Black wind

Dirk tried to assess his wounds. “Finish the mission.”
    As he spoke, the powerful motors of the Benetti yacht gurgled to life. Dirk looked up to see more gunfire erupt from the boat’s dockside gunwale as a pair of crewmen worked down the length of the vessel, one cutting the mooring lines while the other sprayed covering fire across the deck.
    “We’ll get them,” Dirk said to the prone man, patting his shoulder. Reluctantly leaving the injured soldier, he stood up and sprinted toward the yacht. The yacht’s motors began to rumble loudly as the throttles were shoved to full. A foaming torrent boiled off the transom as the boat’s propellers cut into the water.
    A few feet ahead of Pitt, Gutierrez let off a quick burst of fire aimed at the starboard passageway, then stood and barked, “Let’s get aboard!”
    Dirk bolted past Gutierrez and the other SEAL at a dead run as the two commandos scrambled to chase after the departing yacht. The crack of an automatic pistol belched somewhere above Dirk three times and he could hear the whine as the bullets flew just over his head. A loud thud resonated from the dock behind him and a voice shouted out “I’m hit” just as Dirk leaped off the dock.
    The fleeing yacht was only a few feet removed from the dock when Dirk jumped and he easily grasped the side railing midair and pulled
    himself aboard in a single fluid move, dropping to the deck and lying still on the darkened stern. A second later, a thump banged against the side as another body jumped onto the side of the moving boat. Dirk saw the outline of a black-camouflaged man quickly slide over the railing and onto the deck a few feet behind him.
    “It’s Pitt here,” he whispered back to the shadow, not wishing to get shot by mistake. “Who’s there?”
    “Gutierrez,” came the gravelly voice of the SEAL commander. “We need to get to the wheelhouse and stop this craft.”
    Gutierrez started to get up and creep forward when Dirk stuck out his hand in a halting motion. Both men froze as Dirk trained his eyes and ears on the port side of the deck. On the far side, he could see that a stairwell led down from an open observation deck above their heads. As the yacht headed into the cove, the lights from the dock flared over the boat’s stern and Dirk detected a slight movement in the shadows of the stairwell. Slowly unholstering his 9mm, he took a bead on the shadowy spot and waited. When the shadow suddenly appeared to descend a step, Dirk squeezed the SIG Sauer’s trigger twice.
    A metallic clunk rang across the deck from a fallen handgun and the long shadow slumped down the stairwell into the visible mass of a crumpled man dressed in black fatigues.
    “Nice shooting,” Gutierrez grumbled. “Now, let’s move.”
    As the commando crept forward, Dirk followed close behind, nearly losing his footing and slipping to the deck at one point. Glancing down, he noticed the deck was covered in a pool of blood from the gunman Gutierrez had shot from the dock. The dead man’s body lay facedown next to a teak bar, a bent cigarette still clenched between his lips.
    Roaring away from the brightly lit dock, the yacht was now enshrouded in total darkness as it sped across the cove at top speed. Nearly all of the boat’s lights had been extinguished, save for a few dim interior floor lights The two men felt their way along to the main
    rear cabin that housed the dining salon and skirted around to the starboard-deck passageway. Gutierrez suddenly raised a hand and stopped, taking a step back toward the salon.
    “There’s next to no cover along the side passageways. It would be better if we split up. Take the port passage and try to move forward. I’ll work up the starboard side here,” Gutierrez directed, knowing another gunman was likely waiting around the corner. “We better work fast, before we end up sailing to the wrong side of the DMZ.”
    Dirk nodded. “See you on the bridge,” he whispered, then darted across the stern deck. With his senses tuned high, he edged around the portside corner and stepped onto the teak passageway leading forward. Distant gunfire from the shore rattled over the yacht’s pulsating engines, but Dirk was focused on the sounds aboard the boat. Padding silently, he crept forward until the passageway ended at a stairwell. The bridge was almost in reach now, just up a level and another thirty feet. As he peered up the stairs, the loud bark of automatic gunfire suddenly cracked