Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs

by Sharon Hamilton

  “They nearly block the ADA ramps. I had to double the security detail, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Zapparelli. But about this threat, is it credible?”

  “Well, he doesn’t know. He’s already notified the police. The caller was young, and usually that means a crank call. But nowadays, every threat is taken seriously. My hunch is that it’s someone’s older brother trying to ruin someone’s day.”

  “So it’s a suggestion, something voluntary?”

  “That’s right. But the police could shut me down without my permission.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d sue his ass and have his job if he shuts down my festival.”

  “But Mr. Zapparelli, in light of all these terrorist things—”

  “I’m not going to do it. They’ll have to arrest me.”

  “Oh, God.” She put her face in her palm.

  “What’s up?” Zak was at her shoulder. She wasn’t aware he’d snuck up on their conversation.

  “Mr. Zapparelli said someone called in a bomb threat. But it sounded like a teenage prank call. A young punk.”

  Zak took two seconds to scan the room. He glanced at the two-story windows and the stone columns extending up, the catwalk overhead and then lastly at the crowd of children in front of him.

  “You get the hell out. Make it calm and orderly. I’m gonna make some calls.”

  “Hold it, son. I’m not going—”

  Zak pulled the director by the shirt collar and nearly spit in his face as he whispered. “You do as I fuckin’ say or you’re gonna have the blood of dozens of children on your hands, do you understand me?”

  He relaxed his grip and calmly asked. “When did this come in?”

  “The Fire Marshall just told me. Just now. If everyone wasn’t already here, I’d have closed it, but how do we get all these kids out without causing a panic and getting people hurt?”

  Zak took a patient inhale. “Because if they stay, they might get worse. You have a PA system?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you try to announce it. Get your people and try.”

  Zapparelli ran off towards a gathering of some catering and wait staff.

  Zak turned to Lizzie. “Grab Charlotte and Amy. Go through the kitchen and meet me out front. Don’t run, but don’t delay.”

  She nodded. “So you think…?”

  “Time for thinkin’s over, Lizzie. Time for action.” He waited to see that she was hurrying and then ran through the restaurant doors and into the main lobby, his cell phone plastered to his ear.

  Looking over the crowd of eager big and little faces as she made her way to Charlotte and Amy, Lizzie was struck with Jameson’s admonition to be careful. But this wasn’t a night club or a soccer stadium. This was just a winery packed with children and their parents and teachers, and—then it hit her.

  The perfect target! It would be hard to make it onto a campus or school where security was always tight, but here, at a winery, for a festival, with private security probably without military training? They were sitting ducks.

  They heard the announcement begin just before they made it through the swinging kitchen doors, “Ladies and—”

  The first blast knocked them on their backs. Lizzie saw Amy hit her head on the countertop. She was out cold. Charlotte screamed and the room went nearly dark. A tiny crack around a vent pipe allowed just a pinprick of light.

  Moans and screams came from the other side of the doors. She could hear automatic gunfire close by and more screaming. Charlotte shuddered and clutched at her, still managing to keep her silly hat on. She tried to soothe her daughter as best she could, worried about her crying out and drawing attention. With no sound coming from where Amy fell, there was nothing to do but wait. She hoped Zak was devising a plan to get them out. The chaos and emotional pain in the room was beginning to get to her.

  Next they heard sirens. She was grateful the Fire Marshall had alerted the police.

  “The good guys are here, Charlotte. Don’t worry.”

  She tried to arouse Amy, but she was still unconscious. People began filing in through the kitchen doors. She could see some of them were holding limp children in their arms. The smell of blood was everywhere. The newcomers began pounding the exit doors Lizzie and Amy were to use to get out and meet Zak, but found they were locked.

  We’re trapped!

  Dazed and staggering, people wandered around the kitchen in the near-dark, knocking things over, fighting for water to wash blood and the bomb soot from eyes. The floor was slippery as people fell and bled out.

