True Blue SEALs: Zak (True Navy Blue #1)

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Never got the pleasure, man,” Coop said as he shook the former medic’s hand.

  “Well, he’s still not retired,” the Secretary chimed in. “Part of my security detail. But you guys are gonna make it unlikely I’ll need his expertise, right?”

  No one said a word. Zak had lots of questions. Although he was preoccupied during his flight over, he figured no one else had been told much about the mission, either.

  Lyman cleared his throat. “I think a short briefing, sir, since the bird isn’t here.”

  Harrison squinted and added a nod. “We’re waiting on the private jet to get us to the Canaries. Owned by the same man who’s lending us the villa.”

  Zak knew several of his buddies felt naked without their pieces. The lack of information forthcoming was making some of them nervous as hell. And now they were meeting in a villa on an island? Zak had thought they were conducting something special in Casablanca or Marrakesh.

  The Secretary scanned their group. “I’m meeting with an old friend from Stanford, Youssef Amir. Believe it or not, we both were recruited to play soccer.”

  A polite ripple spread through the crowd.

  “Amir’s father was a visiting engineering professor at Stanford, same department as my father, so we met when he was about ten and came over with his parents and two sisters. They even stayed with us for a couple of months before their living arrangements were made. We played on the same traveling teams growing up—all through middle school and later college prep academy. Then we both got recruited and admitted to Stanford. I was one of only two U.S.-born soccer players on the team.”

  Secretary Harrison was caught in deep thought for a minute, as if the answers to the mysteries of life were embedded in the concrete floor under his feet.

  Kyle just stood and watched the Secretary until he continued. They could hear a plane overhead.

  “The United States is opening negotiations with Amir, who is positioned to become the next Prime Minister here in Morocco, to see if our goals are aligned.” He scraped an imaginary mark on the concrete floor. “For obvious reasons, mostly relating to his own personal health, we want those negotiations to be conducted in secret. So we’ve picked a villa in the Canaries owned by an English billionaire.”

  Kyle had cocked his head to the side and was watching the metal roll up door rattling in the desert wind. Then he glanced over to Lyman, almost as a challenge to the man. It telegraphed how little Kyle liked the situation they were getting into.

  Harrison’s attention angled up to the ceiling, hearing the plane. “I think our ride is here. Let me give you a brief rundown of what we’re doing. As of the time we leave this hangar, you will be playing the part of bodyguards to the Secretary of State, who is having an old rendezvous with his friend, a little R&R. We want it to appear to be a vacation, not an official state visit. Just something low key, hobnobbing with the rich and famous.”

  The team grumbled.

  “We want reasonable deniability that you are not SEALs or attached to any branch of government. You are bodyguards for Amir and me, hired private contractors.”

  “As in non-Government sanctioned job?” asked Coop.

  “Yup. That’s about it,” answered Harrison.

  “Who knows about us?” Kyle asked. He bypassed Porter and stared directly at Lyman.

  “No one. Everyone who knows about you is back in D.C.”

  “So where’s our backup?” Coop asked.

  “You’re looking at it, gentlemen,” said Lyman.

  “Extraction?” Kyle asked, drilling into his friend.

  “If need be, we have naval maneuvers at Kenitra Airport, a joint exercise with the Moroccan air force. That’s been scheduled for months, so we thought this would make good cover. We have a ship arriving tomorrow morning as part of that operation. A small combat force is embedded on the base, EET, Emergency Extraction Team among them. After World War II, the base was used as a Space Shuttle alternative landing and tracking site. We’re pretending to upgrade tracking equipment we’ll be sharing with the international community, but it’s been fully controlled by the Moroccans since 1988. They have allowed us to use it for the Shuttle and Space Station programs as recently as 2005. But, gents, it’s five hundred and ninety miles away, and it’s only as a last resort.”

  “So, gents, that’s it. We don’t speak of this any longer outside this hangar. That’s the game we’re playing here,” said Lyman, bringing his hands together and giving a dismissive clap.

