

  He climbed back up to me. “Let’s hope they get here while the bodies are still warm. They won’t know where to shoot.”

  I handed him three MP7s and waited for him to sling them over his broad shoulders. Then I gave him extra magazines. I still had all the pistols on my lap. “Do you want any of these?”

  “Give me four. It’s times like this when all my zippered pockets come in handy. Use the thigh pockets for the pistols and the extra mags.” He pointed as he began shoving weapons in pockets. Then he pulled out his cell and sent a text to Ross, even though he’d already know our location from my GPS watch.

  A reply came back almost instantly. “They know we’re here. Ross said to hold out a few more minutes. Uh, Sam, have you ever fired an MP7?”

  “Yeah, I’ve had a lot of experience with MP5s and MP7s.”

  “Were you in the military?”

  “No, but I have twin brothers in the U.S. Navy. One’s a SEAL and the other is a fighter pilot. They taught me a lot. So did Ross.” No need to tell him they had nothing to do with my automatic weapons expertise. Too long a story.

  Our quiet conversation was interrupted by the thundering blades of several helicopters. I prayed they were from the SAS headquarters in Credenhill.

  Trees shook, and their leaves fluttered like crazy as deafening rotor blades filled the forest with artificial thunder. The sun sank low on the horizon, darkening the kill zone.

  “Oh God, it sounds like the other three helicopters are overhead. If each one has the same number of men as the first team, we’ll be up against eighteen bad guys,” I said.

  “Relax, we have the high ground and automatic weapons with plenty of ammo. Just sit tight and wait.” He sounded calm and confident. “The warm bodies will confuse them. Be ready to open fire when I do.”

  I’d had plenty of experience with SAS soldiers. One thing they had in common was fearlessness in combat. Me…not so much.

  “Okay, I’ll fire the submachine guns first and hope we don’t run out of ammo before the good guys arrive.” I arranged the shoulder straps so I could easily switch weapons.

  “About that,” he said. “When you hear more helicopters arrive, hunker down behind these thick limbs and stay out of the line of fire while our guys destroy the enemy.”

  “Uh, they know not to shoot up in this tree, right?”

  “Yes, but we don’t want to confuse anyone by firing while they engage the enemy.”

  “Understood.” I held an MP7 and tried not to tremble.

  Enemy combatants moved silently through the bushes and trees, their green laser sights searching for us. They pointed their weapons at the bodies arranged in the trees. It seemed like the ruse was working.

  Then blood dripped onto a nearby soldier, and he focused on the body in the tree above him. He must’ve recognized the face. He said, “Our missing team is in the tr
ees. I think they’re all dead. Victor’s up there, dripping blood.”

  Another soldier said, “There are eight targets. Figure out which two aren’t dead. Try to take the woman alive.”

  It wasn’t long before all the lasers were pointed in our direction. They couldn’t aim without peeking out from behind the trees.

  Bryce opened fire, taking out two men in seconds and wounding some of the others. I sprayed the men on my side with bullets. Two went down. The others ducked back behind trees.

  They fanned out slowly and flanked us, firing from all directions while we took cover behind the thick boughs. I didn’t dare peek out with bullets splintering the wood near me. They seemed to be focusing all their fire in one place on the underside of my tree limb. Could their bullets cut down the branch?

  The sound of fast-approaching helicopters was nearly lost in the fusillade of automatic weapons firing. We waited until some of them had to reload. When there was a pause, we peeked out and took aim.

  I managed to nail two more bad guys when they poked their heads out, and Bryce took out four in rapid fire. Then the barrage started again. My branch made a cracking sound and dropped two inches.

  I barely heard Bryce say, “Stay down.”

  The forest lit up with gunfire like strobe lights flashing on the trees. SAS teams surrounded the enemy and a fierce battle ensued. The deafening gunfire didn’t last long. After a brief silence, I heard several men shout, “Clear!”

  The forest was silent again. Then my boyfriend yelled, “Manning, report!”

  “We’re in the big oak. The other bodies up in the trees are dead.”

  I leaned my head around the trunk and looked at Bryce. His shoulder was soaked with blood.

  “You’re bleeding!” Shaking, I lurched up, heard a loud crack, and fell out of the tree as my branch split in half.

  Luckily, Ross was standing below us and caught me.

  “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

  Bryce dropped down and looked at me. “You should’ve worn the helmet.”

  “Ross, call an air ambulance. Bryce has been shot!”