Chapter 9
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T he alarm on his phone went off at zero-six-hundred. So much for the few days off they were supposed to enjoy. A briefing for a mission had been scheduled the night before. Tucker bailed out of bed like he’d been shot out of a cannon and hit the shower.
Forty-five minutes later, he cruised into the last available parking spot in the lot, parked the car, grabbed his cover, and jogged up the sidewalk to the squat, brick classroom building.
He was surprised to see the entire platoon congregated in the classroom. Usually, it was one team or the other. Something big had come down.
Denotti glanced up from texting on his phone as he slipped into a seat next to him.
“How are the scuba lessons going this week?” the big man asked.
Brynn seemed to be taking to scuba like a duck to water. “She’s a natural. She swims like a fish, surfs, and kayaks.”
“Cool.”
“She videoed the trip to the dive shop and some of my instructions the first week. This week, we did a short dive at La Jolla Cove, and she took some underwater photos with her camera. The next dive, she’ll use the rig she’ll have to wear when she does the shoot in Australia.”
“Videoed?”
“Yeah. She has a podcast.”
Denotti opened the phone again. “What’s it called?”
“ Being Human .”
He surfed the net, and the minute he came across Brynn’s site, his brows shot up, and he grinned. “Whoa, Brother! If you’re not going to tap that, I want her number.”
Tucker resisted the urge to punch him and crossed his arms instead. If he put up a fuss, Knotty would be relentless in his pursuit. The guy had an unwavering sense of competition—unless he waved him off. A brother didn’t trespass on another’s girl. But he couldn’t resist yanking Denotti’s chain.
“Not giving it to you, Denotti.”
Denotti challenged. “Why not?”
“Trust me, I’m doing you a favor. She’d eat you for breakfast.”
“She’s a ball-buster?”
“Yeah. And worse. The only thing she’s interested in is her career. Her camera goes everywhere with her. I bet she sleeps with it. If she doesn’t have it, she’s got her phone. She’s laser-focused.”
Denotti’s attention returned to her website photo. “She could laser-focus on me any time. And I don’t mind a little camera action, in bed or out.”
Tucker laughed. “She isn’t learning to scuba for pleasure, Knotty. She’s training to take pictures of the Great Barrier Reef and the aquatic life in Australia for the magazine she works for.”
Denotti scrolled through the photos on the site. “I don’t know jack shit about photography, but even I can see she’s good. Actually, better than good, exceptional.”
“Yeah. Photography seems to be her calling.”
“Everybody’s got to have one,” Denotti said with a shrug. “Like us.”
He was right.
“So, how far did you get with her?”
Tucker finally broke and laughed. “We had dinner together the first night after the scuba lesson. She had a shoot she had to get to after this week’s dive, so I’m going to ask her over for dinner and a movie tonight.”
“Asshole.” Denotti punched his arm. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, she is. And I don’t know if she sleeps with her camera or not, but I’ll let you know.”
Denotti laughed. “Hold the pictures of yourself. I’ve already seen it all, and I’m not interested.”
He couldn’t see that happening too quickly. Brynn seemed to see-saw between friendliness and being wary. She was interested. He read it in her body language, but… The way she’d reacted to the unexpected meeting in the park…. He had no social media pages and couldn’t connect with her there, but she wouldn’t share personal info on those outlets anyway. He’d resisted the urge to go online and Google her name. He’d rather earn her trust so she could come out and tell him straight up what had triggered her anxiety the day they’d met and what had inspired her podcast.
Lieutenants Sam Harding and Clayton Cramer strode into the room, distracting him from his thoughts. The rumble of male voices fell silent.
Cramer placed a flash drive into the computer that operated a smart board in the room and turned it on while Harding scanned the room. “Yesterday, a diplomatic convoy was attacked in the capital city of Niger. Five people were killed, and three others were abducted. One was an American. If diplomatic avenues don’t secure the hostages’ release, our platoon is first up for the rescue mission as soon as we have more intel.”
Harding turned toward the smartboard behind him and clicked the controller. “This is what we know.” A satellite photo of the area opened on the screen. The video showed a group of four vehicles pursuing three darker vehicles. Two vehicles entered the street from the east, cutting off the darker vehicles. There was movement from all six vehicles as the men inside leaped out and surrounded the four diplomatic vehicles. The terrorists fired a barrage of shots as they converged on one of the vehicles and extracted the four passengers from the car. One man crumpled to the ground beside the vehicle. The hostages were forced into separate vehicles. After only seconds, all six of the tangos’ vehicles fled the area, moving in different directions.
Sam continued. “Armor-piercing rounds were used on the two security vehicles front and back, and the teams were killed. The driver of the embassy vehicle was shot in the head and left in the street.”
“They had someone on-site feeding them intel about when the vehicle left the compound,” Tucker murmured under his breath.
“And they loaded the hostages in separate vehicles and scattered. Talk about trying to find a needle in a haystack,” Denotti whispered.
