Three girlfriends with Anabel wore more simple dresses as not to outshine her on her special day. Jackie thought they shone like flowers in a spring rain. The four teenage friends suppressed giggles as they appeared before the priest, who had guided and cared for his flock for nearly a half-century. He bowed his head as a signal for the gathering to bow theirs.
“Loving God, we thank You for Anabel, who today celebrates her fifteenth birthday. May she grow in wisdom, knowledge, and grace. May she love her family and be faithful to her friends. Grant this through Christ our Lord.”
He nodded as a signal to Anabel, who, anticipating it, opened her eyes. She spoke in a clear, strong voice while Jackie, Ricky, and even her little brother R.J. watched with love and pride.
“Heavenly Father, I thank You for calling me to be your daughter through baptism. Mary, Mother of Jesus, I dedicate myself to you—and to help those in need, give strength to the weak, comfort the sorrowful, and pray for God’s people. With God’s grace I commit myself to serve my brothers and sisters all my life. May all who seek your help experience your unfailing protection. Amen.”
As godparents, Graves and Lena stepped forward. Smiling, Bear draped a saint’s medal around Anabel’s neck. Lena offered a rosary. With a wink, Caulder handed Anabel the scepter and stepped back to snap another wink at Kelly, the hot blonde. Ortiz and Jackie positioned a tiara on their lovely daughter’s head. Tears of joy and pride appeared on Jackie’s cheeks.
Lena squeezed Bear’s hand and dabbled at tears of sadness for her own daughter, Sarah, who would never have a fifteenth birthday.
Afterward, the celebration moved from St. Mary’s to a nearby banquet hall packed with people, tables of food around a dance floor, and good times. Buddha Ortiz—“Ricky” in this setting—hoisted a fine new pair of high heels to draw attention as he presented Anabel her first “real woman” shoes.
“Today,” he announced in a voice choked with emotion, “you wear these to remind us that you are now a woman. But, Anabel—”
He drew a deep breath to bolster himself.
“But, Anabel—you’re still my little girl. My baby.”
Anabel patted his cheek. “Hold it together, Daddy. You can do it.”
He knelt at her bare feet and, with deeply felt affection, struggled to place the high heels on tiny feet that, not so long ago, it seemed, had been even tinier.
Chapter Ten
Virginia Beach
Ricky Ortiz shuffled slow-dancing with his daughter across the floor of the banquet hall beneath colored revolving spheres. Caulder made a mock gesture of asking Graves to dance. Bear rolled his eyes. The two men headed for the food table laden with shrimp, oysters on the half shell, burritos, tacos—and fried chicken and gravy for, as Caulder phrased it tongue-in-cheek, “the rednecks and ethnics among us.” Tammi Buckley, Buck’s petite wife, paused at the serving table to cast a critical look at Caulder’s footwear.
“Nice sandals,” she said, deadpan.
Caulder looked past her to where Kelly, the hot blonde, returned his attention. “They’re Birkenstocks,” he corrected her, “and I’m in love.”
Bear scoffed good-naturedly. “That’s not your brain talking. But it never is.”
“Hey, she’s a vet.”
“Oh, yeah? What branch? Marines? Army?”
Caulder reached a ladle for some kind of green sauce. He sniffed it, made a face, and returned the ladle. “A horse doctor, man. She’s got class.”
Tammi expressed her own observation. “I’m not sure if I’d call it class, but if it works for you—”
She spotted Jackie Ortiz and Lena Graves across the room. The two women were watching Ortiz and Anabel dance when Tammi joined them.
“Anabel is so beautiful,” Lena was saying.
“You guys should try again,” Jackie suggested to Lena. “It’s time.”
Sarah was only four months old when she died. A congenital crisis, the doctor said. Women of the team rarely brought up the baby; Lena’s pain was still too fresh.
Lena glanced away. “I don’t think Joe is ready.”
“They never know what to do,” Jackie said. “You have to tell them.”
Tammi giggled. “Like Buck would listen?”
