Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  PJ. couldn't believe what she'd just heard. She wasn't sure what to say, what to do, but she did know that knocking over her iced tea was not the correct response. She held tightly onto the glass. "Thank you...Joe," she somehow managed to murmur. "I appreciate your confidence."

  "You're doing all right, P.J.," he said, standing in one graceful movement. "Keep it up."

  As he walked away, PJ. closed her eyes. God, it had been so long since she'd been given any words of encouragement, she'd almost forgotten how important it was to hear praise. Someone else—in this case, the commanding officer of Alpha Squad—recognized that she was doing her job well. He thought she was the one who should lead the team.

  Out of the four FInCOM agents...

  P.J. opened her eyes, realizing with a flash of clarity that the captain's compliment hadn't been quite as flattering as she'd first believed. She was the best candidate for team leader—compared to Farber, Schneider and Greene.

  Still, it was better than being told that women had no place on a team like this one.

  She wrapped her half-eaten sandwich and threw it in the trash on her way out of the mess hall, aware of Harvard glanc­ing up to watch her go.

  Chapter 4

  Blue called to say he's running late. He'll be here in about a half hour." Joe Catalanotto closed the door behind Harvard, leading him through the little rented house.

  "He went home first, didn't he?" Harvard shook his head in amused disgust. "I told the fool not to stop at home." Blue McCoy's wife, Lucy, had come into town two days ago. After spending a month and a half apart, Harvard had no doubt exactly what was causing Blue's current lateness.

  And now Blue was going to show up for this meeting at Joe Cat's house grinning like the Cheshire Cat, looking re­laxed and happy, looking exactly like what he was—a man who just got some.

  Damn, it seemed everyone in Alpha Squad had that little extra swing in their steps these days. Everyone but Harvard.

  Joe's wife was with him in Virginia, too. Lucky O'Donlon was living up to his nickname, romancing Miss East Coast Virginia. Even Bobby and Wes had hooked up with a pair of local women who were serving up more than home-cooked meals.

  Harvard tried to remember the last time he'd gone one on one with a member of the opposite sex, June, May, April, March... Damn, it had been February. He'd been seeing a woman named Ellen off and on for a few months. It was nothing serious—she'd call him, they'd go out and wind up at her place. But he hadn't noticed when she'd stopped phon­ing. He couldn't call up a clear picture of her face.

  Every time he tried, he kept seeing P. J. Richards's big brown eyes.

  "Hello, Harvard." Joe's wife, Veronica, was in the kitchen. As usual, she was doing three different things at once. A pile of vegetables was next to a cutting board, and a pot of something unidentifiable was bubbling on the stove. She had paperwork from her latest consulting assignment spread out across the kitchen table and one-and-a-half-year-old Frankie in his high chair, where he was attempting rather clumsily to feed himself his dinner.

  "Hey, Ron," Harvard said as Joe stopped to pull several bottles of beer from the refrigerator. "What's up?"

  "I'm teaching myself to cook," she told him in her crisp British accent. Her red hair was loose around her shoulders, and she was casually dressed in shorts and a halter top. But she was the kind of super classy woman who, no matter what she wore, always looked ready to attend some kind of state function. Just throw on a string of pearls, and she'd be ready to go. "How's your father?"

  "Much better, thanks. Almost back to one hundred per­cent."

  "I'm so glad."

  "Moving day's coming. My mother keeps threatening to pack him in a box if he doesn't quit trying to lift things she perceives as being too heavy for him."

  Joe looked up from his search for a bottle opener. "You didn't tell me your parents were moving."

  "No?"

  He shook his head. "No."

  "My father's taking a position at a school out in Arizona. In Phoenix. Some little low-key private college."

  "It sounds perfect," Veronica said. "Just what he needs— a slower pace. A change of climate."

  "Yeah, it's great," Harvard said, trying to mean it. "And they found a buyer for the house, so..."

  Joe found the bottle opener and closed the drawer with his hip, still gazing at Harvard. "You okay about that?"

  "Yeah, yeah, sure," Harvard said, shrugging it off.

  Veronica turned to the baby. "Now, Frank, really. You're supposed to use the other end of the spoon."

