SEAL Forever (9 page)

“Thanks. I appreciate the info.” Minnie dabbed under eyes and blew her nose. “I was a little sister of his fraternity, and he was two years ahead of me. I worshipped him. Cleaned his room. Washed and folded his laundry. Made his favorite protein drink every day. Do you know what it's like when you like someone and no matter what you do, you cannot get him out of your mind? Every time he has a new girlfriend, I fall to pieces.”

Maura listened patiently, indulging in the food, which was surprisingly good. When she could finally squeeze a word in edgewise, she asked, “Why don't you tell him?”

“I did, sort of. I moved out here to be close to him. I got a job at the company he works for. I even joined the gym he works out at.” Minnie turned to face her. “That's where I know you from. I've seen you there.”

“I thought you looked familiar. Stop by the office sometime and say hello.”

“That guy you're seeing. Do you love him?” Minnie tapped a finger over her heart. “Does the thought of him keep you up at night?”

Maura felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Yes. I like him a lot.” She stuffed a piece of broccoli in her mouth and chewed determinedly.
Please don't ask me any more questions.

“You more than like him,” Minnie said with a grin. She seemed satisfied with Maura's response. She lifted her drink and toasted Maura. “To unrequited love.”

Unable to chew and drink at the same time, Maura swallowed the lump, feeling it scrape her throat as it made its way down. Lifting her glass, she smiled weakly at Minnie and then drained the glass, giving her the ideal excuse to get up and leave the table—and thus the conversation—for the rest of the event.

* * *

When the highlight of the evening was walking down the street, it was an unfortunate night. Maura was just happy to be away from the loud party.

Sitting on a bar stool, rubbing her feet, was not how Maura thought she would end her experience with Bosco. Being groped, having drinks spilled on her, and having drunk guys hit on her had pretty much sucked sewage water.

Maura was glad she'd followed her instincts and walked away from the event. So she'd hoofed it as far as McP's Pub and then gone in for a stiff belt. The smell of alcohol surrounded her like a heavy perfume.

A rather handsome older man with a thick muttonchop mustache was behind the bar. He smiled at her, a friendly sort. “What'll you have?”

“Whiskey. Something good and old,” she answered, knowing that she might regret it in the morning, and yet there was no way she'd make it home without it. She was too frugal to pay for a cab.

He raised his eyebrows and then grabbed a bottle from the top shelf. He poured three fingers into a glass and placed it in front of her. “Tough night?”

She put her shoe back on, picked up the drink, and sipped it, allowing the fiery amber to burn a path down to her gut. Relief flooded her veins, and she looked up at the bartender. “Confusing,” she admitted. “I went out on a date that I didn't want to go on, just to have something to do.”

“Nice to meet you, Confusing. I'm Gich.” He shook her hand. “Doesn't sound like much fun.”

“It wasn't,” she agreed. “Strange name for a bartender, Gich.”

He tossed back a belt of whiskey and came around and sat down next to her. “I'm not a bartender. Just watching the place while Ken hits the head—uh, visits the facilities.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the good stuff. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing, until he comes back, that is.” He tipped more whiskey into his own glass and topped hers off. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, and his beefy frame was slightly smaller than Declan's, yet Gich reminded her of him. “What brings you out tonight? Don't think I've seen you around here before.”

“I'm not much for visiting bars or clubs.” She tossed back the entire shot. Her throat screamed in protest as she tried to make her lungs work. Finally, she let out a few shallow breaths and coughed.

“So I see. Though you're obviously changing that tonight.” He went to pour her another shot, but she covered the glass.

“Water, please.”

He signaled to one of the passing waitresses, who brought two glasses of water to them.

After she'd drunk a half of a glass and cooled her throat off, she said, “I'm a social disaster waiting to happen.”

“How so?” His large hands cupped his water glass, playing with the condensation on the outside. “What are you running from?”

“Myself.”

He nodded his head. “Makes sense.”

“It does?” Maura looked at him curiously. “I often talk before I think, I'm impulsive, and I don't like being ignored.”

