Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  "I can guarantee you that the U.S. has special forces teams investigating that right this very moment," he told her. "NATO warned Tulgeria about such acts of genocide in the past. If they're up to their old tricks and if we find out about it—and if they are, we will, I guarantee it—then the U.S. ambassador and his staff will be pulled out of Tulibek immediately. The U.S. will cut all relations with the Tulgerian government. The embassy will be gone— potentially overnight. If that happens while you're there..."

  Bobby took a steadying breath. "Colleen, if you go, you'll be in danger every minute of that entire week."

  "I want to show you something," she said. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

  7

  The photographs were in her bedroom. Colleen grabbed the envelope from her dresser, stopping to knock softly on Ashley's door on her way back to the kitchen.

  "Come in."

  The room was barely lit, with the shades all pulled down. Ash was at her computer, and despite the dim lighting, Colleen could see that her eyes were red and swollen. She'd been crying.

  "How's the headache?" Colleen asked.

  "Pretty bad."

  "Try to sleep."

  Ashley shook her head. "I can't. I have to write this."

  "Write what?"

  "A brief. To my father. That's the only way he'll ever pay attention to me—if I write him a legal brief. Isn't that pathetic?"

  Colleen sighed. It was pathetic. Everything about Ash­ley's relationship with her father was pathetic. She'd ac tually gotten caller-ID boxes for all of their telephones, so they'd know not to answer when Mr. DeWitt called. Col­leen loved it when her own father called.

  "Why don't you do it later?" she said to her friend. "After the headache's gone."

  Ashley's headaches were notoriously awful. She'd been to the doctor, and although they weren't migraines, they were similar in many ways. Brought on by tension and stress, the doctor had said.

  Great ailment for a future lawyer to have.

  "I'll help you with it," Colleen continued. "You need to tell me what happened—why you haven't called or e-mailed me since mid-May. I assume it's all connected?" It was. She could see that from the look on Ashley's face. "Just let me get rid of Bobby, okay?"

  "Don't you dare!" Indignation gave Ashley a burst of energy. "Colleen, my God! You've had a thing for this guy for years! He's gorgeous, by the way. And huge. I mean, you told me he was big, but I had no idea. How tall is he?"

  "I don't know exactly. Six-six? Maybe taller."

  "His hands are like baseball mitts."

  "Yeah," Colleen said. "And you know what they say about guys with big hands."

  "They have big gloves," they said in unison. Colleen grinned, and Ashley even managed a weak smile. But it was fleeting.

  "I can't believe my rotten timing. Of all the times to come running back to Cambridge and get in the way..." Ashley rested her forehead in her hands, elbows on her desk. "I saw him looking at you, Coll. All you have to do is say the word and he'll spend the night."

  "He gave me the friends speech," Colleen told her.

  "You're kidding!"

  "Let's see—would that be something that I, designated best friend to the entire world's male population, would kid about? No, I don't think so."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, well..." Colleen forced a smile. "Personally I think he's lying—that he's got some kind of code-of-honor thing going, you know, because I'm his best friend's sister. I have to convince him that it's okay, that he doesn't have to fall in love and marry me—that I just want us to have some fun."

  Although if he did happen to fall in love with her... No, she couldn't let herself think that way. That path was fraught with the perils of disappointment and frustration. All she wanted was to have fun, she reminded herself again, wishing the words hadn't sounded so hollow when she'd said them aloud.

  "He's probably wondering what happened to you," Ash­ley pointed out.

  Colleen went out the door, stopping to look at her friend, her hand on the knob. "I'll be back in about thirty minutes to get your full report on Scarsdale and your dear old dad."

  "That's really not necessary—"

  "I know you," Colleen said. "You're not going to sleep until we talk, so we're going to talk."

  Bobby heard the door shut, heard Colleen coming back down the hall to the kitchen.

  He'd heard the soft murmur of voices as she'd stopped to speak to her roommate.

  The soundproofing in this old place was virtually non­existent.

