The Walls of Troy

by L. A. Witt

  Just when the pieces begin to add up, danger blows them all apart…

  MA1 Iskander Ayhan’s orders are simple: stay with Admiral Dalton’s son as a plainclothes bodyguard while the kid attends university classes. So typical—a high-ranking officer abusing Navy resources for unnecessary security.

  It isn’t long before Iskander realizes there’s more to his assignment than protecting the kid from benign harassment by homophobic classmates. Behind those piercings, eyeliner, and bad attitude, Troy Dalton is scared. Truly, deeply, scared.

  Troy is indeed hiding something. Iskander is the only one who’s ever taken his fears seriously, which gives him hope. Yet Troy isn’t sure one lone, armed-to-the-teeth bodyguard is enough to keep him safe, especially since he can’t risk telling Iskander the truth.

  As Iskander slowly gains Troy’s trust, the walls start coming down. And before they know it, the warmth between them explodes into real heat. Until suddenly Iskander realizes he’s a magnet for danger, not a shield.

  Now he doesn’t know how to keep Troy safe—stay close, or get as far away from him as possible.

  Warning: Contains a younger man with a thing for older men, and an older man who doesn’t usually have quite so much trouble resisting younger men. Author is not responsible for any bad academic habits that might result from watching these two “study” for their exams.

  The Walls of Troy

  L.A. Witt

  Chapter One

  These orders were bullshit.

  I was on my way from my recently procured apartment in one of the many questionable neighborhoods in Norfolk, Virginia, to the home of Admiral Gregory Dalton in nearby Virginia Beach. As the windshield wipers scraped sheets of rain off the glass, and the torrential downpour blurred the scenery—not to mention the street signs—I gripped the wheel, more out of irritation than a need to keep my car from sliding.

  “Left turn ahead,” the GPS ordered in a bored voice.

  I glanced at the map on the screen. Only a few miles to go. Almost there.

  And I couldn’t be any fucking happier.

  I thumped the wheel with the heel of my hand. This assignment was not what I’d signed up for. After fifteen years of being a cop in virtually every capacity the Navy offered, I’d shifted gears and gone into this whole protective detail field with a clear plan. Instead of guarding a ship, standing at a gate, or dealing with domestics in base housing like I’d been doing for my entire career, I’d play plainclothes bodyguard to some admiral. An admiral who, once I earned his favor, could put in a good word for me if I ever applied for Officer Candidate School.

  Then I’d gotten my orders.

  Norfolk, Virginia? Not surprising.

  Assigned to Admiral Dalton’s security detail? Good so far.

  Before I’d left my previous duty station three weeks ago, I’d gotten an e-mail from Chief Fowler, the master-at-arms in charge of that security detail, and he’d given me a bit more information about what I’d be doing. It turned out I wasn’t going to be guarding an admiral. I was now part of the team of bodyguards protecting the twenty-year-old son of an admiral.

  Fuck this shit. I hadn’t gone to school for protective detail so I could babysit some officer’s kid while he went to college. From the sound of it, this was easy duty, but it wasn’t what I’d signed up for. Because, of course, that was what every master-at-arms aspires to do—guard the spoiled offspring of an entitled officer who abuses his power and wastes government resources.

  Hooray.

  In spite of the water running down my windshield, I was able to make out the sign announcing that the speed limit had dropped from forty-five to twenty-five. That would’ve been a shitty ticket. Especially since, rumor had it, the locals here weren’t fond of the military presence, and local cops were notorious for playing power games with military cops.

  Three years in this place. Thrilling.

  On the other hand, at least I didn’t have to get my hair cut every ten minutes. The high-and-tight haircut was too conspicuous, so I’d been advised to either shave it completely or let it grow out. And I didn’t have to be perfectly clean-shaven, which meant I didn’t have to have a special chit to justify why I always had five-o’clock shadow by lunch. Well, all right, then. Apparently even shit duty had its perks.

  “Your destination is ahead on the left,” the GPS said.

  “Of course it is.” I gritted my teeth.

  Through the pouring rain, I couldn’t see much of the scenery, but the houses out here were definitely bigger than they’d been a mile or so ago. Some even had brick walls out front with lavish gates. A car passed me going the other way, and the front end was distinctly that of a Mercedes. Nice neighborhood, unlike the shithole I was living in.

  Not surprisingly, Admiral Dalton’s house was huge. It wasn’t quite a mansion, but it sure wanted to be. It was one of those big, three-story plantation-style houses you’d see in a movie about the Civil War, complete with the white pillars in front and the long driveway circling around a garden with a fountain at its center.

  I had no idea what houses went for in this area, but I was pretty sure there was no way someone on E6 pay like me could’ve afforded it. The Navy was practically laying off enlisted guys, and Admiral Dalton had the cash to buy a house like this. Nice.

  I pulled up behind an SUV parked beside the front steps. Then I put on my cover—which felt weird now that my hair had grown out—and grabbed my orders off the passenger seat. I tucked them under my arm to keep them dry, got out of the car, and jogged up to the front door.

  Deep, loud barking made me halt in my tracks.