“Who isn't, at times? We're human. No one is perfect. But there's a trick to understanding emotional action.” He pointed to the spot over her gut and then to her heart. “You have to know the insides of yourself—your gut instinct—before you can do any act of importance. It's not going to serve your world to just run about haphazardly when you can actually have a definitive direction. Make each action count. Slow down and take your time. Then, when you act, it comes out a logical and instinctual choice rather than a knee-jerk emotional reaction.”

She smiled. “Good advice. I've never heard it explained that way. My coach was a lot like you—steady and stalwart.”

Gich nodded his head. “What kind of coach?”

She took another sip. A warm pathway heated toward her tummy. “Gymnastics. I was on the short list to compete in the Olympic trials.”

“Interesting.” He said the word slowly and without sounding impressed.

It was the greatest experience of her life, competing at that level. Not that she ever talked about it, or her wish to win Olympic gold. She hadn't gone down that road with anyone for a long, long time. Here she was opening up, and he all he had to say was “interesting”!

Her eyes snapped to his. “No, it's not just interesting. It was my everything!”

He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, took a long sip, and said, “Tell me about it.”

Man, I seriously unloaded. Poor guy! But Gich took it all in stride.

The night ended in a friendly manner. It was what she had hoped the date with Bosco would be, and yet it was Gich who walked her all the way from Coronado to Imperial Beach. They talked companionably the whole way, and she hadn't realized how much she missed talking in-depth with someone. Declan hadn't been gone that long, but she was already anxious for his return. She missed the closeness, and if she was being honest, the physical intimacy too.

Gich, like Declan, had a vibe that reminded her of her family, and he'd been a gentleman the whole time. Never once did Gich sneak a grab or grope her, make unwelcome innuendos, or make her feel weird; instead he kept a comfortable and respectful distance.

Before he left—grabbing a cab back into town—she'd asked him, “Why is it I can talk to you…like this?”

“I'm a stranger,” he said and shrugged.

She grabbed his arm, breaking the unspoken no-contact rule between them. “No, you're not. You feel familiar to me. Tell me something about yourself, so I understand why I am at ease with you.”

“Because you don't want anything from me,” he said bluntly.

“That's…that's true.” She didn't believe that was the reason. There had to be something else.

“And you don't see me as a threat either. So you're willing to be honest. Personally, I like the fact that you're on the reserved side. It's classy.” His cell phone buzzed. He checked it and scratched his chin. “I have to go, my daughter needs me.”

“Lucky girl, your daughter. Thanks for a nice night, Gich.” She gave him a quick hug.

“Hey, I'm around, if you want to talk again. Just come to McP's.” As he reached the bottom of the staircase, he said, “Don't be too hard on Swifton. He's a good guy.”

“How…how did you know about my neighbor Declan?”

“I'm retired from the Teams. I keep in touch with Teammates that come through my life. When I saw where you lived, I put two and two together.” He pointed to Declan's door. “Him, I know very well. He's a good guy. One of the best I know.”

Her mouth was open wide enough to catch fireflies, and she couldn't say a single word. She watched Gich walk down the street and hail a cab before going into her apartment, closing and bolting the door, and then picking up Declan's letter. The edges were so worn from reading it that she held it gently. Her eyes scanned over the few brief lines, and then she put it back in its place of honor on her bookshelf.

Stripping out of her clothes, she pulled on her worn white cotton nightgown and robe and walked to the window, where she could watch the ocean waves coming up the shore. She unbolted the balcony door and the ocean wind blew hastily in.

It's a good night for kite flying.
A memory popped into her mind. A month after she moved in, she had looked out the window and seen Declan show two little boys how to work their kite. The instruction included gaining lift, getting their kite into the air, and making it go higher. This wasn't a few minutes of instruction; he spent hours showing them different techniques to make it move.
That's when it happened
, she thought.
That's when I started to fall in love with you.

Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as she fought the wind and was finally able to close and lock the door. Then she lay down on her couch and listened to the wind battering the furniture outside. It might get a little scratched up, but it would survive. Like her, it was made of sterner stuff.

* * *

The phone was ringing. It pulled her straight out of her dream. She sat up in bed and reached for her phone. “Hello?”

“Maura?”