  That meant that grabbing her when she came back into the room, and having hot, noisy sex right there, on top of the kitchen table was definitely not an option.

  Oh, man, he had to get out of here.

  He stood up, but Colleen came into the room, blocking his escape route.

  "Sit," she ordered. "Just for a few more minutes. I want to show you something."

  She took a photograph out of an envelope and slid it across the table toward him. It was a picture of a small girl, staring solemnly into the camera. She had enormous eyes— probably because she was so skinny. She was all narrow shoulders, with a pointy chin, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, with a ragged cap of dark-brown hair. She looked to be about six or seven years old, with the kind of desperate and almost feral air about her that would have made Bobby watch her from the corner of his eye had he happened upon her in the street. Yeah, he'd watch her, all right, and secure his wallet in an inside pocket.

  "This was Analena," Colleen told him, "two years ago—before my student Children's Aid group adopted her."

  She put another picture on the table. "This was taken just last month."

  It was the same girl, only now her hair was longer-thick and glossy. She was smiling—laughing—as she ran across a field, kicking a soccer ball. Her cheeks were pink and healthy looking, and although she was still rail thin, it was because she was growing. She was gangly, gawky. She no longer looked as if she would snap in two. And the feral look was gone. She was a child again.

  Colleen laid a letter in front of him—written in a large, loopy child's hand. "Dearest Colleen," he read silently:

  I dream last night that I visit you in U.S. of A. It such wonderful dream—I want to no wake up. I hope you okay that I gifted Ivan with futball you gifted me. He try to steal many times, I think, why not he keep? My English, she is getting better, no? It is gift from

  you—from America books and tape player and batter­ies you send. Blessed gift. More better than futball. Ivan make bad noise, don't think this. Still, I teach Ivan English words. Some day he thank me, thank you, also. Send more letter soon. Love, Analena.

  Colleen pulled other photos from the envelope. They were pictures of other kids.

  "Analena and about twenty-five other children live in an orphanage, St. Christof’s, deep inside Tulgeria's so-called war zone," she told him, "which also happens to be the part of the country that sustained the most damage from the earthquake. My Children's Aid group has been corre­sponding—for over two years—with the nuns who run St. Christof’s. We've been trying to find a legal loophole so we can get those children out of Tulgeria. These are un­wanted children, Bobby. Most are of mixed heritage—and nobody wants them. The terrible irony is that we have lists of families here in the U.S. who want them desperately— who are dying to adopt. But the government won't let them go. They won't pay to feed them, yet they won't give them up."

  The pictures showed the bleakness of the orphanage. Boarded-up windows, peeling paint, bombed-out walls. These children were living in a shell of a former house. In all of the pictures, the nuns—some clad in old-fashioned habits, some dressed in American jeans and sneakers— were always smiling, but Bobby could see the lines of strain and pain around their eyes and mouths.

  "When this earthquake happened," Colleen continued, still in that same soft, even voice, "we jumped at the chance to actually go in there." She looked Bobby squarely in the eyes. "Bringing relief aid and supplies t
o the quake victims is just our cover. We're really going in to try to get those children moved out of the war zone, to a safer lo­cation. Best-case scenario would be to bring them back to the States with us, but we know the chances of that hap­pening are slim to none."

  Bobby looked at her. "I can go," he said. "Colleen, I'll do this for you. I'll go instead of you."

  Yes, that would work. He could get some of the other men in Alpha Squad to come along. Rio Rosetti, Thomas King and Mike Lee were all young and foolish. They'd jump at the chance to spend a week's vacation in the num­ber-one most dangerous hot spot in the world. And Space­man—Lieutenant Jim Slade. He was unmarried, too. He'd help if Bobby asked.

  But no way would Bobby ask any of his married friends to spend any of their too-infrequent leave time away from their families, risking their lives.

  "This could work," he told her, but she was already shaking her head.

