SEAL Out of Water (Silver SEALs, #7)

by Abbie Zanders

  Regardless of his personal thoughts on the matter, Christos Kristikos’s disappearance was bad news for the US. No matter who was behind it, Darius could use the situation to renege on those “mutually beneficial agreements” Silas had mentioned, subsequently putting more good men and women at risk.

  Beyond that, as long as Christos Kristikos drew breath, he remained Darius’s greatest weakness, and therefore, the best means of getting to Darius and taking him down. Government deals be damned, finding Christos might be the only opportunity Gabe would ever have to get inside access to the Kristikos empire.

  “Yes,” he answered decisively. “I can do this. What about my team?”

  “A work in progress.” Silas pulled up something on his own device, then extended his arm and tapped Gabe’s tablet with it, wirelessly transferring information from one to the other. When he pulled away, a new folder entitled “Grunts” appeared on his home screen.

  “I’ve drafted a team based on their unique skill sets and availability. You also have the option of bringing in your own people, if you wish.”

  A few names came immediately to mind, but Gabe would think more on that later, once he had a better idea of what he was dealing with.

  He nodded, taking a moment to skim the brief thumbnail profiles Silas had put together. On paper, it was a good team. On paper. In reality, there was a big problem.

  “They’re civilians.”

  “Technically, so are you now,” Silas countered.

  “They have little to no military background, and you want to put them under my command?” Gabe asked doubtfully. SEAL commanders weren’t exactly known for their people skills. Orders had to be followed or people died, it was as simple as that. He was used to working with trained, disciplined men and women who trusted and respected the chain of command. Those in the private sector didn’t have the same mindset. They didn’t do as they were told. They questioned everything. He had neither the time nor the patience to deal with that kind of shit, and he told Silas so.

  “They’re good people, Saint,” Silas insisted, “but you’re right, they’re not the type to blindly follow orders, and—full disclosure here—they’re not necessarily the best team players. But they are among the best and brightest in their fields. That’s why I need you. A firm hand to rein them in and keep them focused.”

  “I’m not a fucking babysitter.”

  Once again, Silas’s lips quirked. “No, you’re a SEAL commander. One who won’t tolerate any bullshit and will ensure the job gets done.”

  “Retired SEAL commander.”

  “As if that changes who you are.”

  Gabe grunted, but inside, that sense of renewed purpose continued to build. He missed leading a team almost as much as he missed being a part of one. But these weren’t SEALs they were talking about, they were civilians, and despite Silas’s songs of praise, Gabe had his doubts. The rules for dealing with civilians who didn’t toe the line were a lot different than those of the military.

  “You’ll have complete autonomy,” Silas reaffirmed, as if reading his mind. “Delegate at your discretion.”

  Gabe’s eyes snapped up. Despite Silas’s claims, he’d still been expecting a laundry list of politically correct dos and don’ts for dealing with the private sector. “How did you swing that?”

  A smirk accompanied the gleam of knowledge in Silas’s eyes. “Being AD does have its advantages, you know.”

  “Meaning you’ve got someone by the short hairs. Unofficially, of course.”

  The gleam intensified, and Gabe guessed Silas had a whole stack of markers he could call in if needed. Given Silas’s penchant for knowing things he shouldn’t and his direct connections to some of the most powerful men and women in the world, he should have known.

  “This team, have they been briefed?”

  “No, that’s your job. They’ve been told only that they’ll be working on a top-level security mission but no specifics. You will decide what they need to know and when. As for you, you’ll report directly to me. I’ll expect progress updates at regular intervals. Other than that, you’re on your own. Officially,” he added with a smirk.

  Chapter Eight

  Gabriel

  Gabe, Fred, and Silas arrived at the secure facility, a non-descript building that, from the outside, didn’t look like anything special. Even the security was discreet, but it was there for anyone who knew what to look for. Unlike the air field, the visible guards here didn’t wear camo; they wore tactical pants and black polos. There was no mistaking what they were, though. It was in their absolute stillness, except for their eyes, which never stopped scanning.

  Gabe assessed the place as they approached. To the untrained eye, it appeared as if it was nothing more than a moderate, unimposing office building. However, run-of-the-mill office buildings didn’t typically have dozens of laser-equipped security cameras and God knew what else tracking their every movement. Even Fred seemed to sense things weren’t as laid back as they seemed. He stayed glued to Gabe’s side, eyes and ears alert.

  “Nice place.”

  “Government seizure,” Silas told him. “It’s a former biotech company used as a front for a Colombian drug cartel. Great location, good foundation. Fully operational. Better than some of the places we build ourselves. Even better, it doesn’t exist. Officially,” he added with a grin.

  Three floors were visible above ground. Gabe had no doubt there was a lot more below, invisible to not only the naked eye, but to high-tech surveillance as well. That familiar sense of excitement, of purpose, grew stronger with each step.

  Silas explained that this would be his base of operations for the duration, a secure location from which to gather and share information. Gabe and members of his team would each be provided with a small apartment and full, unrestricted access to the underground facilities, where the amenities included a high-tech satellite communications center and a cache of surveillance equipment and weaponry.