A small silence ensued while the women watched Ortiz and Anabel dancing, broken when Jackie Ortiz said, as though the other two should know what she was talking about, “I’d been telling Ricky for years that he had to get out. It’s finally sank in.”
“What finally sank in?” Lena asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Tammi chimed in.
“The job with GSS. The interview’s all set up,” Jackie answered before she realized by their expressions that neither woman knew what she was talking about. “Ricky didn’t tell them?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. The guys were like brothers to him. Breaking the news was a lot like asking for a divorce.
“Joe’s going to take it hard,” Lena said, finally comprehending.
Stern-faced—the woman could be tampered steel when she had to be—Jackie marched straight onto the dance floor and herded her husband aside, gesturing to Anabel that she should rejoin her friends. Buddha was about half-buzzed—and not on yerba maté.
“Isn’t this a great party?” he enthused innocently.
“It could be better.”
That tone. It was her pissed-off voice. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Jackie was too angry to speak. She just glared. That was when it dawned on Ortiz.
“I’m going to tell them,” he hedged. “I promise.”
She found her voice. “Today, Ricky. You tell them today.”
“You think now’s a good time?”
From the sidelines Lena watched with some amusement as Jackie raked her husband over the coals, employing hand gestures and, by the looks of it, bursts of appropriate Spanish. He apparently attempted to placate her by asking her to dance. She refused to be deterred. Rigid as a steel rod in a breeze, she merely pointed a stiff arm and finger toward Graves and Caulder, who were still at the serving table sipping spiked punch and exchanging war stories.
“Now’s a good time, Ricky,” she said.
She watched him go, then smiled to herself. She loved this guy in spite of his flaws.
“Your true love’s about to leave. Why aren’t you making your move?” Bear was saying to Caulder, meaning Kelly the blonde, when Ortiz joined them, looking sheepish and properly chastised.
“Real estate is about location, dude,” Caulder said. “This, my married friend, is about timing. Watch and learn.”
Bear snorted and turned to Ortiz. “Congratulations on Anabel’s quinceañera,” he said. “That was really something.”
“Yeah,” Caulder concurred. “Anabel turned out pretty well. Considering …” He chuckled slyly, leaving the rest of the gibe to the imagination.
Buddha was a man with a mission, assigned him by his wife. “Guys,” he managed. He looked off into the distance. He looked at Caulder’s Birkies. “Guys, there’s no other way to say this. I’m getting out.”
The news caught Bear by complete surprise. He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Buddha plunged on. “Anabel got accepted. At the dance school. I can’t float the tuition on my E-8 paycheck.”
It finally occurred to his friends what he meant.
“Besides,” Buddha said to soften the shock. “I’m sick of you guys.”
Caulder played it back. “It’s mutual.”
As Lena predicted, Graves wasn’t taking it easy. “You can’t just quit on us.”
“Bear …” He didn’t know how to say it. “Bear, it’s time. I’ll make sure the new guy, Chase, is good to go, but that’s it. I’m done.”
He hesitated. “Dance with Anabel, Bear. She’ll be mad if you don’t.”
“I don’t dance.” His words came out as cold and hard as a bayonet in the gut.
“Well, hell, I do,” Caulder decided with a good dose of
fake cheer. “Let’s get the party started.”
He signaled to the DJ and the music stopped. Buckley accepted his cue and took the stage and the mic. “It’s that time, folks. Come on up, Buddha. Bear. Caulder. Fishbait.”
The four headed to the microphone, Graves reluctantly and still steaming from Buddha’s unexpected betrayal. Ortiz took his place next to Buck, looking a little uncomfortable after what had just transpired. Buckley, who still didn’t know about Ortiz, had found his element and was putting on a show.
“We’re going to do this right,” he announced, making the mic squeal as laughing guests crowded the stage. He tapped the mic a couple of times with his forefinger and continued. “Anabel, you stand there.” He pointed. “And, Jackie, you come up too.”
He waited until they complied.
“Okay—Dad and Uncle Bear and Uncle Caulder. The Three Amigos. Here we go …”
Fishbait Khan had rustled up a guitar. He hit a beat, nodding his head and tapping his foot. Da! Da! Da Da Da …! Buck broke into full voice with “My Girl.”