  Zak thought the gesture was more like a washing of hands.

  The Secretary and all but three of his security team departed through the hangar door one by one. Harrison carried a rucksack. The plans that had been spread over the table were rolled up and sticking out of the side, as if he were a hiker marking trails.

  “The guy’s not even wearing protection,” Zak whispered to Carter.

  “Fuckin’ makes no sense. Even a businessman would wear Kevlar.”

  “I don’t think Kyle likes it, either,” Zak answered.

  “Shh.” Fredo had his finger to his lips. “We are not alone here. Watch your mouths, froglets.”

  Kyle wasn’t as worried about letting non-Team guys know his feelings toward the mission. “Lyman, there’s no air support, no backup really. The Secretary isn’t even wearing a vest for Christsakes.”

  “I know. That’s the way he wants it.”

  “Is he all there? You think maybe he’s sucking on someone else’s Kool-Aid?”

  The President had been known to have strong feelings about the use of diplomacy almost to the exclusion of a show of force. And he’d been controlling wars from behind his desk in D.C. rather than allowing the commanders in the field to call the actions. The feeling was strong that the military was having to win wars with their hands tied behind their backs and then was harshly reprimanded for losing those battles.

  “Nah, Kyle. I think this is all Porter’s idea.”

  “Okay, get your gear and follow them out,” barked Kyle. To Lyman, he added, “I want a one on one with him as soon as you can arrange it safely.”

  “Look, I’m familiar with these kinds of missions. Did these all over Europe last year.”

  “Europe is not fuckin’ Morocco.”

  Lyman watched the men pick up their gear and head for the door, being led by the rest of his detail. He lowered his voice, but the echo chamber of the hangar made it so Zak and Carter could hear him perfectly. “He might be stupid, Kyle, but Porter’s a decent guy.”

  “Decent guys get shot, Lyman. You of all people should know that.”

  “Roger that, Kyle, but he’s on a mission, and this is his friend. He thinks a heavy military presence will endanger Amir.”

  “And what about the Secretary?” Kyle asked.

  “I don’t think he’s even considered that. I’m supposed to keep him alive until December, when the guy’s retiring and going back to Virginia to be a law professor.”

  “Unbelievable,” muttered Kyle. “He should have never left Virginia.”

  Chapter 7

  Amy had lunch with Christy Lansdowne and a couple of the other SEAL wives. Gina was in her modified uniform, her white smock covering her very pregnant belly. She looked like she was headed for work afterwards. Marcy and Libby were dressed casually. Christy wore a suit, her briefcase and cell phone not far away.

  “I’ll take you over to the office tomorrow, if you want, and introduce you to my broker,” said Christy.

  “Thanks, Christy. To be honest, I was going to ask that very thing today.” Amy had been wondering if it was too soon to approach the beautiful wife of her husband’s squad leader. She noticed Marcy was smiling at the two of them.

  Gina’s phone pinged, and she texted something back to the sender, waiting for a response.

  “Well, you can always go to my former broker’s office. They do have a vacancy. Course, if you drop my name, you’ll get booted right out of there.” Marcy held her hands up in the air before Christy c
ould object. “Just being perfectly honest. You know how the boys like their honesty!”

  “We’re gonna fix that, Marcy. No reason why you can’t do real estate here in San Diego,” said Christy. She turned to Amy. “Marcy had the unfortunate experience of trying to represent Connie—you remember her from the party—and Lucas with the sale of their home.”

  “But I thought Marcy and Lucas were…” Amy stopped, not wanting to step on any toes. Christy was mum.

  Libby scrunched her face. “You brought it up, Marcy. You get to finish. Let’s see how you can talk your way out of this one.”

  Amy was thoroughly confused.

  “I’m just going to tell her the truth, ladies, okay?”

  Gina crossed her legs, shaking her head. Libby sat back with her eyebrows raised. Christy didn’t look pleased. “You have to now,” muttered Gina.