  "Bobby, I'm going." She said it firmly, absolutely, calmly. As if this was a fact that wasn't going to change no matter what he said or did. "I'm the liaison with the Tulgerian minister of Public Health. I believe he's our one hope of getting those children moved out of immediate dan­ger. He knows me, he trusts me—I'm going."

  "If you're going, I'm going, too," he told her just as absolutely.

  She shook her head. "No, you're not."

  He sighed. "Look, I know you probably think I'm just interfering, but—"

  Colleen smiled. "No, you don't understand. I'd love it if you could come along. Honest. It would be great. But be practical, Bobby. We're leaving in less than a week. It's taken us nearly three weeks to get permission to enter the country and bring aid—despite the fact that people there are wandering around hungry, their homes destroyed by this earthquake. You'll have to go through the same diplomatic channels and—"

  “No, I won't."

  She made a face at him. "Yeah, right. What, are you going to call some admiral and snap your fingers and...?"

  "I won't snap my fingers at Admiral Robinson," Bobby told her. "That would be rude."

  She stared at him. "You're serious. You're really going to call an admiral?"

  He nodded as he glanced at his watch. It was a little too late to call tonight. The admiral and his wife, Zoe, had twins. Max and Sam.

  The twins were pure energy in human form—as Bobby well knew. He baby-sat them once when the admiral and his wife were out in California, when their regular sitter had canceled at the last minute. Max and Sam were mini­ature versions of their father. They both had his striking-blue eyes and world-famous smile.

  Jake would've just finished reading them a story and put­ting them to bed. Bobby knew he would then go in search of his wife, maybe make them both a cup of herbal tea and rub her shoulders or feet....

  "I'll call him tomorrow morning," Bobby said.

  Colleen smiled. She didn't believe he was tight enough with an admiral to be able to give the man a call. "Well, it would be nice if you could go, but I'm not going to hold my breath." She gathered up the pictures and put them back in the envelope.

  "How many people are going?" he asked. "You know, in your group?"

  "About twelve."

  Twelve unprepared, untrained civilians running around loose.... Bobby didn't swear—at least not aloud.

  "Most of them will actually be distributing supplies to the quake victims. They'll be hooking up with the Red Cross volunteers who are already in place in the country," she continued. "Of the twelve, there are five of us who'll be concentrating on getting those children moved."

  Five was a much better, much more compact number. Five people could be whisked out of sight and removed from danger far more easily than twelve.

  "Who's meeting you at the airport?" he asked.

  "We've rented a bus and made arrangements to be picked up by the driver," she told him.

  A bus. Oh, man. "How many guards?"

  Colleen shook her head. "One. The driver insisted. We're still arguing over that. We don't want any guns. Our connection to the Red Cross—"

  "Colleen, you'll need armed guards," he told her. "Way more than just one man hired by the driver. Three or four at the least. Even just for the short trip between the airport and your hotel. And you'll need twice as many if you're going up north."

  “But—"

  "The Red Cross means nothing in Tulgeria. In fact, it's often used as a bull's-eye for terrorists. Don't put the em­blem on the bus, don't wear it on your clothes."

  She was looking at him as if he were speaking Greek. "Are you serious?"

  "Dead serious. And instead of a single bus, we should get you three or four Humvees. Something smaller and fas­ter, that'll be less of a target."

  "The bus is so that we can move the children if we get the opportunity," she told him.

  Oh, damn. Yeah, they would definitely need a bus for that. "Okay," he said. "I'm going to do what I can to get Admiral Robinson involved—to make this an official op­eration for one of his Gray Group teams. But if it's official, there's a chance I won't be able to go. I'm still not percent—"

  "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Colleen said. "If we go in there looking like some kind of commando team..."

  "Whoever goes in with you, they'll be covert. There'll be three or four guys hanging around with assault weapons for show as if they were hired guards. But everyone else on the team will blend in with your group. I promise."

  She looked at him. "You promise. Except you're not going to be there."

  "I may not be there," he said. "But I'm sure as hell going to try."