A picture came up on the screen. Lieutenant Harding continued. “The American who was captured was Robert Collins, secretary to the U.S. Ambassador. They may have believed he was the Ambassador because he’s the same height, weight, and hair color.”
“When they find out he’s not who they think he is…” Denotti murmured.
Shit. The guy wouldn’t stand a chance.
Two more pictures were added to the smart board. “The other two hostages are Umar Saidu and Chinua Tanko. Saidu is a translator who’s worked in the embassy for five years. Tanko is the head of the country’s cultural council. He was there at the embassy for a meeting and was offered a ride to his office as a courtesy. So far, there has been no effort made by the kidnappers to contact anyone at the embassy for ransom.
“The Nigerien Internal Security Forces have taken charge of the investigation, but it’s a joint effort with our intelligence department there at the embassy. Chances are, we’ll never plant boots on the ground in Niger, but the powers that be want us ready, so keep your phones hot.”
After dismissing the meeting, the other SEAL team filtered out with Lieutenant Cramer. Sam sat atop one of the tables and propped his feet in the chair. “Lieutenant Cramer has opted to take his team through some close-quarter drills. We’ll be doing some defensive driving drills today out at Camp Billy Machen.”
Tucker suppressed a sigh. A five-hour trip up and back, plus the time out there in the heat, was never fun, even though he enjoyed the driving once they got out there.
Harding continued his instructions. “I’ve already packed the water and food we’ll take with us and booked our transport. It’ll be here in thirty minutes. Get your gear.”
Everyone scattered to get their equipment.
“Gilly,” Harding called to him.
Tucker stopped and waited for Sam to catch up with him. “Yes, LT?”
They jogged together out of the building and across the parking lot to an adjacent building. “I mentioned your idea about the transfer angle to Commander Yazzie. He’s passing it on to NCIS.”
“I’ve already been interviewed, LT.”
Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. “How’d it go?”
“I either stumbled across something they’d come up with themselves or…I’ll be their prime suspect until they catch the guy.”
“Fuck!” Sam stopped in mid-stride. “You and I both know it isn’t you. Let it go.”
Easier said than done. “Roger that.”
Sam moved on. “I heard you’re giving scuba lessons to a civilian.”
Jesus! He couldn’t take a crap without someone else in the team knowing about it. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll need to put those on hold until we either deploy or they resolve the issue there. If we had to fly out after one of your dives…”
“I’m aware of the dangers, sir. I’ll talk to her and see if she’ll accept instruction from someone else while I’m in a holding pattern.”
“Good.”
Maybe Brynn would wait until things were resolved with this current situation. She had eighteen weeks to get ready. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he rushed to his cage to get his gear.
Thirty minutes later, they boarded a helicopter. Cutting their travel time in half was a sign of Sam’s expert planning, even when things happened at the last minute. The hour-long trip to the desert passed quickly. The Light Strike Vehicles (LSVs) squatted on the asphalt outside the garage, waiting for them when they touched down.
Tucker shouldered his pack, leaped off the helicopter, and grabbed one handle of the cooler while Denotti got the other. They secured the cooler into the jump seat and then secured their packs into the back. The vehicles looked like dune buggies but were sturdier and faster, exactly what their name implied. Fast strikes. He preferred the Desert Patrol Vehicles, which had more armor plating for protection, but no one had called him on the phone and asked his opinion about the change. Each vehicle could carry three men. Tucker and Denotti were put in charge of the food, and only had two in their vehicle.
Sam motioned them all to gather around as he spread out a map on the hood of one of the vehicles. “We’ll drive one behind the other in formation along the base of the mountains for a time; then, I’ll signal for you to spread out and drive parallel. There are plenty of obstacles out there to maneuver around, so be on your toes. I don’t want any injuries or damage to the vehicles. We’ll be taking a break here for lunch.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “Saddle up.”
Tucker jumped into the driver’s seat before Denotti could get there. He positioned his headgear and strapped on his helmet.
Denotti leaped into the passenger seat with an oath. “Damn you, Gilly. You’re like a fucking jack rabbit.”
“You need to lay off the pasta, Knotty.”
He donned COM gear and a helmet. “Hey. I’m in the best shape of my life. If your skinny ass ever needs carrying out, I’ll be the one doing it.”
He was probably right. “I promise to thank you afterward. And I’ll let you drive all the time I’m laid up.”
Knotty shook his head in disgust but laughed.
After a COM check, Tucker started the engine.
The terrain was desert with rocks and scrub. There were always obstacles to circumvent, and as fun as it was to drive the vehicle, it took skill, strength, and concentration. Sam’s voice in his head, calling out changes in direction or warnings of obstacles, cut his and Denotti’s banter to a minimum. They stopped briefly for a water and bathroom break, then did fixed point maneuvers to find a chosen position in the desert to fire upon the scrap vehicles positioned for target practice. Denotti loved the fifty-caliber gun and was an expert with it.
Two hours later, hot, dusty, and hungry, they parked the vehicles in the meager shade of a row of scrubby creosote bushes and opened the coolers they’d brought containing their lunches. A shout of approval went out as they opened the prepacked lunches to find thick roast beef sandwiches, two apiece, and potato salad, which beat the hell out of MREs. The ice-cold water washed it down just fine.
