SEAL Together

by Maryann Jordan

  With that, he left Silas on his own and headed back to take a shower. Not waiting for the water to warm, he jumped in and rinsed off the sweat. Toweling off, he slid on boxers and jeans and pulled a T-shirt over his body. Scrubbing the towel over his head, he walked back to the living room.

  Silas had taken off his suit jacket and it was carefully laid across the back of a chair, a cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table in front of it. The man was standing next to the fireplace, looking at the few framed photographs that he had placed there.

  Rounding the kitchen counter, he pulled down his own mug and poured his coffee as well. Taking a sip, he put the mug on the counter and stood facing the living room, his arms in front of him with his palms flat against the surface, taking his weight.

  “I don’t mean to be a dick,” he started, and Silas turned to look at him. “But I don’t know you. I trust you enough to invite you into my home and offer you a cup of coffee, but unless you’ve got something to say to me, I think we can conclude this little meeting right now.” He watched as Silas’ lips quirked once more.

  “Crash.”

  His brow lowered, but he remained silent.

  “My call sign. Crash Branson.”

  “Ah,” he muttered, his eyes widening as he recognized the name. Picking up his cup of coffee, he rounded the counter and motioned toward the chair while sitting down on the sofa. Silas took the silent invitation and sat down as well.

  “See you’ve heard of me.”

  “Before my time, but yes. You had a fuckin’ good reputation as a Lieutenant Commander. Heard you were picked up by Department of Homeland Security.” He shrugged slightly and apologized, “‘Fraid I didn’t hear much after that.”

  Silas shook his head and waved his hand in a slight dismissive gesture. “Wouldn’t have expected you to keep up.” He glanced around the small, but comfortable room, before landing on the expansive view outside the window. “You’ve got a real nice place here. Quiet. Fuckin’ gorgeous view. Nice place to retire.”

  Eric leaned back and settled comfortably. If a former SEAL Lieutenant Commander, now working for DHS, was sitting in his living room, it sure as hell was not about the view. But, Silas did not appear to be in a hurry and, since he had retired, he had nothing but time.

  Turning his sharp gaze to him, Silas said, “I heard you helped out with a rescue last month.”

  That was true. He had been contacted by one of his former teammates who was now working for a private security firm. He had jumped at the chance to assist in a rescue and, having easy access to someone with a helicopter, it had been easy to fly to Boston for the mission.

  “Rank—John Rankin was a good SEAL and is a good friend. Works for Lighthouse Security now. I was local, so it was easy to step in and assist.”

  Silas nodded, and asked, “You ever hear from Preacher?”

  “Why do I get the feeling you already know the answers before you ask the questions?”

  A slight smile crossed Silas’ face. He was referring to Logan “Preacher” Bishop, another one of Eric’s SEAL team members and an expert in logistics. Logan had been forced into medical retirement, same as him, several years ago. He had landed in one of the most unpopulated areas in the country—northern Montana—and flew birds for tourists and ski rescues.

  He tried to read Silas’ face, to judge whether he knew about Preacher’s extracurricular activities, but he was not quite sure what to make of the man. And he sure as hell was not going to fill him in.

  After another moment of silence, he found that he was no longer interested in playing whatever bullshit games Silas had in mind. “Once again, I don’t mean to be a dick, but sitting here shooting the shit with you is not how I was going to spend my morning. I figure you’re here for a reason…can we get to it?”

  Silas leaned forward and picked up his coffee cup, taking a long sip before setting it back down. Lifting his gaze, he said with a grin, “How do you feel about pigs?”

  Pigs? Fuckin’ hell.

  2

  Several minutes later, Eric decided that no guest, even an unexpected one, should have an empty mug. Standing, he snagged Silas’ mug off the table, walked back into the kitchen, and refilled their mugs.

  Silas had explained that he headed the DHS Secret Division, Bone Frog Command. The concept was simple, while the execution was anything but. His idea was to have retired SEAL commanders plan, coordinate, and lead task force missions. In his opinion, there was no one better equipped to pull a group of people from various agencies into a team.

  Eric had to admit, the concept intrigued him. Moving back to the living room, he placed Silas’ mug in front of him and retook his seat on the sofa.

  “Why me?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “In my experience, SEALs who are forced to retire due to injuries, especially those that are not debilitating, still have a need to serve. And we all know, for those of us in that situation, a regular desk job is not going to cut it.” Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Silas continued, “I have access to the list of former SEAL commanders, and I regularly go through it carefully. When there is a need, I analyze that list and come up with the best person for the job.”

  He nodded, weighing Silas’ words. “I’m listening.”

  Another slight smile curved Silas’ lips, as though he knew Eric was downplaying his interest in order to not look too eager to learn more. “Ever heard of the National Bio and Agro-defense Facility?”