  Lizzie retreated into a large pantry closet, dragging Amy behind her, even Charlotte giving her a hand. It must have been used at one time as a wine cellar, because the walls were constructed of solid cinder blocks. She placed a rolling metal cart in front of the door and then cross braced it with a broom handle and an iron flag standard. She secured them in place by maneuvering the shelving on both sides. Several people tried pushing on the door, unsuccessfully trying to gain entry.

  The second blast was much closer, but smaller, sounding like an explosion in a glass factory. Charlotte’s screams pierced her heart as she tried to calm her daughter down again. Amy was beginning to come around and began to moan. Charlotte’s little body shook against her. They were seated on the concrete floor together near Amy.

  “Stay quiet, Charlotte. We need to be very, very quiet and hide so no one will find us.”

  “Where are the good guys, Mommy?”

  It was a good question. “Shhh. Not sure sweetheart, but they’ll find us. Don’t worry. You just be as quiet as you can. Can you do that?”

  Charlotte nodded and snuggled into her, burying her head.

  Lizzie heard Amy stir again. “You hurt, Amy? Anything cut or broken that you can tell?”

  “What happened? Is Zak all right?” It sounded like she’d righted herself against the cinder block wall.

  “I haven’t seen him. The force of the first bomb knocked you down, and I think you hit your head. We dragged you in here. I hope we’ll be safe for a while. Can you feel anything broken?”

  “First blast? I only heard one.” Lizzie noticed Amy was still sounding distracted and having difficulty stringing thoughts together.

  The sounds of an exchange of automatic gunfire caught their attention.

  “Oh my God!” whispered Amy.

  “I’ve heard sirens. I think it’s the good guys battling it out. But listen,” she crawled over to where Amy was propped into the corner, bringing Charlotte to her lap, “we have to be quiet, Amy. I heard shooting just outside the kitchen doors earlier. I think some people, maybe even some kids were shot.”

  She heard her friend softly sobbing as she took in their predicament. “Where is Zak? Do you think they—?”

  “I have no idea. But I think he got out before the blast. Maybe he’s helping with the rescue. They have to come get us, Amy. You watch. They’ll come. He knows where we went.”

  Grateful no one could see her face, she let the tears stream down her cheeks in the dark silence and waited. She was terrified.

  “Are you two okay?” Amy asked at last.

  “Haven’t been able to check, but I think so. Aren’t we, honey?” She bent down and felt Charlotte turn.

  “Yes, Mommy.” Her little hands were fiddling with something. At last she discovered the hat had slipped off and she was putting it back on her head.

  “I want to keep everyone quiet as long as we can.”

  “I hear you.” Amy sighed.

  The storage room was beginning to heat up as the minutes went by. More sirens approached. Lizzie tried her cell again and still found she had no coverage.

  “Can you get anything?” Amy asked her.

  “No bars. These walls must be thick. Try yours.”

  The light from Amy’s cell illuminated her face. A bruise on her brow just missed her left eye and was starting to swell. She wondered why her friend didn’t notice the
large pool of blood that had covered her left thigh.

  “Nothing,” she said, resigned.

  “Your leg, Amy. Flash the light on your left leg.”

  They both saw the bloody gash and swelling, which would make escape more difficult.

  “Oh God. I don’t want to touch it or look at it,” she said.

  A fresh volley of gunfire erupted and then some small explosives. Someone walked into the kitchen and it sounded like they were looking for survivors. A loud scream erupted and then another several shots rang out, and then all was silence. Lizzie’s heart beat in her chest as she anticipated what would come next. Someone puished against the handle of the storage closet door, kicked it, and then splintered it with gunfire. Gun casings bounced all over the concrete floor outside the room. Charlotte started screaming.

  A hole was created large enough for a bloody dark hand to poke through. He was attempting to grab and dislodge the broom handle, shouting something in an Arabic language to someone else.