  Colleen smiled. "You know, every time someone says that they'll try, I think of that scene in The Empire Strikes Back with Luke Skywalker and Yoda. You know, the one where Yoda says, 'Try not. Do or do not.'"

  "Yeah, I know that scene," Bobby told her. "And I'm sorry, but—"

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. "No, don't apologize. I didn't mean to sound as if I were accus­ing you of anything. See, the truth is I've fought so many losing battles for so many years that I really appreciate someone who tries. In fact, a try is all I ever ask for any­more. It may not work out, but at least you know you gave it a shot, right?"

  She wasn't talking about him coming to Tulgeria. She was talking about the way he'd kissed her. And the way he'd pushed her away, refusing to see where that kiss might lead. Refusing even to try.

  Bobby wasn't sure what to say. He felt like the worst kind of coward. Too scared even to try.

  Even when her hand was on top of his, her fingers so cool against the heat of his skin. Even when he wished with all of his heart that she would leave her hand right there for a decade or two.

  But Colleen took her hand away as she stood. He watched as she placed the envelope with the pictures on the cluttered surface of a built-in desk in the corner of the room.

  "You know, I've met most of the people who want to adopt these kids," she told him. "They're really wonderful. You look into their eyes, and you can see that they already love these children just from seeing their pictures, from reading their letters." Her voice wavered. "It just breaks my heart that those kids are in danger, that we can only try to help them. It kills me that there are no guarantees."

  Bobby stood up. He didn't mean to. And as soon as he found himself on his feet, he forced himself to stop. To not move toward her, not take her into his arms. The last time he did that, he'd completely lost control.

  But Colleen turned to face him. She came toward him. She reached for him, taking hold of both of his hands. "It's important to me that you know I'm not doing this purely to drive Wes crazy."

  Her fingers were cool and strong and, again, he didn't want to let her go. Help. "I know."

  But she didn't come any closer. She just smiled and squeezed his hands. "Good," she said as she released him. "So go. You're free. Escape. Lucky you—I need to hang with Ashley tonight. Guess I'll have to dance naked for you another night."

  Her eyes sparkled as she laughed at him
, at the pained look he couldn't keep off his face.

  The door was right there. She'd given him permission to leave. He could have walked through it, walked out of her apartment, walked to a place where he—and she—were safe. Instead he didn't move. "Why do you keep doing that?"

  She opted not to play dumb. She knew he was talking about her suggestive comments. "You're such an easy tar­get and I want..."

  "What?" He really wanted to know. Badly enough that he almost touched her again. Almost. "You want what, Colleen?"

  "You."

  He'd known she was gutsy. And when she teased, she could be pretty outrageous. But he'd never expected her to say that.

  She lowered her eyes as if she were suddenly shy. "I always have, you know."

  She spoke barely loud enough for him to hear her, but he did. He heard. His ears were working perfectly. It was his lungs that were having trouble functioning.

  "So now you know," she said quietly. When she looked up at him, her smile was rueful. "How's that for a powerful rebuttal to the 'I just want to be friends' speech?"

  He couldn't respond. He didn't have any idea at all of what to say. She wanted him. She always had. He felt like laughing and crying. He felt like grabbing her, right there in the kitchen. He felt like running—as hard and as fast and as far as he possibly could.

  "I figure either I'm right, and you didn't mean what you said this morning," she told him. "Or I'm wrong, and I'm a complete idiot who deserves humiliation and rejection twice in two days."

  Bobby kept his mouth shut, wishing he were the kind of man who could just run for the door—and keep running when he hit the street. But he knew that he wasn't going to get out of there without saying something.

  He just wasn't sure what that something should be. Tell the truth and admit he hadn't meant what he'd said? That was one hell of a bad idea. If he did that, she'd smile and move closer and closer and...

  And he'd wake up in her bed.

  And then Wes would kill him.

  Bobby was starting to think he could maybe handle death. It would be worth it for a chance at a night with Colleen.