  “Look over that list ASAP and get back to me with any concerns.”

  “Meet and greet’s at eighteen-hundred,” Silas told him before they parted ways.

  “Meet and greet? Jesus, Crash. Are there going to be snacks and ice-breakers, too? And what the fuck is with the matching outfits?”

  Gabe didn’t miss the way Silas’s lips quirked at the corners before he turned to the young man standing stock still just inside the door. “Show Commander Michaels to his quarters and ensure he has everything he needs—particularly a pair of scissors and a razor.”

  “Funny guy,” Gabe muttered, but Silas had already disappeared.

  After a brief walk outside to attend to Fred’s needs, they were shown to their quarters, a modest two-room suite that was more than adequate. Fred sniffed around, checking the place out while Gabe did the same. The bedroom held a queen size bed and a television. The living space had a couch, a desk, another TV, and a small, well-stocked kitchenette. Either Silas had been damn confident in his agreement or he must have called ahead, because not only were the closets and drawers stocked with the same black pants and shirts he’d seen the guards wearing, there was a matching black canine vest for Fred as well.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Gabe warned when Fred completed his exploration by jumping up on the couch, making a few circles, then curling up with a contented sigh. “This is only temporary.”

  Knowing he couldn’t put it off much longer, he pulled up Silas’s list of possible candidates and worked his way through it. None of the names were familiar, but that wasn’t surprising. Neither was the fact that, on paper at least, they had the makings of a good team.

  Would he prefer to draft his own? Sure. Kane Callaghan and his brothers came to mind, as did a few others he’d worked with over the years. But time was of the essence, and not everyone was as readily available as he was. They had families. Commitments. Lives.

  He shook his head, reminding himself that he was content with his life exactly the way it was. And if he managed to bring dow
n Darius, he’d be fucking ecstatic.

  With a couple hours to spare, he took the time to shower. Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that Silas might have had a point about the scissors and razor.

  First impressions were important. While rocking the homeless mountain man persona might serve him well in some circumstances, this wasn’t one of them. If he demanded the respect of a SEAL Commander, then it might do him well to look like one. He took scissors to his hair and beard, then made use of a straight razor.

  When he was finished, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His hair was still mostly dark, but his beard had been more silver than brown, and without it, he looked ten years younger.

  There was nothing he could do about the hardness in his eyes or the deepening lines of his face, though. Fifty wasn’t old in the grand scheme of things, but for a SEAL whose success depended on strength and agility, it was damn near ancient.

  He hadn’t been chosen for his physical prowess, though, had he? All that silver brought with it a hell of a lot of age, knowledge, and experience, and that was where his true value lay.

  He wasn’t exactly in bad shape, he thought as he eyed himself critically. He was still lean, even if his skin didn’t stretch across his muscles as tightly as it once did. Manual labor and daily runs kept him strong and fit. Lots of fish and lean, wild game protein kept him trim. Not that it mattered, but women still shot him appreciative glances on those rare occasions when he was out and about.

  As he wiped the last of the shaving cream from beneath his jaw, he wondered briefly what Virginia Miller would think, then shook that thought away. It didn’t matter what she thought, as long as she cooperated. As Kristikos’s personal assistant, Gabe was only interested in what she knew and the insight she could provide, and definitely not what she looked like naked.

  He splashed cold water on his face, adding a stinging slap or two. While he sometimes wished for the softness of a woman’s touch, he’d come to the conclusion that the hassles that came with it just weren’t worth it. He’d never really subscribed to the whole nameless, faceless sex thing. He craved a deeper connection, one that involved getting to know a woman.

  Then again, that hadn’t really worked out so well for him. He had two ex-wives who hated his guts and could attest to that.

  These days, his hand got the job done just fine, thank you very much, and when he wanted warmth at his back, there was always Fred, who, admittedly, was a bit of a bed hog, but unlike a woman, was unfailingly loyal and content with a pat on the head and a good burger.

  Over sandwiches and strong, black coffee, Gabe used the remaining time to review the information Silas had given him in more detail, particularly the bios on Christos and his personal staff. Gabe’s instincts were telling him that in order to unravel the mystery surrounding Christos’s disappearance, they would need to start with those closest to him. Any one of his personal staff would have had the knowledge and means to orchestrate a vanishing act, with Christos’s cooperation or without.

  The biggest question was, why? Money? Power? A position of importance? Had Darius tired of waiting for Christos to accept his proper place as heir and taken matters into his own hands? It would be a clever ploy, giving Darius the perfect excuse to renege on any and all deals, citing the US’s failure to keep his son safe.

  Conversely, had Christos had enough of living under the illusion of independence and staged his own disappearance? If Christos was serious about stepping beyond his father’s overlong shadow, that might be the only way. If so, he hadn’t accomplished it on his own. Pulling off something like that would have required lots of detailed planning to secure money, security, transportation, and a new identity, among other things. Who would he have trusted enough to have his back and risk the wrath of his father?