  They could smell smoke and as the hole was enlarged, could see large orange flames coming from the kitchen area. It illuminated the closet. Lizzie frantically searched the shelves for something to defend themselves with. Amy took Charlotte, and they tucked themselves into the corner so they’d be safer from the gunfire. The stubborn oak and steel door and the yellow broom handle would not budge.

  Lizzie found several barbeque forks for roasting whole chickens and other small cuts of meat with prongs that extended over six inches. She handed two to Amy, then braced herself and waited. At last the hand attempted one more time to dislodge the handles by attempting to shoot at it. Three shots fired and all of them missed or ricocheted off the metal standard. She heard the sounds of several more Arabic men. Another hand reached in, and this time Lizzie jammed the fork into the back of the man’s hand, feeling the crunch through bone and muscle as he screamed in pain. The fork had punctured all the way through his hand and made it impossible for him to withdraw it. He yanked and yanked on it, tearing his flesh further until the fork dislodged and fell to the ground in front of her.

  Everything was quiet for a few moments. Smoke was beginning to pour in through the hole. The silence outside made her consider perhaps they’d all gone. Noticing a stack of white folded linen tablecloths to her right, she took fistfuls and started jamming them into the opening, hoping to stave off the smoke.

  But a small black capsule fell at her feet. She knew immediately what she had to do.

  Time for thinking is over. Time for action.

  It was just like Zak said. Her priorities were as clear as the day she brought Charlotte into the world. Without hesitation, she gripped the tiny canister between her thumb and first two fingers and lobbed it back through the hole with force. She heard it bounce and skip on the other side, setting off a flurry of yelling in that foreign tongue. At the last minute, she stuffed the tablecloths firmly in the hole just as the device detonated.

  The blast splintered the door, sending shards of wood everywhere like it had gone through a buzz saw. She was thrown back against the concrete wall, and heard something crack. But she didn’t notice the pain. She focused on the sight of her daughter, holding one of the metal forks with both hands, her jaw tensed just like Jameson did, alive and ready for a fight.

  White linen pieces flew through the air in slow motion, flapping in the force of the blast, like angel wings.

  Just before the blackness hit, she wondered if this was what it felt like to go to Heaven.

  Chapter 24

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  Jameson had tricked Lizzie into thinking he was coming tomorrow, but he was determined to surprise her. He had all kinds of plans for their evening together, after Charlotte was put to bed, of course in Nick and Devon’s house. And if his daughter wanted to stay up all night and talk, well that’s what they’d do. He had the rest of his life to spend with the two of them. He didn’t care what they did as long as they were together as a family.

  His plane touched down at the Charles Schulz airport. Grabbing his black duty bag, he slung it over his shoulder and nearly knocked the flight attendant over as he bent to exit the tiny aft doorway.

  “Whoa. I’d have a hard time explaining that shiner to my boyfriend.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he stepped back into the cabin to make sure she was unharmed.

  “No worries. But I’d watch your butt if I were you.” She raised her pant leg up to show off a beautiful blue denim-colored boot with delicate white stitching.

  “Yes, ma’am. I respect the boot. You can trust me on that.” He gave her a friendly smile. His heart was light as he anticipated seeing his girls very soon. He’d asked Nick to pick him up so the surprise would be perfect. He’d be waiting for her when she got home from the festival. They had it all arranged. He was going to be naked in her bed in the bunkhouse, and Charlotte would be kept inside Nick and Devon’s with the baby. But just for tonight.

  His cell rang.

  “Thank God. Jameson there’s been a bombing at the winery.” Zak’s voice was in a near panic.

  “Frog Haven?”

  “No, Zapparelli. There’s a big event going on. All four of us were there.”

  Jameson nearly twisted the phone in two. He wound his way between happy travelers greeting each other, reunions he’d been planning as well. It made the words he was hearing that much more surreal.

  “People hurt?”

  “Gonna give it to you straight, man. Been a lot of people injured and we’ve lost about thirty they say. Could have been way higher. They’re still putting down the bad guys.”

  “Where are you? Why did you leave Lizzie and Charlotte?”