  Eyes narrowing, he shook his head. “I know there was an animal disease center on Plum Island in New York. I heard it was shutting down and moving, but that’s all I know.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. A branch of DHS ran that lab since 1954. It was originally created to study foot and mouth disease because of the outbreaks in Mexico and Canada. Being surrounded by such a disease was the impetus for creating that center to protect our own country’s agriculture. About fifteen years ago, it was decided that Plum Island was no longer the best place to continue that type of biological and agricultural terrorism study. So, a new place was found, almost in the dead center of the United States. Manhattan, Kansas. A small town in the middle of the Kansas prairie, it’s only major claim to fame being the home of Kansas State University.

  “I know it’s been a few years, but you had an undergraduate degree in Biology, so I figure you’ll understand the implications of the new center. The new facility researches and develops countermeasures to combat high consequence biological threats involving humans and animals. They are particularly interested in the diseases that can be passed from animals to humans, both here, in the States, and abroad.”

  “I’m assuming you’re getting ready to tell me about the pigs?”

  Chuckling, Silas’ face finally broke into a grin. “Yeah, we’re going to talk about the pigs.” Leaning forward, he settled his forearms on his knees with his hands clasped in front of him, keeping his gaze steadily on Eric. “The last major outbreak of a porcine epidemic, in 2014, ran up a cumulative cost of about half a billion dollars.”

  Eric’s eyebrows rose at the number, and Silas continued. “The new facility in Kansas studies all kinds of biological and agricultural diseases. The reason it’s run under DHS is because of the implications to our national health and finances. Hell, even you’ll remember that there was a bioweapons list found by SEALs in an Afghan cave, handwritten by Al-Qaeda. It wouldn’t take much for a foreign entity to infect our animals and bring our country to its knees.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve got a new threat coming in?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

  “Couple years ago, the North Korean leader released video footage of one of their biotechnical institutes. They claimed that it was a factory for making pesticides to combat worms and caterpillars that affected their crops. What they didn’t realize, is that our people would study that film as intricately as we did. In the background, there was equipment that could be used for the bulk production of live microbes.”

  “So, on top o
f the North Koreans being an atomic weapons threat, we’re now concerned about them as a biological threat?” He voiced the statement as a question, but he already knew the answer.

  “That’s right. That shit has hit China and has even found its way into areas of Siberia. Russia is in an uproar, but it’s China that will face the biggest impact. Turns out China produces half of all the world’s pigs, with over five hundred million swine.”

  As serious as the discussion was, he stifled a chuckle, realizing he was sitting in his living room sipping coffee with a high-level director of the DHS, and they were discussing fuckin’ pigs. Silas lifted his brow, and he apologized. “Sorry.”

  “Impressed with my knowledge on the porcines of the world?” Silas quipped. “Hell, I didn’t even know that pigs were called porcines until this shit started happening.”

  Unable to hold it in, his chuckle sounded out, soon joined by Silas’. They shared a moment of mirth, before Silas continued.

  “If North Korea wants to create a scenario which will literally rock the world’s economies, they can develop diseases to be spread amongst farm animals and even between animals and humans.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but one question still remains—why are you really here?”

  “The new facility for the National Bio and Agro-defense Facility is now up and running. They work on and research all types of biological and agricultural diseases and threats vital to our nation’s well-being. The DHS is committed to the cause, and that’s evident in the facilities fuckin’ huge budget. It’s been a long time coming, building the facility, and it’s been a hard road. There are threats from several places, and have been from the start, but there are two major groups that have the financial backing to potentially make a difference.

  “One that we’ve had our eye on is a local, grassroots group. They started protesting when Manhattan, Kansas was first listed as one of the possibilities for the NBAF. We kept an eye on them but didn’t think too much about them because by the time DHS got down to the final six possible places, each of them had a grassroots group protesting. Obviously, this one has continued. It’s taken well over ten years to build this new facility, and they’ve grown in number and threat in that time.”

  “I would think the boon to the business growth in that area would be good.”

  “Yes, but these people say that there are dangerous diseases being studied right in their backyard. They’re not wrong, but we have done everything possible to ensure their safety. Still, they claim that if there’s a breach in security, they will be the first to be exposed. That won’t happen because of the way the facility has been built. Believe me, it’s as tight as it can possibly be.”

  He pondered that for a second, and then asked, “And the other group?”

  Silas, whom had barely cracked a smile since entering, actually grimaced. “They are terrorists that parade as an animal rights group. When they started to show significant increases in their funding in a short amount of time, we got suspicious. We’ve traced the money trail back to Asia but are still working to find out exactly where it originates. Our fear is that, without knowing who they really are, they will manage to infiltrate internally, allowing them to wreak havoc from the inside.”

  Eric leaned back against the sofa cushions, one ankle resting on the other knee, and considered all he had been told. A familiar sense of expectation moved over him as he attempted to work out exactly what it was Silas wanted him for. Retirement had certainly been relaxing, but he found it more and more difficult to stay mentally engaged. He could run and swim and exercise his body, but he had resorted to reading voraciously to keep his mind active. He found he was relishing the intelligent conversation that had landed directly in his living room and actually looked forward to hearing Silas’ proposition.