I don’t need no money, fortune or fame …
“Buddha, you’re up—“
He passed the mic to Ortiz, who gamely dropped to one knee to serenade his daughter.
I got all the riches, baby, one man can claim …
Anabel beamed with delight.
“Brothers, join in!” Buckley encouraged.
Caulder was ready. He was always ready. He dragged Graves forward. Bear mumbled the chorus, not yet prepared to accept Ortiz’s disloyalty. Giggling happily, Anabel joined the trio of Caulder, Graves, and Ortiz.
Well, I’d guess you’d say, what can
Make me feel this way?
My girl, my girl, my girl …
Lena Graves watched, overcome in the emotion of the moment. God, she loved these men, their wives, their children. They were all part of the team, wives too, and children, not just the men. Why couldn’t it remain the way it had always been, before what happened to Sarah, before this thing with Rip Taggart, whatever it had been, and before Jackie and Ricky decided they must leave?
And she loved her burly hero husband. Perhaps it was time after all. Maybe they should try to have another baby.
Chapter Eleven
Nigeria
Na’omi, her senses overcome by anger, detected nothing unusual coming from the surrounding forest. She resumed her verbal assault on the SyncoPetro intruders and on Rip Taggart in particular. She knew how dangerous it could be for her girls to be seen associated in any way with foreign infidels. All Boko Haram required was an excuse, any excuse, to commit new atrocities. There was whispering in the village, rumors that the threatening messages on the schoolhouse walls were not the result of mere vandalism. Na’omi had to get rid of the foreigners quickly. The lives of her girls could be at stake.
“You’re the problem here,” she scolded fiercely, moving in on Taggart. “Not the solution. You steal our oil and exploit our people and tell us it’s for our own good—”
Much of Taggart’s adult life had been spent in waging war against terrorists in so many different places he would have to check NavPers and his personnel file to list them all. A SEAL learned to trust his instincts—and his instincts warned him now that everything was not right.
“Why don’t you look at me when I talk to you?” Na’omi raged. “Are you even listening to me? I won’t be silenced. Not even by you.”
Rip looked at her. “You’re giving me a goddamn headache.”
Na’omi looked Taggart up and down in disgust. “You smell like a hungover drunk. I should never have taken your bloody money. I—”
Taggart knew how to handle uncooperative men. You knocked their dicks in the dirt. But a woman? A woman was different, meaner. She went for your balls.
Keith grinned at the two of them in amusement. He hadn’t Taggart’s instincts, and the others were too occupied with the videographer filming the “ground-breaking” to pay attention to their surroundings.
But the woman seemed to know danger. She just didn’t know how near it was.
Rip ignored her and turned his attention back to the jungle, scanning the treeline.
“Get the girls inside,” he ordered.
“What?”
He thrust his face at hers, eyes narrowed, sharp jaw set, thin lips grim as they repeated the words in urgent, uncompromising tones. “Get the girls inside!”
Too late. He heard the muffled sounds of feet in quick motion. Out of the trees erupted an armed band of Islamic savages wildly firing AK-47s. Rip’s gun hand streaked for the 9mm holstered at his belt.
Two attackers shouting and laughing and wearing black balaclavas to conceal their faces took off toward the little girls caught by surprise on the packed-earth playground. The children scattered, screaming in terror. One of the ambushers caught up with a smaller girl and swept her up under one arm to carry her off as his personal prize. Rip drilled him through the head with a round. The attacker went down. His little would-be victim fled after her classmates in a wild retreat to the safety of the schoolhouse.
Taggart turned his attention to the mad horde now rapidly closing in on him and the other SyncoPetro representatives. From the corner of his eye he saw Sean the videographer fall, his body jerking as bullets riddled him. Keith cried out as another blistering fusillade dumped him.
Rip took a knee to cut down his target profile, thrusting his body between the incoming gunfire and the teacher. Methodically, he began tapping out forerunners in the charging mass as dispassionately as if he were back in Virginia training in the Kill House. Bullets snapped and cracked past his head and popped geysers of earth out of the bare ground around him.