They ate in near silence until Sam passed out chocolate bars.
As Tucker watched Swan stuff nearly half a chocolate bar in his mouth at once, Tucker shook his head. “Chocolate’s meant to be savored, Swan.”
“Says the guy who doesn’t eat anything but lean meat and vegetables,” Swan said around a glob of chocolate.
“You don’t seem to complain when you’re eating at my house,” Tucker shot back.
“That’s because he doesn’t cook, and it’s free food at your house. Not so much at the restaurants he frequents,” Bullet shot back as he broke off a rectangle from the candy bar and popped it in his mouth.
“I’ve seen Swan eat what looked like the moldy ass end of a baby pig because he didn’t have anything else in his house,” Rosenburg said. “And it definitely wasn’t Kosher.”
“I was there to witness that myself,” Bullet said, his grin wide. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t get food poisoning.”
“That happened to be a rare delicacy left over from my favorite steak house,” Swan said.
“Left over from maybe two months before,” Rosenburg said. “Bro, we could almost see the penicillin sprouting off it.”
Tucker laughed with the rest of them. He wondered what Brynn did since she didn’t cook.
“Go to the deli and get fresh meat and cheese for sandwiches, Swan,” Sam suggested, but it sounded more like an order. “You get food poisoning, and we deploy, I’ll load your puking ass onto the plane myself with a barf bucket.”
Swan made a waving-off motion with his hand. “They’re just yanking my chain, LT.”
“Not much,” Rosenburg said, but he laughed.
“Besides, it was only the bread that was moldy,” Swan added.
Denotti made gagging noises. “Stop, guys. I have a weak stomach.”
“Says the guy who could eat the south end of a northbound water buffalo,” Arrow commented.
“Pasta cushions the landing,” Denotti said, patting his stomach.
“Enough! You’re disturbing my enjoyment of my chocolate,” Beckham complained in a perfect imitation of a snooty Englishman. Some of the guys had been calling him “English,” and he’d run with it.
Even Sam laughed.
The humor kept them evened out and a cohesive whole. Sometimes, it was crude, sometimes cruel, sometimes funny, but each man on his team had his six. He didn’t doubt that. It made it impossible for him to imagine any of them sabotaging a parachute to harm a fellow SEAL.
But it had happened. It had to be a SEAL or someone close to them in support.
As though reading his thoughts, Sam said, “While we’re sitting here, I wanted to…give you a heads-up that our interviews with NCIS are coming up in the next day or two. So, everyone, give it some thought.”
Sam didn’t look at him.
“Have they interviewed Book, LT?” Swan asked.
“Yes. Book said he’d call me if they let him know anything.”
“He doesn’t believe any of us were involved, does he?” Denotti asked.
“No. He said no, but that could change. He’s trapped in that wheelchair for the rest of his life. If any of us were in his position…it might shake our faith.”
Had Sam’s beliefs been shaken in the people closest to him? His father had tried to kill his new wife, Moira, right after the wedding… The hurt and betrayal had to have been crushing, yet he’d seemed to move on without a hitch. This new investigation into Book’s accident had to stir up memories and emotions.
Sam climbed to his feet. “We’ve got a little over two hours until transport shows up at the base. We need to move out.”
They policed the area, gathered their trash, and loaded the coolers back into the LSVs. Tucker fastened his helmet, settled into the passenger seat, and locked his harness. “Drive responsibly, son, and don’t scratch the paint.”
Denotti shot him a look, raised one dark brow, then grinned. “Kiss my ass, Gilly.” He fired up the engine and pulled away to fall in behind Sam. Turning west, they headed across the desert in the direction of the base.
For the first time since leaving Coronado, Tucker allowed himself to relax and think about Brynn. He’d call her as soon as he was home and invite her over for another meal. The sooner he informed her why he couldn’t continue with the diving lessons for now, the sooner he’d be able to find a sub for her.
He could use a snorkel instead of tanks to instruct her for a couple of lessons. But she’d need someone she could trust until he got back.
Denotti’s driving was as good as his own, but even his speed across the rocky, sandy terrain, dodging brush and unexpected obstacles, couldn’t hold off the mid-afternoon heat. By the time they got back to the base, Tucker’s T-shirt beneath his tactical vest was wet with sweat, and rivulets ran from beneath his helmet down his face and the back of his neck.
Sam broke out more water as soon as they parked the LSVs, dumped their garbage in the base dumpsters, and gathered their gear. They jogged to the landing site just in time to see the helicopter come over the horizon.
Rosenburg spoke for them all when he murmured, “Thank God.”
“How’d you arrange for a helicopter, LT?” Beckham asked.
“They’re Marine Corp pilots who need a few more hours under their belt before deployment,” Sam answered.
Swan’s head whipped around, his eyes wide. “Shit! They’re trainees?”
Bullet’s reply was deadpan. “Fuck it. To get out of this heat, I’d fly that fucker myself.”