  Frankie grinned at her as he continued to chew on the spoon's handle.

  "He inherited that smile from his father," Veronica told Harvard, sending a special smile of her own in Joe Cat's direction. "And he knows when he uses it, he can get away with anything, I swear, I'm doomed. I'm destined to spend the rest of my life completely manipulated by these two men."

  "That's right," Joe said, stopping to kiss his wife's bare shoulder before he handed Harvard an opened bottle of beer. "I manipulated her into allowing me to refinish the back deck two weeks ago. We don't even own this place, and yet I managed to talk her into letting me work out there in the hot sun, sanding it down, applying all those coats of waterproof­ing...."

  "It was fun. Frank and I helped," Veronica said.

  Joe just laughed.

  "Can I convince you to stay for dinner?" she asked Har­vard. "I'm making a stew. I hope."

  "Oh, no, Ron, I'm sorry," Harvard said, trying hard to sound as if he meant it. "I have other plans." Plans such as eating digestible food. Veronica may have been one of the sweetest and most beautiful women in the world, but her cooking skills were nonexistent.

  "Really? Do you have a date?" Her eyes lit up. "With what's her name? The FInCOM agent? PJ. something?"

  Harvard nearly choked on his beer. "No," he said. "No, I'm not seeing her socially." He shot a look at Joe Cat. "Who told you that I was?"

  Joe was shaking his head, shrugging and making not-me faces.

  "Just a guess. I saw her the other day." Veronica stirred the alleged stew. "While I was dropping something off at the base. She's very attractive."

  No kidding.

  "So what's the deal?" Veronica asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Has Lucky O'Donlon already staked his claim three feet in every direction around her?"

  Lucky and P.J.? Of course, now that Harvard was dunking about it, Lucky had been circling PJ.—albeit somewhat war­ily—for the past few days. No doubt Miss East Coast Virginia was starting to cling. Harvard knew of nothing else that would send Lucky so quickly into jettison mode—and put him back on the prowl again. He had to smile, thinking of the way P. J. would react to Lucky's less-than-subtle advances.

  His smile faded. Unless it was only Harvard she was de­termined to keep her distance from.

  "PJ.'s not seeing anyone, Ron," Joe told his wife as he slid open the door to the back deck. "She's working overtime trying to be one of the guys. She's not going to blow that just because Lucky gives her a healthy dose of the O'Donlon charm."

  "Some women find heart-stoppingly handsome blond men like Lucky irresistible," Veronica teased. "Particularly heart-stoppingly handsome blond men who look as if they've stepped off the set of 'Baywatch.'"

  "There's no rule against a SEAL getting together with a FInCOM agent." Harvard managed to keep his voice calm. "I have no problem with it, either. As long as the two of them are discreet." The minute he got back to base, he was going to track down O'Donlon and... What? Beat him up? Warn him off? He shook his head. He had no claim on the girl.

  "Ronnie, would you please send Blue out here after he gets here?" Joe asked his wife as he led Harvard onto the deck.

  As Harvard closed the door behind him, he looked closely at his longtime friend. The captain of Alpha Squad looked relaxed and happy. The undercurrent of tension that seemed to surround the man like an aura was down to a low glow. And that was amazing, since the meeting tonight was to dis­cuss the fac
t that the frustration levels regarding this FInCOM training mission were about to go off the chart.

  At least Harvard's were.

  "You're not really that bothered by all the interference we're getting from FInCOM and Admiral Stonegate, are you?" Harvard asked.

  Joe shrugged and leaned both elbows on the deck railing. "You know, H., I knew this program was a lost cause the day I met FlnCOM's choices for the team. To be honest, I don't think there's anything we can do to get those four work­ing effectively together. So we do what we do, and then we recommend—emphatically—that FInCOM stay the hell out of counterterrorist operations. We suggest—strongly—that they leave that to the SEALs."