  Marcy adjusted her body on the metal chair, turning to address Amy, just as the waitress brought their lunches. She watched the presentation of food until the waitress left. She cleared her throat, leaning in. Amy matched her body language and bent forward.

  “Lucas and I met and got together when I was hired to sell their home. I knew better. I just couldn’t help it. That’s the God’s truth.”

  “It’s caused a lot of problems, as you observed during our barbeque,” added Libby.

  Amy felt a twinge of regret that Zak hadn’t totally leveled with her. “I wasn’t told. It still doesn’t excuse Connie’s behavior. I’m sorry, Marcy. It must be hard for you.”

  “One of the things you learn, Amy, is that things happen at very inopportune times. They deploy right in the middle of stuff. We try to hold off on big decisions until Kyle’s home, but the rest of the world doesn’t always cooperate,” said Christy.

  “Arguments. We’re careful about stressing each other out before he leaves.” Libby Cooper’s work as a marriage counselor was showing. “I’m on pins and needles, making sure I show how proud I am of him, reassuring him I’ve got everything under control with the house and the kids, so he doesn’t have to worry about me. We talk when we can during deployments. But you know it isn’t the same.”

  Amy addressed Marcy again. “So you have a mess on your hands until he gets back. That what you’re saying?”

  “You could say that. No time for a court ordered custody arrangement, but part of her release from jail was predicated on her cooperation, given that Lucas had no one else but me to help with the kids. Not the best situation, but we’re dealing with it.”

  “Marcy’s got her hands full,” sighed Gina. “Look, I’m going to have to run.”

  “Get it to go, Gina,” said Christy.

  “I got a couple bites. No worries. We have something we’re working on, and I need to be there.” Gina started to pull a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse, and Christy stopped her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Go. You want me to drop it by the station?”

  “No. Not going there right now. Take it home for later, okay?” She gave Amy’s shoulder a squeeze as she stood up. “Sorry I couldn’t stay longer, but you got my number, right? Call me and we’ll go do something. I’m going on maternity leave starting next week.”

  “Thanks.” Amy watched as the very pregnant policewoman tried, with some difficulty, to weave in and around lunch tables, until she broke free at the street and disappeared.

  “In case you’re wondering, babies are born when they’re overseas, too. We try to time it, but that doesn’t always happen,” whispered Christy.

  Amy was grateful for the life lessons. “I suppose it took all of you awhile to feel totally comfortable with all of this. I’ve only had the shortened crash course.”

  “That’s all most of us get, Amy,” said Libby.

  She looked between Marcy and Libby. “I guess you’ve both got your hands full.”

  “Libby’s mom is babysitting all four of them this afternoon to give us a breather. She loves it. We’re going furniture shopping after lunch. You should come with us.”

  “Maybe I will. Thanks.” Her mind turned to the situation with Marcy and Connie. “So what do you do if there’re more problems with Connie?”

  Marcy sighed. “Unfortunately, most of that has to be handled by my attorney, which costs money. That’s the real problem. But at least the attorneys talk, so I don’t have to get that involved. I do all the dropping off and picking up, and so far, so good.”

  “Must be hard to get a sitter, someone you trust.”

  Christy sat up straight. “Never use a sitter. We have a babysitting pool. No one but relatives and other Team families have anything to do with our kids.”

  “Sort of our code of conduct,” added Libby.

  “We work together on the home front, just like the guys do overseas,” said Christy. “Some deployments are easy, some complicated. We knew about Lucas and Connie splitting up. But they’d been fighting for months.” She studied Marcy’s face before proceeding. “We all knew Lucas did his best. But then he moved into the Bachelor Pad, and they didn’t help him at all.”

  “Have you guys seen that place?” asked Marcy. Libby and Christy shook their heads. “Imagine really raunchy posters and no housekeeper. They live on fast food, car shows, alcohol, and video games.”

  Amy’s cell phone rang. Her father’s number flashed on the screen.

  “Amy? This is Marlene.” Her voice was breathy, like she’d been running.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s your dad, I’m afraid. He’s had a massive heart attack.”