  The third possibility, of course, was that it hadn’t been Darius’s or Christos’s doing, but rather that of some unknown third party. Someone who had a beef with Christos, or, like him, wanted to use Christos as a means to stick it to Darius. The elder Kristikos had made his share of enemies over the years, and that list was a long one, indeed.

  No matter what the underlying reason, someone on the inside had to be involved. Someone who knew Christos and knew enough about his private life to assist in the planning and execution.

  Gabe’s eyes kept going back to Virginia Miller. In the photo, she was standing beside Christos at one of his rare public appearances. Dressed in a conservative women’s suit and with her hair pulled back, she looked at once the picture of capability and class. With her pale complexion, slim figure, and delicate features, she didn’t quite fit in with the rest of Kristikos’s Mediterranean entourage.

  Christos was looking elsewhere in the picture, but her light brown eyes were trained directly at the camera, giving Gabe the impression she was looking directly at him. An unexpected sensation ghosted over the hairs on the back of his neck. Were his instincts trying to tell him something, or had it just been that long since he’d taken a good look at an attractive, mature woman?

  Gabe shook off the feeling, annoyed with himself for going there, again. Women, especially beautiful women, were nothing but trouble, as Christos Kristikos may have discovered firsthand. As far as Gabe was concerned, Virginia Miller was a person of interest, mission-related interest, and nothing more, no matter how haunting her eyes were.

  A knock at his door let him know it was time to meet his team and get this mission started.

  Chapter Nine

  Gabriel

  Silas grinned when Gabe opened the door, making a point of looking him up and down. “You clean up nice, Saint. You look almost respectable.”

  Gabe shot him the finger and grumbled, “Fuck off.”

  Silas laughed. “Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”

  They stepped into the elevator and Silas pressed a button labelled L2. The moment the doors closed and the car began its descent, Fred started shaking and the car filled with a noxious odor.

  “Is he all right?” Silas asked.

  “Fred doesn’t like enclosed spaces.”

  Silas cast a doubtful look downward. “He didn’t have a problem on the plane.”

  “No. Planes have windows.”

  Thankfully, the ride was a quick one. Fred was the first one off. Gabe and Silas were right behind him. Gabe was glad no one was waiting to get on; the car needed a few minutes to air out.

  Silas turned to the right and led the way to a high-tech conference room. Muted conversations ceased the moment they entered.

  “Gentlemen. Ladies,” Silas said, moving to the head of the conference table, once again all business. “This is Gabriel Michaels. He will be leading this team. You will report directly to him.”

  Five sets of eyes focused on him. Some male, some female. All curious, though some more openly than others. Gabe wondered what, if anything, they’d heard, then realized he didn’t care.

  One by one, Silas introduced them, beginning with the sturdy-looking blond guy to Gabe’s left.

  “Chase Dawson, security and demolitions expert.”

  The guy nodded to Gabe, his blue eyes lit with the kind of controlled crazy many demo guys had. Dawson’s clean-shaven, all-American, boy-next-door face looked younger than the thirty-eight years on his bio.

  “Kyle Mancini, reconnaissance and counter-terrorism, CIA Special Operations.”

  Dark eyes regarded Gabe from beneath short but stylishly cut dark hair, his face completely devoid of expression. Even if he hadn’t read the thumbnail, Gabe would have pegged him as a spook.

  “Serena Dominguez, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Homeland Security Investigations bureau.”

  Dark complected with striking features, the woman offered a cold, polite smile that didn’t quite reach her stunningly green eyes.

  “Simon Levine, forensic accountant, former Secret Service.”

  With tatted forearms and diamond studs in his ears, Simon didn’t fit the image of a typical Secret Service agent
or a number cruncher, but if Silas’s info was accurate—and Gabe had no doubt it was—Simon was extremely good at what he did.

  “Beatrice Livingston, National Cybersecurity Center.”

  Big, owlish eyes stared back at him from behind thick lenses, magnifying them even more. She was a tiny thing, shifting this way and that on her seat, reminding Gabe of the hummingbirds he often saw flitting around his cabin.

  With introductions out of the way, Silas continued with a brief overview of their mission and objectives, stressing the sensitivity of the situation and the importance to national security. During this time, Gabe had it easy. All he had to do was sit back, listen, and observe. By the time it was his turn to speak, he’d already outlined an initial plan. He kept it short, simple, and to the point.

  “Dawson, Mancini, and I will head out to the estate tomorrow, but at different times and in different vehicles. Dawson, talk to Sander Argyros, head of estate security. Find out what kind of system they have and get us copies of any surveillance video they have. We’ll start with a week prior to the disappearance and work from there.”

  Dawson nodded. “Will do.”

  “Mancini, while I’m talking to the staff and Dawson’s keeping Argyros occupied, I want you to take a look around. See what you can see without being seen.”

  Dark eyes glittered as the man gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “Dominguez, review the visa applications and permits of every staff member on that estate, inside and out. Cross check the names with every watch database we have.”

  She nodded.

  “Levine, start digging into Kristikos’s finances and the finances of those close to him. Follow the money. I want to know where it’s coming from and where it’s going.”

  “On it.”

  “Livingston—”

  “Pixie,” she interrupted.

  “Excuse me?”