  "If you're quitting, man, why not just detonate the entire program right now? Why keep on wasting our time with—"

  "Because I'm being selfish." Joe turned to look at him, his dark eyes serious. "Because Alpha Squad runs at two hundred and fifty percent energy and efficiency one hundred percent of the time, and the guys need this down time. / need this down time. I'm telling you, H., it's tough on Ronnie with me always leaving. She never knows when we sit down to dinner at night if that's the last time I'm going to be around for a week or for a month or—God forbid—forever. She doesn't say anything, but I see it in her eyes. And that look's not there right now because she knows I'm leading this train­ing drill for the next six weeks. She's got another six weeks of reprieve, and I'm not taking that away from her. Or from any of the other wives, either."

  "I hear you," Harvard said. "But it rubs the wrong way. Doing all this for nothing."

  "It's not for nothing." Joe finished his beer. "We've just got to revise this mission's goal. Instead of creating a Com­bined SEAL/FInCOM counterterrorist team, we're creating a FlnCOM counterterrorist expert. We're giving this expert all of the information she can possibly carry, and you know what she's gonna do?"

  "She?"

  "She's gonna take that expertise back to Kevin Laughton, and she's gonna tell him and all of the FlnCOM leaders that the best thing they can do in a terrorist situation is to step back and let SEAL Team Ten do the job."

  Harvard swore. "She?"

  "Yes, I’m referring to P. J. Richards." Joe grinned. "You know, you should try talking to her sometime. She doesn't bite."

  Harvard scowled. "Yes, she does. And I have the teeth marks to prove it."

  Joe's eyebrows went up. "Oh, really?"

  Harvard shook his head. "I didn't mean it that way."

  "Oh, yeah, that's right. I almost forgot—you have no prob­lem with her hooking up with Lucky O'Donlon as long as the two of them are discreet." Joe snorted. "Why do I foresee a temporary transfer for O'Donlon crossing my desk in the near future?"

  "You know I wouldn't do that."

  "Well, maybe you should."

  Harvard clenched his teeth and set his barely touched bottle of beer on the deck railing. "Cat, I'm trying to be profes­sional here."

  "What happened, she turn you down?"

  Harvard pushed himself off the rail and walked toward the sliding doors, then stopped and walked toward the captain. "What exactly do you envision her role at FlnCOM to be?"

  "You're purposely changing the subject."

  "Yes, I am."

  "I can't believe you haven't at least tried to get friendly with this woman. If I weren't a happily married man, I'd be pulling some discreet moves myself. I mean, she's smart, she's beautiful, she's—"

  "What exactly do you envision her role at FlnCOM to be?" Harvard enunciated very clearly.

  "All right," Joe said with a shrug. "Be that way." He drew in a deep breath, taking the time to put his thoughts into words. "Okay, I see her continuing to climb FlnCOM's ca­reer ladder and moving into an upper-level position—proba­bly onto Kevin Laughton's staff. She's worked with him before. He was the one who insisted she be part of this pro­gram in the first place."

  Kevin Laughton and P.J. Now Harvard had to wonder about that relationship. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes in disgust. Everything became more complicated when women were thrown into the equation. Suddenly sex became an issue, a motivation, a factor.

  A possibility.

  Damn, why couldn't P.J. just stay in the FlnCOM office, safe and sound and out of sight—a distraction for after hours?

  "I see her as being the voice of reason and being right there, on hand, so that when a terrorist situation like that incident at the Athens airport comes up again, she can tell Laughton to get the SEALs involved right from the start in­stead of waiting a week and a half and getting five agents and ten civilians killed.

  "The U.S. has a no-negotiation policy with terrorists," Joe Cat went on. "We need to go one step further and consis­tently deliver an immediate and deadly show of force. Tangos take over another airport? FlnCOM snaps to it, and boom, SEAL Team Ten is there within hours. The first CNN report doesn't bring attention to the bastards' cause—instead it's an account of how quickly the Ts were crushed. It's a report on the number of body bags needed to take the scum out of there. Tangos snatch hostages? Same thing. Boom. We go in, we get them out. No standing around wringing our hands. And eventually the terrorists will realize that their violent action causes a swift and deadly reaction from the United States every single time."

  "And you think P. J. Richards will really reach a point in FlnCOM where her opinion is that important?" Harvard let his skepticism ring in his voice. "Where she can say, 'Call in the SEALs,' and have anyone listen to her?"