“Declan.” She sighed his name, relieved to hear his voice. “I'm so sorry. I was on the beach. I wasn't avoiding you. I was wrong…”

He chuckled. “As much as I love hearing how you are wrong, I only have a few minutes. I want you to know that I look forward to seeing you when I get back.”

She nodded her head.

“Are you there?”

“Yes!” she shouted into the phone. “I'm here. I'm looking forward to seeing you too. Be safe.”

He replied, “You too.”

The line went dead.

She hugged the phone and wallowed in the pleasure that surged through her body. Declan had called. She was so thrilled, she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. It was true her feelings for him were greater than she would admit, but evidently so were his.

The lucky lady that Team FIVE was taking to the dance was the Jabal al-Druze Range. Thanks to several Teammates in the area, they'd been able to scope out all of the viable options. Drones had helped too, though the Syrians tended to use them for target practice if they spotted them.

According to their Intel, this particular stretch of mountain range housed several missile-launch sites and was heavily guarded. The topographical pictures looked fairly normal, but the thermal scans lit up like a Christmas tree. It would have been their last choice of a place for an Op, because the chance of capture was quadrupled there.

His Team had been instructed to locate and penetrate the Taliban headquarters. The rumors that top rebel leaders were having a “meeting of the minds” in this wasteland had been confirmed twice, via CIA chatter and through their Syrian contacts. Intel placed this area as the spot where a major attack on the U.S. was being masterminded. That was good to know…if they could find the damned place!

Declan barely had any saliva left. He wanted to cough, to spit the dust and dirt out of his lungs and drink from his water reserves, but the enemy was just over the rise. Though these tangos were not their mission target, they could pose a threat. Very soon they'd see whether these particular bad guys lived another day or not.

The taller man, the tango in charge, squatted down, jabbering about the new guns.

Declan wished they could take these guys and learn what they knew, but it would hold them up and possibly ruin the mission. His Team was after bigger game: the headquarters of the Taliban stronghold.

Leaper was rubbing his finger over the edge of his gun, itching for a fight. He knew better than to engage without the go-ahead, but Leaper had his own quirks. The man lived for mixing it up with fists, guns, knives…you name it. His nickname was Leaper because he liked leaping into trouble. But when it came to work, Leaper had a more even keel. Declan trusted his life to him.

One of the tangos was pointing toward the desert. The others were talking over each other. Something about gold now… Declan knew enough of the language to get by if he needed to.

He only knew one good gold reference: “Go for the gold,” as that was what his instructor had repeated a hundred times in training. “You do that by following the plan, thinking on your feet, and sticking with your Team. The Teams means Together Everyone Achieves More Success.” He'd never forget those words; they should be on a bumper sticker as much as they were branded on each SEAL's heart.

“Cache.” Declan knew that word. The enemy spoke rapidly. Declan could only catch a few phrases, something about action in the desert. He watched them move off, running down the hill and disappearing over the next rise.

The SEALs were careful as they worked their way across the path the tangos had recently vacated. The mountainous terrain was tough and slow going at times, but they were patient as they climbed ever upward.

Declan checked the compass several times, but the magnetic pull of the mountains was playing havoc with his equipment. Fortunately, Miller knew this area better than he wanted to and took point, bringing them through a narrow pass and down into the desert.

They had less than an hour of night's cover and needed to find an optimal place to dig in. Miller pointed at a few places where the shrubs would work, and Declan and Leaper tucked into a higher vantage point under an outcropping of rock. They each took different points to scan and burrowed in for the day, bringing up branches, stripped bushes, and other types of foliage to shore up their hidey-hole.

Declan pulled a small scope from his pocket and scanned the horizon. It picked up several infrared signatures in the distance. As the predawn light hit the edges, he pocketed the scope. No sense blinding himself. A few minutes from now, he could watch them through the scope of his rifle.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking about the trip out of the city. It had been dicey. They'd almost been discovered a few times, but Sobbit sounded like a native Syrian when he spoke Arabic and had talked their way out of trouble. Hiking was another story—they'd had to retrieve their packs, ditch the car, and take a roundabout path through the mountains to avoid being spotted.

