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.
Puller glanced over at the women. Carson looked determined, focused. Landry the same. However, Diaz looked apprehensive, unsure.
“Your partner isn’t looking too good,” said Puller.
“She will be fine.”
“You know her well?”
“I don’t know her at all.”