  “We need someone to head to Kansas and work undercover as a journalist touring the NBAF. There is an international science seminar that will soon be held at the facility. While I’m comfortable in the security we have in place, I want someone in there to get a feel for the other journalists in attendance, most of which are international. If you’re posing as press, you can get close to the Asian journalists as well as the protesters.”

  His brows lowered as he pondered what Silas was considering. “That’s all you need? Someone to go in and pose as the press in order to keep an eye on the other journalists that are inside and get interviews with the two groups? It hardly sounds like you’d need a former SEAL for that.”

  “It’s more than just that. You’ll be analyzing the journalists, feretting out their intent. Some may genuinely be interested in methods to improve their nation’s own response to bioterrorism, but others may be looking for weaknesses to target us later. You’re going to need to think quickly, be suspicious, and inconspicious. I want you to pull together a team to assist. You’re going to need someone who can handle the logistics. We’re going to give you a DHS liaison on the inside. I’ve also got someone from DHS who’s itching to get some field experience, and they’re brilliant with surveillance. But, bottom line, we want to know where the biggest threat is coming from. One of those groups? If so, where the fuck are they getting their money? And if any of them have ties to North Korea, we want to know that too. For that kind of intel, I want somebody I can fuckin’ trust.”

  Finished explaining himself, Silas picked up his mug and relaxed back in his chair, allowing Eric time to mull it over. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes as his mind raced. What would keep him from taking the assignment? Certainly nothing here in Vermont. His cabin was easy enough to secure for a few weeks. Certainly not a relationship. He had been married many years before, but his wife divorced him after she found out that being a SEAL wife meant that she was alone often, and it was not as exciting as she thought it would be. In the twenty years since she had left, he had kept relationships to a minimum…usually one night or, occasionally, he might find someone that he would see for a very short period of time.

  His gaze moved to Silas who was staring intently back at him, and he let out a breath. “Can’t come up with a reason why I shouldn’t take this assignment.”

  Grinning, Silas leaned forward and set his mug on the coffee table before slapping his hands on the arm of the chair and lifting himself up. A slight grimace crossed his face at the movement, an indication that back pain was an ongoing problem.

  “Glad to hear it, Eric.” He walked over to his suit jacket and pulled out a thumb drive from the inner pocket. Laying it down on the coffee table, he nodded toward it. “That will have the information you need to study about the NBAF, the protesting groups, and basic information about African Swine Fever. That’ll make your cover more convincing, as well as give you the inside information you’ll need. My office will be in contact through secure methods to fill you in on anything else.”

  Standing, Eric lifted his arm and they shook hands. “I appreciate you thinking of me for this assignment.”

  Silas held his gaze for a moment, and then said, “I spend a great deal of time looking for exactly the right person to fulfill a need for the Bone Frog Command. Believe me when I say, you’re the man for the job.”

  He walked him to the front door and stood on his porch as Silas climbed into his SUV with some difficulty. Having his own share of aches and pains, he sympathized with the former SEAL Commander. He continued to watch as Silas pulled out of his driveway, then walked back through the house. Having not had breakfast yet, he quickly scrambled eggs and fried bacon, taking his plate out to the back deck. Sitting in a chair with his feet up on the rail, he ate while enjoying the view of the woods and the lake.

  Though he had not studied the information on the thumb drive yet, his mind already rolled to the assignment at hand. A slow smile curved his lips at the idea of a new mission once again. It sounded easy. Go in as a journalist, interview some protesting groups, keep an eye on the foreign journalists…easy.

  3

  Eric sat in his first-class seat on the
airplane flying to Kansas City, his eyes closed. His headphones served the purpose of keeping his seatmate from talking to him while he tried to get some rest. He had spent the past week pouring over all of the information that Silas had provided to him. He had learned as much as he could about the NBAF and, he had to admit, he was impressed with both the facility and its scope. He had also studied many of the various diseases that they sought to prevent, find cures for, or eradicate, so that he had at least a layman’s idea of what kinds of questions a journalist might ask.

  He had also gotten in touch with his old SEAL buddy, Logan Bishop, but it was Logan’s wife he spent most of his time talking to. Vivian Bishop had been a biologist with the DHS and had met Logan when they worked on a mission together rooting out a terrorist cell in Alaska. She had left DHS when she married Logan and settled into his home in Montana. She now worked as a biology college professor and advisor to DHS. She had graciously answered the numerous questions he had plied her with.

  Silas had been right—his Biology degree from years ago had come in handy but, like a lot of previous education, he had forgotten much. Vivian was a great resource, helping him understand some of the information he was reviewing. She promised she was only a phone call away if he got stuck and needed help and, with Logan’s ability to ensure their communication was secure, he was comfortable taking her up on her offer.

  The pilot made the announcement that they would soon be landing at the airport in Kansas City, and he slipped off his headphones, placing them in his carry-on luggage. Exiting the plane shortly thereafter, he realized that the airport was small, so it took him little time to collect his luggage and step outside.

  He barely had time to look at his phone for his contact, when he heard his name being called. Looking up, he watched as a tall, gangly, young man with a wide smile and bright red hair came bounding over.