  “I ran to call for some help before the blast hit. But I’m still up on top. They’ve got active shooters, Jameson, got the police and rescue people pinned below.”

  He had to ask. He wanted to throw his head back and roar, shatter the windows he was so angry. He spotted Nick. “We’ll be right there. I’ll call you when we arrive.”

  “Okay, now I gotta call Amy’s dad.”

  “You have no idea where they are? You sure?”

  “I’m close by where I saw them last. That’s the best I can do. I’ll find them, Jameson. We’ll find them.”

  “You call me with updates. I don’t care how small, you let me know, okay? We’re on our way.” Jameson hung up and grabbed Nick.

  Nick was cheery. “How was it, stud?”

  “No place you wanna go. But we gotta book up to Zapparelli’s. There’s been a bomb.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Kids, people killed.”

  “The girls?”

  Jameson shrugged and shook his head. “Haven’t found them yet.”

  Nick stared back at him, not knowing what to say. “You bring something?” he said as coolly as if they were on a mission. “ ’Cause I did. I always have it, even here in Northern California.” Jameson knew by the look of resolve in Nick’s face that if anything happened to the girls, someone would pay in kind. It didn’t matter to Jameson if it wrecked his career. But Nick had a wife and baby and vineyard to run.

  “Not your fight, Nick. But yea, I brought something.” He held up his bag.

  Nick called Devon and let her know where he was headed.

  They tore up north on 101, headed to the last Healdsburg exit. They could see smoke billowing into the afternoon sky. A graveyard of flashing red and blue lights dotted the hills around the winery, which was clearly visible from the freeway. A handful of cars had pulled to the side of the freeway in both directions, looking up at the winery that used to have two huge copper spires, and, sadly now had none.

  “Fuck. They nearly blew the whole thing up,” said Nick.

  Jameson swallowed and felt sick to his stomach. He saw bloody streets in Mogadishu, dead people rotting in the sun. Things he’d never seen before in person. This was not the homecoming he’d expected. Not here. Not today.

  He said a prayer, closing his eyes, fingering his wedding r
ing like rosary beads. He felt the steel plates of reality slam into place, clearing his mind, pushing toward action. He’d get the bastards who did this. But first, he had to rescue his girls. He felt like he’d abandoned them. He should have been there to protect them. He didn’t care what he had to do, he’d get them back and kill anyone who tried to lay a hand on them.

  The reality of seeing the winery look like a burned out hulk he’d seen in Somalia or Djibouti sent a chill down his spine. Zak had said something about casualties, but he put it out of his mind. It was a thought he just refused to grasp.

  He called Zak. “Any word?” Jameson could hear the crack of rifle fire echoing in the background.

  “You get that?”

  “Yea. So it’s not settled.”

  “They got active shooters, Jameson. The police and rescue can’t get to them. I didn’t bring my long gun, but then, why would I think I’d need it?”

  “Guess we need to pack 24/7 now.”

  “Amen to that. This is the last day I go off unprepared. Anywhere.” Zak’s voice was wavering.

  “Well I did.” After a pause, Jameson continued. “They have survivors coming out?” He didn’t want to know, but he had to ask anyway.

  “Some.”

  That word was hopeful at least. Some had made it out.

  “They are keeping me in place so I can give them surveillance. Don’t think the bad guys know I’m here. But I’m giving them reports. I’m not to interfere. I want to be here, no matter what. And you know what I’d do if—”

  “Roger that. Okay, we’re coming up on the exit now. Talk to you in a few.”

  “Later.”

  Nick was careful to maneuver around rubbernecking drivers who were not paying attention to where they were on the road or who was around them. They turned off at the exit, then drove under the freeway to the large gates of the winery a few hundred yards away. A cruiser was blocking the entrance to the parking lot. There were white tents set up already as triage units, at least six fire crews, about a dozen ambulances, and a coronor’s van. Highway Patrol units attempted to shut down the frontage roads in either direction, either to stop someone’s escape or impede anyone who wanted to join in.