The Socotra Incident by Richard Fox

and in her pocketbook all the cash she’d found squirreled away in his suitcase. Shannon insisted the mess look like a robbery gone wrong. High-end call girls had a tendency to rip off their Johns, and that’s exactly what it would look like when hotel security arrived to investigate the anonymous tip that would come after Natalie was out of danger.
    She felt her limbs go leaden as the adrenaline high melted away. An ache in her elbow and a sprained toe from the inexpertly placed kick to his groin caressed her with a promise of lasting pain.
    She pushed the call button to the elevator with cracked nails and trembling fingers.
    The last time she’d come down from an adrenaline high like this she’d been in Iraq with Ritter. The embarrassment of losing control resurfaced, and her face flushed.
    “Come on,” she said as she pushed the button again. She took the cash and credit cards from the wallet and tossed the leather billfold into the trash can adjacent to the elevator doors.
    “Congratulations, Natalie. You just bought a cruise missile,” Shannon said.
    The doors opened with a ding , and Natalie stepped inside. She turned around, waiting for the door to the man’s room to burst open and for him to run out with the gun she knew she’d missed during the search of his room.
    The doors closed without incident. Natalie pressed a hand to her face and took a ragged breath.
     
    Devereaux’s SEALs would assault the Opongsan from Ospreys, which was the cherry on the top of Ritter’s otherwise-miserable day. He and Mike stood at the end of a line of SEALs, ready to quickly rope from the rear hatch of the Osprey to the deck of the Opongsan .
    Ritter shifted the weight of the body armor, ammo pouches, and the SCAR battle rifle attached to his chest. He and Mike wore the same gear as the rest of the SEALs, no matter how unfamiliar they were with it. As part of the Caliban Program, they fought dressed as their enemy to blend in with their surroundings; the attire was rarely more than civilian clothes and a pistol. The same principle applied here.
    He looked out the open side hatch and saw wave tops undulating in the moonlight, the smell of salty air betraying just how low to the deck the pilots were flying. The team medic had plenty of Dramamine, and Ritter’s pride had hit its limit during the long flight from Italy.
    The sea vanished as the Osprey banked hard and climbed into the air. Ritter’s arm shot out and steadied himself against the maneuver that tilted the aircraft almost on its side. The rest of the operators and Mike hardly flinched.
    The SEALs were eerily silent during the entire flight from the Reagan to the Opongsan. They’d seethed with a tense energy the whole trip, like racehorses at the gate.
    A red light spun to life over the aft hatch, and the Osprey leveled out. The hatch whined open with painful slowness.
    A SEAL with a sniper rifle stood at the starboard side of the hatch, scanning the deck of the Opongsan as it came into view through his scope. A SEAL built like a fire truck stood next to him; a rope as thick as Ritter’s wrists was coiled in his arms and attached to a hook in the roof of the Osprey. He threw the rope into the night air, coiled his arms and legs around it, and slid away.
    Ritter’s heart pounded so hard that he swore his gear rattled as his turn approached. Just hold on for dear life and let gravity do the work , he thought. He’d trained for this kind of air assault for most of a day…three years ago at the Fort Campbell air-assault course.
    Mike, right in front of him, slid down the rope like he’d practiced the maneuver every time he got out of bed.
    The rope swung back toward Ritter, and he reached for it with both hands. His gloved fingers wrapped around the rope, and he clenched it for all he was worth. As he pulled the rope toward him and stepped forward to snake his legs around the rope, the Osprey rocked with a sudden burst of turbulence.
    A bolt of terror coursed