  "On her own? Probably not," Joe said baldly. "She's a woman and she's black. But I do think Kevin Laughton's going all the way to the top. And I think P. J. Richards will be close by when he gets there. And I'm betting when she says, 'Call in the SEALs,' he's going to listen."

  Harvard was silent. Damn, but he hated politics. And he hated the image of Laughton with PJ. by his side.

  "So since our goal has changed," Harvard asked, crossing his arms and trying to stay focused, "do we still try to con­vince FInCOM to let us run training ops that extend past their current ten-hour limit? And what about our request to go out of the country with the finks? If you'd prefer to just stay here in Virginia—"

  "No," Joe said. "I think it would create more of an im­pression on PJ. if we put on a real show—you know, let her feel the impact of being in a strange country for these longer exercises."

  "But you just said Veronica—"

  "Ronnie will be fine if I go out of town for a few days for something as safe as a FInCOM training exercise. And I can't stress enough the importance of convincing PJ. that the cre­ation of a CSF team is not the way to go," Joe told him. "And the way I think we can do that is to set up and run two different forty-eight-hour exercises either in the Middle East or somewhere in Southeast Asia. We'd let the finks take part in the first operation. And then, after they fail miserably again, I'd like to set PJ. up as an observer as Alpha Squad does a similar training op—and succeeds. I want her to see exactly how successfully a SEAL team like Alpha Squad can operate, but I want her to get a taste of just how hard it is first."

  "We'll need to make a formal request to Admiral Stone-gate's office."

  "It's already sent. They're pretty negative. I think they're afraid we're somehow going to hurt the finks."

  Harvard smiled. "They're probably right. God only knows what will happen if the finks don't get their beauty sleep."

  "I've also put in a call to Laughton's office," Joe told him.

  "But I'm having trouble reaching the man. So far, his staff has been adamant that the rules stand as is."

  The door slid open and Blue stepped onto the deck. "Sorry I'm late."

  Harvard looked at Joe. "He look sorry to you?"

  "He's trying."

  "He's not succeeding. Look at that smile he can't keep off his face."

  Blue sat down. "Okay, okay, I'm not sorry. I admit it. So what are we talking about? P. J. Richards? Her test scores are off the scale. And I assume you're both aware she's an expert-level sharpshooter?"

  "Yea
h, we've already voted her in as Wonder Woman," Harvard told him.

  "What we've got to do now," Joe said, "is make sure she's got the same warm fuzzy feelings about us that we have about her. We want her going back to Laughton and telling him, 'These guys are the best,' not 'Whatever you do, stay away from those nasty SEALs.' She's been kind of aloof, but then again, we haven't exactly welcomed her with open arms."

  "Consider that about to change," Blue said. "I heard Lucky talking before I left the base. PJ.'s having dinner with him—the Alpha Squad's ambassador of open arms—right this very moment."

  Joe swore. "That's not what I had in mind. You'd better go and intercept that," he said, turning toward Harvard.

  But Harvard was already running for his car.

  PJ. punched her floor number into the hotel elevator.

  Well, that had been a joke.

  She'd finally decided to take some action. Over the past few days, she'd come to the conclusion that she had to at­tempt to make friends with one of the SEALs. She needed an ally—because it was more than obvious that these big, strong men were scared to death of her.

  She needed just one of them to start looking at her as if she were an equal. All it would take was one, and that one would, by example, teach the others it could be done. She could be accepted as a person first, a woman second.

  But that special chosen one wasn't going to be the SEAL nicknamed Lucky, that was for sure.

  He had a nice smile and an even nicer motorcycle, but his intentions when he'd asked her to join him for dinner hadn't been to strike up a friendship. On the contrary, he'd been looking for some action.

  A different kind of action than the kind she was looking for.

  He'd fooled her at first. They had a common interest in motorcycles, and he let her drive his from the base to the restaurant. But when he rode behind her, he'd held her much too tightly for the tame speeds they were going.

  And so she'd told him bluntly between the salad and the main course that she wasn't interested in anything other than a completely nonsexual friendship. By the time coffee arrived, she'd managed to convince him. And although he wasn't as forthright as she had been, from the way he kept glancing at his watch she knew that he wasn't interested in anything other than a sexual relationship.