  This can’t be happening!

  “Is he—is he okay?”

  “Not really, Amy. He’s alive. I think you better try to fly up. I’d like you here when they complete the workup on him. He’s stable for now, but on monitors. They warned me it’s highly likely he’ll have another one soon. I’m not allowed to see him, of course. The doctor is giving me only limited information.”

  “I see. I’ll catch something right away and take the bus up from the airport, I guess.”

  “I’d come down to pick you up, but I don’t want to leave him, in case…” Marlene began to sob. “I’m so sorry to have to call you while your Zak is away. He was feeling so good. We got back from San Diego. He was happy, excited for you and your new life.”

  “Maybe it was the flying.”

  “Listen, we can talk later. You need to get to the airport. I’ll call you if anything further develops. Text me your arrival. Let me see if I can get someone to pick you up at SFO. I just called the station, and the guys have been great.”

  Amy allowed the fear overtake her. There were two men she cared about in the world. One was in harm’s way, and the other was lying in a hospital bed, perhaps near death.

  Christy followed Amy to their apartment where she put together some clothes in a weekend bag. Kyle’s wife was on the phone, checking for a reservation.

  “Not having much luck. Why don’t I just take you over to the field, and you can throw yourself on the employees. Southwest is probably your best bet.”

  In an hour, Amy was texting her arrival time to Marlene. If someone left Sonoma County, they’d just barely get there in time to meet the arrival.

  Of course it would be Rich Wilson, one of her father’s promising new recruits, the one who had taken her to a couple squad events. She never considered them a date, but today, she was grateful for his kindness.

  His sad face told her he genuinely cared about her. She found it easy to walk into his arms and let out the tears she’d been holding back on the plane. Rich whispered things she couldn’t hear, rubbed her back, and held her carefully. She appreciated the fact that, when she pulled back, he didn’t cling.

  “Come on. Let me have that,” he said as he grabbed her bag. “We should get on the road. I brought the cruiser, so we can put on the siren.”

  “Does that mean I have to be the perp in the back seat?”

  “Funny. You can sit up front or in the back. I’ll be going so fast no one will
see.”

  True to his word, they made it all the way to the hospital in less than forty-five minutes. Amy texted Christy to let her know she’d arrived and promised updates. She also let Marlene know when they crossed the Marin/Sonoma County border.

  Any updates?

  No new ones, which is the best news there is. We just hope this will continue.

  Rich peered into the rear view mirror. “Any news?”

  “Just that he’s not had further attacks. I guess that’s what they’re worried about most.”

  “I thought the guy was strong as an ox. Has he been having any problems?”

  “Not a one. Not that I know of. Dad is kind of secretive, you know.”

  “I hear you. That would be like him to hide something from everyone. God, I hope it’s something they can regulate.”

  “Me, too.”

  Amy let the brown hills pull on her heartstrings as they zipped by. It was familiar, but everything about her world had changed in a flash of quick decisions. Coming back home didn’t feel like it normally did. This used to be home. Used to be where she thought her future was. Now it was her past. She’d taken the big brass ring of a new life with her handsome SEAL, and now was being yanked back to the smallness of Sonoma County.

  She wasn’t a resident of San Diego long enough to feel like that was her home, yet. With her father in danger, her footing was unstable. She tried to think of something Zak could have said to her.

  ‘Pay attention,’ he’d say. ‘Don’t lose your focus. Think about your surroundings. Be vigilant.’

  But unlike the attack in San Francisco, this was a different kind of danger. This was something she was powerless to control.

  ‘Then control what you can control,’ she heard Zak advise in her mind. ‘In a dangerous situation, don’t panic. Panic is the enemy of solution.’

  What solution, Zak? Tell me. What am I supposed to do except wait for an outcome?

  She leaned back in the seat, checking her phone screen. Should she text Zak or should she wait until she had more information. What would he want? He’d want all the information she had. Why bother him until she could give him a prognosis or an update.