Declan shaded his eyes, letting the light filter in slowly so they could adjust faster. The sun lifted into the sky and he knew the heat would soon follow, bone-chilling cold being replaced by heat so intense that it could fry eggs to a crisp. But this was why they trained: so they could manage the terrain, deal with the environmental shifts, and achieve their goals.

If only this Op was going to be as easy as the training ones. Well, they could hope for it. Reality, Declan decided, was going to be much tougher. So far, the base they were looking for was supposed to be only a few miles out from their position. Why hadn't they been able to see it? Or catch people going in and out?

There was only so far into the desert they could trek without being visible. Declan tried to thrust away his concerns. This plan was a monster. The brass might be optimistic about what they'd find, but the gnawing in his gut was getting worse, telling him something was not right. Like it or not, his Team would do their duty, but they only had one more strike before the brakes went on and they scrapped this version of the mission and had to start over from scratch.

* * *

Night fell on the desert in stages. As the sun sank behind the mountains, the desert was covered in splotches of darkness until the light was all eaten up. There was no moon tonight, as the cloud cover hung low.

This…being in the right spot at the right time…was what they'd been trained to do: infiltrate, gather, shit, and git. Their advantage was that they'd worked in this type of terrain for months and were prepped for heat, sand, and whatever or whoever faced them out here.

Still, they'd spent the entire day watching this area and they couldn't locate the stronghold.

Squinting his eyes, Declan briefly checked his footsteps. There were still IEDs around here. He'd seen animals set off a couple of them now and then. As long his Teammates traced each other's paths, they'd be good.

None of them were fond of the idea of walking through the desert, trying to find a hole in the ground or some kind of entrance. It made Declan's stomach ache just thinking about it. But they'd agreed as a Team, this was their only option. They couldn't sit in hiding for weeks on end waiting to either find the answer or be discovered.

Hayes Johnson glided forward with fluid movements. He was like the wind, in sync with his surroundings, neither too slow nor too fast. As point man and Commander, his motions were pretty flawless. In another life, he probably would have been a ninja or a Zen master. Most likely, he'd be an Admiral someday, teaching the junior officers at JOTC.

The Team had eyes on the vast expanses around them, but their gaze constantly returned to Hayes.

They'd been stashed since sunup, lying low during the light and heat of the day, and Declan was ready for movement. Standing in place, he quietly stretched his limbs.

Checking the sky and then his watch, Declan saw they had about nine solid hours until dawn. That was a decent amount of time to figure out the lay of the land.

Hayes had just reached the edge of the small rise when he slowly sank down, simultaneously lifting his fist. He pointed two fingers to his eyes and then held up five fingers and pointed ahead.

The entire Team got eyes on where Hayes was indicating. From nowhere came a group of tangos. Each team member took up a different vantage point while monitoring the group.

Declan knew that they had the strategic advantage of a small sand dune between them and the bad guys.

Harvey, Miller, and Declan joined Hayes just below the peak, spreading out along the rise. Leaper, Tyler, Bunks, and Sobbit protected the sides and rear.

It looked like the enemy was arguing. They smoked several cigarettes and then entered the hatch to the underground complex again, securing it behind them.

The Team had previously circled this spot at least three times without connecting with it. Any guerilla would have been proud of that hidden entrance.

Hayes made another hand gesture, calling the outlying men in: circle up.

“We could call in an air strike,” said Declan. “We know where it is now.” Something about this place was making his skin crawl. There were a lot of unknown elements in that bunker. Could be twenty guys or could be two hundred. Who knew if there were booby traps and tripwires, gas, or whatever else?

“I'm with Dec. Let's mark it with flares and hop,” said Leaper. He could be sitting perfectly still, and yet it seemed as if he were in constant motion—his eyes were going, his fingers made minute movements, and his whole body was primed like a spring. He could lay anyone out with a single strike regardless of the size; he just always knew where to hit, where the glass spot in every jaw was.

Tyler and Sobbit spoke together. “In.”

Bunks and Miller looked at odds with each other, but finally nodded and said, “In.”

Hayes and Harvey were going to tip the scales. “In.” Two-steppers had a different view at times. It could be the officer in them or the sword strapped to their hip.