  A second later, three immense shadows were at the door, jumping and barking behind the frosted glass. I swallowed. No one had mentioned anything about dogs. Especially not big dogs.

  “Hey!” someone snapped. “Down.”

  All three of the shadows stood down, stepping back from the door and dropping onto their haunches.

  “Good boys,” the voice said, and a second later, a more human shape appeared at the window, dressed from head to toe in the same blue camouflage I wore.

  The door opened. He was a little shorter than me—most people were—with a short salt-and-pepper hair and a pair of gold anchors—chief insignia—on his collar. He extended his hand. “You must be MA1 Ayhan.”

  As I shook it, I glanced at the name tape on his chest. “Chief Fowler. Good to finally put a face with the e-mails.”

  “Definitely.” He stood aside, waving me in.

  As I stepped inside and took off my cover, I was about to make a smartass comment about us being butlers as well as bodyguards, but my gaze shifted to the three Rottweilers staring up at me from behind Fowler. “Oh. Uh…”

  “They’re friendlier than they look.” Fowler scratched behind one of their ears. “Even the big one.”

  “The big one? They’re all the same size.”

  He chuckled. “You haven’t seen the big one yet.”

  Oh God…

  “Just let ’em sniff your hand, and they’ll be your friends forever.”

  I was, to say the least, dubious, but I held out my hand and inched closer. I gulped, my heart pounding as one of the imposing dogs sniffed my hand.

  “All right, pups. Go to bed.” Fowler snapped his fingers and pointed down the hall. All three dogs immediately jumped to their feet and thundered in the direction he’d indicated. I eyed the dogs warily until they were out of sight and tried not to let my relief show when they were gone.

  Fowler clapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry about them. They’re harmless as long as you’re not breaking in or fucking with one o
f the family members.”

  Harmless. Right. Because no one kept Rottweilers as guard dogs or anything.

  He smirked. “You don’t like dogs or something?”

  I shifted my weight and threw one more glance in the direction they’d gone. “Let’s just say there’s a reason I never went to work in the K-9 unit.”

  “Gotcha. All right, anyway. Like I said, I’m Chief Fowler, but around here, the chiefs and first classes usually call each other by first names. So call me Max.”

  “Iskander.”

  His eyebrows rose as we shook hands, but he didn’t say anything. I fully expected to be called Alexander, Zander, “What’s your name again?”, and plenty of other things before people got the hang of it. In a world full of John Smiths, guys with names like mine got used to that in a hurry.

  He gestured for me to follow him. “The security office is this way.” As we walked, he glanced at me. “How’s the jetlag?”

  “Not too bad. I just came from San Diego, but I’ve been here a couple of weeks now anyway.”

  “San Diego? I thought you were stationed in Yokosuka.”

  “I was. Took a little extra leave to visit family before I came here. Mostly so I could recover from the jetlag. That flight from Japan is heinously long.”

  He grunted. “Try coming back from Bahrain.”

  “Been there, done that, still have sand in my boots.”

  Max chuckled. “Best duty ever, am I right?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  He stopped at the end of the hall and pushed open the door to what must have been a spare bedroom before security had moved in. At some point, it had been converted into an office for the MAs. The command center, as Max had called it in the e-mail, probably sarcastically.

  They’d installed a gun safe so we didn’t have to go to the base to arm up every morning and download every night. From what I’d gathered from the e-mails, Max or MA1 Johnson, the nighttime head of security, signed weapons in and out, and they handled paperwork and reports as needed.

  I took a seat in front of the desk, and Max went around behind it.

  “So, you ever done protective detail before?”

  I shook my head. “No, this is my first assignment.”

  “Well.” He grinned. “You’re lucky. This is cake duty.”

  I chuckled. “Is that right?”

  “Yep.” He took my orders and slipped them into a folder. “There’s a total of seven MAs on the security detail, including you, for two people.”

  “Two?”

  “Just the admiral and his kid. You’ll be going to classes with the kid, and you’ll probably be traveling with him whenever he visits his mother in Michigan.”

  “How often is that?”

  Max half shrugged. “Maybe once a year for a week.”

  “They’re not close?”

  He whistled. “No.”

  “That bad?”

  “Apparently. He goes once a year to keep the peace. So, good luck when that trip rolls around.”

  “Thanks.”

  He grimaced. Then he cleared his throat and went on. “So for your daily detail, you’ll be working in plainclothes.”

  “So you’ve said.” I gestured at my hair.

  “Right, right.” Max smirked. “Yeah. It’s bullshit detail, honestly, but it is a cakewalk.”

  “Bullshit? How so?”

  Max glanced around. Then he lowered his voice. “I’ve been doing protective detail for a while, and let me tell you, nothing makes the brass feel important like having security guards with their family members.” Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “Total waste of Navy resources, but hey, the man’s entitled to it, so…”

  I scowled. “So there’s no actual threat against the kid?”

  “There’s a ‘threat’,” he said, making air quotes for emphasis, “but it’s nothing serious. Nothing that warrants an armed guard tailing him everywhere.” He waved a hand. “This is just the admiral throwing his weight around and making everyone think anyone actually gives enough of a fuck about him to mess with his kid.”

