Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
OFF-THE-GRID LOCATION IN PENNSYLVANIA
Griffin stripped free of his rucksack and gear, and hissed under his breath, frustrated and annoyed with his aching body for having the audacity to be such a whiny baby. He was only thirty-nine, but after the grueling morning, he felt as old as Methuselah. He grabbed two Motrin from one of the desk drawers nearby and dry-swallowed them. Back in the Army, he used to pop them like candy. But today, hell, the last two weeks, he’d been feeling more like a new recruit, and it sucked.
Griffin peered over at his boss, Carter Dominick, curious as to what thoughts were running through his head. He was leaning against the ATV they used to travel through the tunnels when in a hurry to escape what Griffin liked to joke was Batman’s lair.
Their new base of operations was hidden inside the Pocono Mountains near Bushkill Falls. The bunker was constructed during the Cold War as a nuclear fallout site by some tycoon back in the day.
Griffin lifted his gaze, wondering if there had ever been stalactites above him before the bunker had stamped out nature altogether, and there were only clean lines and hard man-made surfaces from wall to wall. Well, until you reached the exit tunnels, and then it felt more like they were inside a network of caves.
He didn’t bother to ask his boss how he could afford this place or who he’d acquired the bunker from, especially at the last minute. Carter kept everything close to the vest and on a need-to-know basis, and he never talked about himself. He also refused to acknowledge the rumors that he had piles of cash tucked away in about every pocket of the earth as if he were saving up for a Noah’s ark-sized rainy day.
Since Carter’s life had been splashed all over the news years ago, he was somewhat of an open book in that regard. That is, if the media stories were to be believed, which Griffin wasn’t so sure. So, he opted not to bring up the man’s painful past. It wasn’t like Griffin wanted to talk about his own life or the ghosts that haunted him.
“Are we done making sure these boys can hang with us?” Griffin asked Carter, hoping for an affirmative.
Carter stroked his dark beard, eyes carefully tracking the other three men inside the bunker. “They weren’t required to undergo and survive the navigation phase of selection like we were. I have to make sure they can hack it.”
The navigation phase, designated the “stress test” of selection into the Army’s most elite unit, meant carrying a too-damn-heavy rucksack through the Appalachian Mountains using an old-school map and compass to complete a forty-mile mission. The test required you to make it to the rendezvous point by a specified time. One minute late and you were out. It was a hell of a lot harder than it sounded, and ninety percent of the guys quit before moving on to the psychological evaluations, where more would drop like flies. Landing a position with the Unit, commonly known to the public as Delta Force, was considered next to impossible.
“And you had to drag me along for the ride, huh? I was twelve years younger than I am now when you and I qualified back then.” Griffin turned his attention to the other three team members Carter had somehow acquired at a Navy SEAL’s wedding of all places.
“Well, I need a massage. Or maybe an ice bath. Or both,” Oliver said around a yawn. Oliver Lucas was basically the reason why Carter began working with the two other men, Gray Chandler and Jack London.
Oliver had had some shit luck this year while working a bodyguard gig in Dubai, and Griffin and Carter had assisted a group of SEALs in what amounted to a rescue mission to ensure Oliver didn’t wind up executed by the Saudis for a crime he didn’t commit. Being a good ol’ Army boy and in need of a job, Carter had offered him one. But Gray Chandler, who ran a security firm out west, also wanted Oliver on his team.
From what Carter told Griffin, they’d argued over Oliver in the midst of the wedding reception, and in a bizarre turn of events, the men had decided, then and there, to join forces.
And although Gray was going to co-run the new team with Carter, Carter liked to be a serious pain in the ass to new recruits.
He’d been one hell of a hard-ass to Griffin last year when he’d recruited him despite the fact they’d gone through selection together twelve years ago. Carter hadn’t had an official company per se when he’d offered Griffin a job, but apparently, during the years since Carter had left the CIA, he’d been handling missions of his own choosing with men from all over the globe.
And now the plan was for his people to work alongside Gray’s, but based on the last two weeks of training, Griffin wasn’t so sure that would pan out.
Gray and Jack were more old-school Army, and Griffin assumed the rest of their men back in California were of the same garden variety. Whereas Carter was the definition of a wild card, which was what had drawn Griffin to working with him. That and the six-figure income.