Teammates turned to Leaper and Declan, waiting for acknowledgment. They had to be
all in
to go forward.

Declan didn't like the unknown part of this. He liked being as prepared as possible for a mission, but he would support his brethren one hundred percent in what they took on. He nodded.

“Yeah, I'm not turning over so easy. Lay it out for me,” said Leaper, giving Declan a dirty look. “My feet are itching, and when that happens, that means…split.”

“Or your athlete's foot is acting up,” said Bunks.

Leaper flexed his hand and gave Bunks a steady look, but Hayes put his arm between them. “Hang it up.” He eyeballed the brawlers and then said, “I'll send coordinates and a message. Let's dig in and wait for a chance to get in there. If no one's come out in two hours, we blow it. Otherwise, we pop the cork.”

One hour and forty-seven minutes later, the trapdoor in the sand opened, and three men left the underground bunker. They were heading straight for the Team. Declan recognized one of the men from up on the mountain. Declan held his spot as Hayes, Miller, and Bunks took the three tangos down and slit their throats. They placed their bodies on the far side of the small sand dune and covered them with sand. Any cat would be proud of the job they did, burying the rubble.

Leaper, Tyler, Sobbit, and Declan descended down the ladder. The concrete walls dripped with moisture from the water pipes above, the echo keenly evident in each drop. Declan shook his head at the waste of such a precious resource as water in the desert. He would have thought they'd care more about fixing a leaky pipe.

As silently as possible, they worked their way down the hall, moving in time to the drips.

Sobbit, the point man, had been a Marine in EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) before becoming a SEAL. He set a brisk pace even as he marked the path. Declan was a similar creature, as he had studied EOD too. Men who held both SEAL and EOD—Twin Pins, as they were called—were few and far between. This label meant you were a seriously impressive overachiever. Hell, if Sobbit were an eagle, he would have stripped the valley clean of prey in an afternoon.

Declan quickly rubbed at his left eye, trying to chase the dust from the corners as Sobbit flagged spots where trip wires had been rigged or pressure caps were buried, allowing the rest of the Team to pass quickly without mishap. Hayes and Miller stayed above, protecting their six.

Coming to a four-way fork, they listened. Following the most worn path, they came to a door, behind which they could hear voices. A lot of voices.

Declan pulled a device from his pocket that could be slid under the door and would give them a bird's-eye view of the room. As the device slipped underneath, it climbed the door to the peak. There were over two hundred men in the room, and the number six terrorist on America's watch list was running the meeting. The device took pictures of everything in the room.

Going deeper into the lair, they discovered that it was a warren of tunnels beyond. It was possible that this place ran the whole length of the desert in this valley. Made sense, since this land was a honeycomb of caves. Reinforced with concrete and structural supports, it was the ideal place to work from.

They doubled back to the meeting room, once again checking on the inhabitants. The men looked restless. Several of them began to stand. Declan signaled to the rest of the Team. They needed to blow this place. Setting C-4 with triggers and timers, they hoofed it back to the opening.

Noise was filling the tunnels behind them, so they blew the first one as they were climbing out. Tyler called in an air strike and helos, while the Team double-timed back over the path they had originally traversed. Dec's mind automatically clicked off the head count. Hayes. Wilson. Miller. Sobbit. Tyler. Bunks. Himself. And Leaper bringing up the rear.

Someone was saying something to Declan. Yelling. They called in their coordinates to the incoming helo. They needed to be extracted ASAP.

Sounds exploded around him. Too loud! Then, all he could hear was this sharp, high-pitched ringing and everything else was muffled. Distant.

As his body hit the desert floor and sand filled Declan's nostrils, he attempted to get to his feet. His legs wouldn't stay under him. He kept falling.

Crawling forward, Declan felt hands pulling on him. He pushed them away, but they were adamant, pulling off his pack and his gun.

No way was he giving up his SIG Sauer. He fought them and they finally relented.

Bunks, the senior Combat Medic, was barking orders. Declan could see his buddy's mouth moving.

Sobbit and Hayes held him down as pain seared his body. Declan couldn't pull away from them or make the pain stop.