  “Great.” I’d heard those stories. One of the things I’d prayed against when I’d taken the protective detail billet was Shopping Detail—accompanying a high-ranking officer’s wife on her shopping trips, more to carry bags than provide security. The worst part about those was the occasional wife who decided she liked her bodyguard. Then he was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. If he did, and they got caught, her husband would have him reduced so far in rank he’d be saluting recruits in boot camp. If he didn’t, then she had ways of making his life hell. I’d even heard about one who’d refused to fuck a general’s wife, and wound up going to court martial for allegedly raping her.

  “So, there’s nothing really going on?” I asked. “I’m just here to make the kid’s dad look important by proxy?”

  “Basically.” Max shrugged. “And, I mean, the kid catches some crap from homophobic students at the university, but I don’t think any of it’s an actual threat.”

  My heart lurched. “What kind of crap is he catching?”

  “General harassment. Slurs. The occasional note on his windshield.” He waved a hand. “Honestly, it’s just kids being kids. As if this region doesn’t already suck because there’s a lot of racial tension, there’s a big conservative population here that’s not fond of gay people. And some of their kids are going to college now.”

  Well, at least he didn’t say they weren’t fond of queers. Nothing like being on anti-homophobia duty with a homophobic boss. Not that I intended to let him catch on to my sexuality, but to say the least, people who casually threw slurs around made for a hostile work environment. I’d learned that with my last senior chief.

  Another relatively minor point in favor of this job, but I’d take it.

  I cleared my throat. “So I’m just going to follow him around at school. That’s it.”

  He nodded.

  “Seems easy enough.” Not to mention a waste of government resources.

  Max smirked. “I don’t think anybody’s actually out to hurt him. And personally, I think if the kid’s going to be all out and proud, he’s going to have to suck it up and take some crap from people.” He put up his hands and shrugged. “But I’m not paid to make those calls. I’m just paid to keep the kid safe.”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “And no one’s thought to mention this to anyone? That it’s fraud, waste, and abuse?”

  “Everyone knows it’s totally waste, fraud, and abuse, but what can we do? Every MA here knows damn well this is bullshit, and if we report it, our careers are over.” He arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to get booted out this close to retirement?”

  “Not particularly, no.”

  “Neither do any of the rest of us. Report that guy”—he gestured past me—“and you can kiss any shot you have of making chief good-bye.”

  I gritted my teeth. I’d long ago figured out that making rank and being completely ethical were sometimes mutually exclusive, but it still didn’t sit well with me. Probably never would.

  “So.” Max leaned back in his chair. “Any questions before we go meet the man?”

  I swallowed. “No, I don’t think so. Seems pretty straightforward.”

  “It is. Trust me, Zander, this is going to be the easiest duty station you’ve ever had.”

  Iskander, I wanted to correct him, but let it go. I forced a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  What have I gotten myself into?

  “Well.” Max rose. “Let’s go meet the admiral. He’s actually home this afternoon.”

  I stood and followed him out of the security office to another office at the other end of the gargantuan house.

  Max stopped in the open doorway. “Sir? MA1 Ayhan is here.”

  “Excellen
t. Come on in.”

  I’d very, very briefly met Admiral Dalton when I’d arrived in Virginia two weeks ago, though his son had been visiting family out of state at the time, so I hadn’t met him yet. As I stepped into the office, I set my shoulders back. Rank generally didn’t intimidate me, but I hadn’t spent much of my career around senior officers. It was a rare day when I crossed paths with anyone above commander. So, even though we’d already been introduced, and we were indoors with our covers off, I almost saluted him.

  I stood straight with my hands in the small of my back. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “At ease, MA1.”

  I relaxed. A little. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Ayhan.” He eyed my name tape. “That’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s Turkish, sir.”

  “I see.” The admiral turned to Max. “You’ve briefed him, Chief?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Have a seat, gentlemen.”

  Once again, I found myself sitting in front of a desk, this time with Max beside me rather than across, and the admiral sank into the large leather chair opposite us.

  “So, as Chief Fowler has probably explained,” he said, folding his hands on the desk, “my son is attending Virginia Southern University. He’s been…receiving some harassment.”

  “Yes, I’ve been briefed on that part, sir.”

  “Good. I would’ve liked to send Troy to a better, safer university, but…” The admiral shifted a little, and didn’t quite maintain eye contact. “Sadly, it would seem this attitude is permeating even some of the more ‘progressive’ universities.”

  I pursed my lips. Not that I’d spent a lot of time on university campuses recently, but that didn’t sound quite right. “Have there been threats specifically against your son? Or just gay students in general?”

  “Troy’s received some threatening notes,” Max said. “Left on the windshield of his car, as I mentioned via e-mail earlier. We don’t know for sure if other students have received them.”

  “Has anyone looked into that?” I asked. “If this is a more widespread—”

  “The university is investigating that,” the admiral said tersely. “My concern is about my son, and I want someone with him at all times. Even when he’s attending classes.”