“Now that we proved we can, uh, hang with you fuckers,” Jack began, winking at Griffin just to be an ass, “when do we spin up on our first job? My trigger finger is itchy.”
For some reason, he and Jack had been butting heads since the moment they began training together two weeks ago. He couldn’t imagine working alongside Jack out in the field, considering he’d wanted to kill him more than a few times while running practice missions and field training with the man.
Gray wasn’t so bad. And damn, for a guy who’d lost part of his leg in a helo crash while serving, he kept up with everyone. Passed a few of them on the trails too.
“We’ll be back at this again tomorrow,” was all Carter said as he pushed away from the vehicle and twirled a finger in the air, signaling for them all to get the hell out.
“So, that’s a no on being done with training, then?” Jack asked with a touch of humor to his tone.
Carter took a knee when Dallas, his Alaskan Malamute, headed toward him after jumping off the leather couch at the center of the place that was loaded with enough artillery to weaponize Philly.
“I don’t think we’re meshing all that well based on what I’ve seen in the field,” Carter explained, which was an understatement. They weren’t jiving together at all. “We can’t operate until we can learn to trust each other.”
Oliver unstrapped his vest full of mags as he said, “Well, I don’t have any trust issues. But I think these two boys do.” He stored the vest in its place and waved a finger between Jack and Griffin.
“We should probably divide into teams. East and West Coast. We’ll head back to Cali and stick with our other team members out there,” Jack suggested, ignoring Oliver’s comment or maybe speaking up because of it. “You guys stay here in your Batman bunker.” Jack shot Griffin a lopsided smile. “How about we divide into the Spartans and Trojans?”
Griffin lifted his palms in the air and stepped closer to the comedian. “I’m not a condom company, and based on that smart mouth of yours, you probably don’t have any use for them. Doubt you’re getting laid.” Even if the ass did look like Ryan Reynolds, the actor everyone seemed to love. Well, not me. Not anymore.
Jack barked out a laugh and locked eyes with Griffin, then said, “Projecting much, Griff?” Yeah, there was something simmering behind his eyes. Griffin had hit a nerve, hadn’t he?
But Carter wanted them to work together, so he’d back off out of respect for his boss.
“Military call signs, then?” Oliver proposed, and now they were all standing around Carter and Dallas.
“Nah, twenty years in the Army, bro, and I’m done with all the acronyms.” Griffin was a bit more polite this time since he was speaking to Oliver, and there was no tension between them. Not that he knew what Jack’s beef with him was, but it was there-there-fucking-there. Maybe I should ask? He thought about it for a hot second. Nah.
Jack snapped his fingers and nodded. “I think Oliver’s right.”
“Okay, how about three teams. And you can be a one-man show.” Griffin returned his attention to Jack. “Let’s go with whiskey, tango, foxtrot. Because what the fuck, man.” Griffin shook his head, remembering how many times he’d repeated those words over comms during his years in service. Back then, there was a constant stream of WTF moments, especially when the brass ordered the Unit to do some dumbass shit they often disagreed with.
“We’re not dividing into teams,” Carter spoke up, taking command of the room while rising to his feet, and Dallas hurried back over to the couch. “Gray and I agreed we’d stick together as one unit. I have plenty of other men positioned around the globe if we need backup, but the five of us should?—”
“Get our heads out of our asses and start acting like we’ll take a bullet for each other if need be,” Gray finished for him in a serious tone.
Jack peered at Griffin from where he stood next to Oliver a few feet away, giving him the stink-eye as if he were about to pop off a smartass answer instead of Roger that . “If I survived years of marriage to my ex, I guess I can survive this new, uh, situation.” He turned and went to one of the desks set up in the space, and a second later, music began to play from the computer speaker.
“We still need a company name, too, right?” Oliver asked as he strode over to the couch, sat next to Dallas, and began scratching him on the head. “Not splitting into teams works for me. Call signs are probably going to be needed. But what is the company name? We sticking with Chandler Security?”
This had Carter flashing a smile, which came across as slightly menacing, considering the man rarely smiled. “No. Gray and I are still negotiating the whole fifty-fifty thing, and since I’m funding this team, I’ll be damned if we call our organization Chandler Security.”
Gray’s eyes fell to the ground. He was resisting getting into an argument with Carter, wasn’t he? “We’ll figure it out.” He turned in Oliver’s direction. “What’d you go by when you were in the 82nd?”
Oliver had been Airborne, which meant Griffin and Oliver most likely crossed paths at some point at Ft. Bragg in the past, but it was a big damn base, so he didn’t remember him.
“Kodak.” Oliver held his palms to the sky as if it were self-explanatory how he’d earned the nickname. “I have a photographic memory. Well, as close to one as possible.”
Gray motioned to the comedian. “Jack was Ace.”
“Play poker?” Oliver asked him. “I’m down for a game whenever.”
“Nah, it’s because I always have an ace up my sleeve.” Jack’s eyes remained steady on Griffin, though.
What the hell is that look about? “Midas,” Griffin offered. “Got the golden touch. Always get my guy.” He smiled. “Or woman.” And damn, speaking of women, he needed to get laid. It was only two p.m., so maybe he’d drive into Philly, which was a little over an hour and a half away and hit up the bars. Try and get lucky before his balls turned blue, and he developed a new nickname. “What about you?”
Gray scratched his head as if he didn’t want to share, his eyes flitting around the room before he reluctantly said, “Romeo.”
“Ah, mm-hm. Enough said.” Griffin clapped his hands together, ready to get on the road. Well, maybe a shower first. He’d have a better shot at meeting a woman if he didn’t smell like roadkill.
“What about Carter?” Oliver asked as he stood and went to the desk.
“The Devil,” Griffin answered for Carter, knowing the man had scored that name for becoming a legend in Iraq, a man their enemies feared even before his boots stepped off a bird.
“I’m not using that. I’ll think of something else,” Carter replied in a clipped tone, eyes lifting for a brief moment to the ceiling as if his prior legend status weighed on him instead. “And what the hell are we listening to?”
“Bieber. The TikTok version of the song,” Jack said before Oliver could answer.
“You’ve got Bieber on your playlist?” Griffin lifted his brows in surprise. “Well, you just get better and better by the second.”
“What’s TikTok?” Oliver asked, and had he been living in a cave? Pretty much everyone knew of the app that Griffin abstained from using, worried about the safety of his personal information and privacy.
Jack strode up to Dallas and sat on the other side of him. “It’s an app that offers some decent advice, actually. Lots of people that are divorced and now single use it and?—”
“And you want me to take a bullet for this man?” Griffin asked Carter, and Jack flipped him the bird.
The Unit leaders liked to say they didn’t always pick the best guy for the job, but they picked the right one, and Griffin sure as hell hoped Carter was right about Jack.
“You’ll need to delete that app,” was all Carter had to say on that matter just as Gray’s cell phone began ringing.
“It’s A.J.,” Gray announced.
Griffin remembered the SEAL from their op together on the Sudanese and Egyptian border that summer when they took down a terrorist who’d decided he wanted to make the world rain with drugs in order to “infect” Western society. A.J. wasn’t active duty from what Griffin had gathered, but according to Carter, his team ran off-the-books ops for the President. Not so retired, then.
From the sounds of this new team Griffin and the guys were currently forming, would their missions be all that different? They just wouldn’t be taking orders from the Commander in Chief. In actuality, they wouldn’t be answering to anyone and had zero red tape to cut through. And that was the beauty of it, which was how Carter had won Griffin over and convinced him to leave the Army after twenty years serving.
“Wait, what? You’re serious,” Gray said into his phone, and now he had Griffin’s attention. “Yeah, of course. I’ll talk to the guys.” He lifted his wrist and checked his watch.
And shit, I’m not going to get lucky, am I?
“Yeah, I think we can get in tonight. See you soon.” Gray ended the call and looked around the room, setting his attention on Carter last. “A.J. needs us for a job. His team works with my sister, Natasha. I can’t say no.”
Gray’s sister was also CIA, and he hoped they’d be able to rely on her from time to time for intel if needed for a job. His father was an admiral . . . and also the Secretary of Defense. A good man to have in your corner if push came to shove and shit ever hit the fan overseas on an unsanctioned op.
“Where are we going?” Carter asked, no hesitation in his voice.
“Birmingham, Alabama,” Gray said, already on the move.
“Well,” Jack said while smiling, “looks like training is over, boys.”