He seemed to be making headway against the attack—some shooters were already running for cover—when his pistol jammed. He jacked on the slide to eject a damaged cartridge casing. The lull in his defense emboldened the attackers. They charged him like a pack of hyenas on an injured buffalo. He could almost smell their fetid breath, hear the whistling of their rabid lungs, see hate in their eyes.
They opened up full-auto with AKs. Blows that felt like sledgehammers driving steel punched Taggart in the chest, knocking him backward and down. He lay where he fell, arms spread and his eyes staring sightlessly into the African sun.
Chapter Twelve
SEAL Command, Virginia Beach
Bear Graves recalled when the SEAL Kill House was a bunker made out of old car tires to absorb live fire and a “Shoot-Don’t Shoot” scenario with pop-up targets. The new facility, which must have set Uncle Sam back a few mil, was a compound the size of a mall supermarket with fifty-two rooms and enough space for four squads to train independently. It had mock houses, mosques, churches, a bank, a supermarket … They were all so realistic they could have been transplanted from some suburban neighborhood.
Rooms were designed with authentic-looking “Hollywood” Styrofoam walls of rubber and steel to absorb bullets and stop ricochets. Realistic-appearing man targets mounted on tracks “sprinted” across rooms, “returned fire,” and “dived” for cover.
“The only difference between urban combat and the Kill House,” Bear explained to Chase, “is that, in there, the bad guys don’t shoot back at you and everybody walks out after it’s all over and has a beer.”
Buddha Ortiz, who handled explosives for the team, had Chase down in “the pit” working on laying a breaching strip charge on a steel door. He was being faithful to his word of bringing the FNG online before he turned in his Trident. Graves and Alex Caulder observed training from up above on a high-flying trail of catwalks. Since the SEALs were currently out-of-combat and in the process of up-training while awaiting new mission orders, they had undergone a metamorphosis in appearance. Clean shaves, haircuts, pressed digital combat uniforms, and rough out boots reasonably brushed were now the standard uniform of the day.
Buddha, with the the patient manner of Mother Teresa, instructed Chase in the finer points of blowing a door to provide forcib
le entry. The tall man, now the youngest and newest on Bear’s team, finished placing a charge on the door’s vulnerable spots and looked to Buddha. Anything else?
A jerk of Buddha’s head and the two men backed off to crouch behind a steel safety partition. The resulting explosion echoed up to the catwalk. The steel door blew inward and off its hinges. Ortiz evaluated the results while Seabees from the base Construction Battalion hustled in to re-hang the door.
“You’re a college boy, right?” Buddha offered. “So you know that for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.”
“Newton’s Third Law of Motion.”
“Es muy excelente,” Ortiz mocked. “So what you had here was too much reaction, okay? You’re using an ax when you should be using a scalpel. Try another one.”
They switched to a fresh door down the way while Seabees worked on this one. Up on the catwalk, Bear Graves seemed less than pleased. “New guy’s not gonna cut it,” he predicted.
“A dozen oyster shooters says you’re wrong,” Caulder challenged.
Chase below began applying a smaller charge on the next door while Buddha supervised.
“Stop!”
“What? I dialed back the charge.”
“It’s not just about power. It’s about placement. Think about the breaching problem, and read the door.”
He waited for Chase to read the door. Chase looked puzzled. How the hell did you read a door?
“Well?” Buddha prompted. “Read it.”
Chase had had enough of this bullshit. “Just tell me what I did wrong, Ortiz, and I’ll fix it.”
Long-suffering, Mother Teresa patience worn thin, Ortiz dropped his head in resignation. His face went slack. “You figure it out, smart guy. Smart dead Harvard guy.”
He left to join Graves and Caulder on the catwalk, leaving Chase to work through the problem himself.
“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Buddha?” Caulder chided. “The kid’s good, way better than you. ’Course that wouldn’t take much.”
Buddha ignored the jab and turned to Graves. “He’s still got some habits from his old team, but I’ve got two more weeks. I’ll have him ready.”
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