Emma's breath fogged the cracked Rolex face. "You think I'd choose him?" Her Valentino blouse clung to tactical armor plating.
I traced the SCAR-H's serial number for focus. "Convince me."
"Seagull call at 0300." She pressed closer, Dior Poison mixing with cordite. "Wants the breaching axe."
The storm front mirrored my rage. Lightning revealed Jack's silhouette near the fuel drums - his prison tattoos glowing like live wires.
Emma's Cartier nail traced my ballistic vest. "Kate's damaged goods." Her whisper carried runway-model precision. "I'm fully operational."
When her fingers found the quick-release, I trapped her wrist with Marine Corps hand-to-hand precision. "Survival isn't pornography."
Raindrops ignited the tarmac. We staggered back to the cargo hold where Daisy jury-rigged chem lights to structural beams. The Boeing's skeleton groaned under atmospheric pressure shifts.
"Firewatch protocol." I redistributed glow sticks. Kate's trembling fingers nearly dropped her SIG Sauer.
The deluge hit with Special Forces ambush intensity. Daisy's NVGs revealed the truth - our signal fire drowning in biblical floods. "Relocate!"
We became waterlogged phantoms hauling gear through fuselage intestines. The cargo bay's reinforced netting hung like spider silk in the strobe lightning.
"Load-bearing capacity?" I shouted over thunder.
Daisy fired three test rounds through the Kevlar mesh. "30kN minimum." Her split lips formed a combat grin.
The fishing operation unfolded with SEAL-team precision. Emma's Rolex backlight timed the riptides. Kate manned the radio carcass as decoy. Daisy and I waded into the kill zone with mesh stretched taut.
First pass yielded bluefin thrashing against aerospace-grade restraints. Emma's celebratory gunshot nearly struck my dive knife.
"Ceasefire!" I breached the surface to find Jack's glass spear embedded in our catch. His laughter carried from the cliffside.
"Eyes on!" Daisy's warning came as the squall intensified. We abandoned the net to drag Kate back to the cargo hold's steel womb.
Dawn revealed the true prize - not fish, but the emergency locator beacon fused into the netting's counterbalance system. Daisy's brand pulsed in sync with its transmission light.
"Coast Guard encryption." Kate decrypted through chattering teeth. "48-hour response window."
Emma reloaded magazines with Broadway flair. "Should've fucked me when you had the chance."
Daisy's hand signal cut through the tension: