Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  Be compassionate, she'd told him, just that afternoon. Obviously, he hadn't needed the reminder.

  "Just a little outburst from a friend who had too much to drink," Bobby told O'Sullivan. He squeezed Colleen's arm. "You want to take it from here? I want to go inside to talk to Morrison."

  She nodded, and he pulled Thomas King over. "Don't let Colleen out of your sight."

  "Aye, aye, Chief."

  The crowd parted for Bobby as Colleen turned back to the cop. "Really, Dan," she said. "Everything's fine. We'll see John gets home safely."

  O'Sullivan looked at the bat that Mike Lee had picked up through narrowed eyes. "What, did Johnny want to get a game going or something?"

  "Or something," Colleen agreed.

  "Sometimes it does a body more harm than good to be protected by friends," O'Sullivan said.

  "He's had a recent tragedy in his family," she told him. "He doesn't need a night in jail, Dan. He needs to talk to his parish priest."

  O'Sullivan smiled as he shook his head. "I wish I were twenty-something and still believed I could save the world, one poor loser at a time. Good luck on your trip to Tul-geria." He nodded to Thomas, who was still standing be­side her.

  She glanced at Thomas, too. "Let's go inside."

  Bobby was in an upstairs storage room, talking to John Morrison about Vietnam. He was much too young to have been there, but he must've been something of a historian, because he knew the names of the rivers and the towns and the battles in which Morrison had fought.

  John Morrison was drunk, but not as drunk as Colleen had first thought. His speech was slightly slurred, but he was following the conversation easily.

  As she listened, lingering with Thomas King just outside the door, the two men talked about Admiral Jake Robinson, who'd also served in 'Nam. Morrison knew of the man and was impressed that Bobby thought of him as a friend. They talked about Bobby's career in the SEAL units. They talked about Morrison's bar, and his father who'd served in a tank division in World War II—who had died just two years ago after a long struggle with cancer. They talked about elderly parents, about loss, about death.

  And suddenly they were talking about Wes.

  "My best friend is still jammed up from his little brother's death," Bobby told Morrison. "It happened ten years ago, and he still won't talk about it. It's like he pre­tends the kid never existed." He paused. "Kind of like what you're doing with John Jr."

  Silence.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," she heard Bobby say quietly. "But you've got to find a way to vent your anger besides taking out the windows at the AIDS Center. Someone's going to end up hurt, and that will make my friend Colleen Skelly—and you know who she is—unhappy. And if you make Colleen unhappy, if you hurt someone, if you hurt her, then I'm going to have to come back here and hurt you. This is not a threat, John, it's a promise."

  His friend. She was his friend Colleen—not his lover, not his girlfriend.

  And Colleen knew the truth. He'd told her right from the start—he wanted to be friends. And that's all they were, all they ever would be. Friends who had hot sex.

  Despite his promise to hurt John Morrison, Bobby was, without a doubt, the kindest, most sensitive man she'd ever met. He was too kind to tell her again that he didn't love her, that he would never love her.

  The sex they had was great, but he was the kind of man who would want more in a relationship than great sex.

  She could hear Father Timothy coming, puffing his way up the stairs to talk to John Morrison, to try to set him on a path that would lead him out of the darkness into which he'd fallen.

  The cynic in her knew that a talk with his priest probably wouldn't change anything. Morrison needed serious help. Chances were when he sobered up he'd be embarrassed and angry that the secret about his son's death had slipped out. Maybe he'd be angry enough to burn down the center.

  Or maybe he'd go to grief counseling. She could almost hear Bobby's gentle voice telling her that maybe John Mor­rison would find peace and stop hating the world—and hat­ing himself.

  Father Timothy had almost reached the landing.

  Colleen stepped closer to Thomas King, lowered her voice. "I need you to do me a favor and give Bobby a message for me."

  Thomas nodded, his face serious to the point of grimness. That was his default expression. He was very black, very serious, very intense. He now turned that intensity directly upon her.

  "Please tell him that I thought he probably shouldn't come to my place tonight." Good Lord, could she sound any more equivocal? "Tell him I'm sorry, but I don't want him to come over."

  An expression outside of his serious and grim reper­toire—one of disbelief—flashed across Thomas King's face and he suddenly looked his actual, rather tender age. "Maybe that's something you should tell Chief Taylor yourself."

  "Please," she said. "Just give him the message."

  Father Timothy had cleared the top of the stairs, and she went down, as swiftly as she could, before she changed her mind.

  17

  They'd won.

  Well, they weren't going to be able to bring the orphans back to the United States at the end of the week, but no one had really expected that. The Tulgerian government had given the Relief Aid volunteers permission to move the children to a location near the American Embassy. Paid for, of course, with American dollars.

  The other good news was that the government was mak­ing it possible for American citizens to travel to the capital city, Tulibek, to petition to adopt. The older children in particular would be allowed to leave, for exorbitant adop­tion fees.

  It was a victory—although it was a bittersweet one for Colleen. She was sitting, looking out the window, her fore­head against the glass, as the bus moved steadily north, into the even more dangerous war zone.

  Bobby watched her, well aware of what she was think­ing. In a matter of minutes they would arrive at the hospital where the children had been taken after the orphanage had been destroyed. As they went inside, Analena wouldn't be among the children who rushed to greet her.

  Yes, it was a bittersweet victory for Colleen.

  It was a city bus—this vehicle they were in. Some of the hard plastic seats faced forward, some faced the center of the bus. There was space for people to stand, bars and straps to hold on to.

  Colleen was facing forward, and the seat next to her was empty. He sat down beside her, wishing for the privacy that came with seats that had high backs. He lowered his voice instead. "You okay?"

  She wiped her eyes, forced a smile. "I'm great."

  Yeah, sure she was. He wanted to hold her hand, but he didn't dare touch her. "The past few days have been crazy, huh?"

  She gave him another smile. "Yeah, I've been glad many times over that you and Alpha Squad are here."

  God, he'd missed her. When Thomas King had given him her message—don't come over—he'd known that it was over between them. Right up until then he'd harbored hope. Maybe if he went to her and told her that he loved her... Maybe if he begged, she'd agree to keep seeing him. And maybe someday she'd fall in love with him, too.

  "You and Wes are on friendlier terms again," she noted. "I mean, at least you seem to be talking."

  Bobby nodded, even though that was far from the truth. The final insult in this whole messed-up situation was the damage he'd done to his decade of friendship with Wes. It seemed irreparable.

  Wes was talking to him, sure—but it was only an exchange of information. They weren't sharing their thoughts, not the way they used to. When he looked at Wes, he could no longer read the man's mind.

  How much of that was his own fault, his own sense of guilt? He didn't know.

  "Life goes on, huh?" Colleen said. "Despite all the dis­appointments and tragedies. There's always good news happening somewhere." She gestured to the bus, to the four other Relief Aid volunteers who sat quietly talking in the back of the bus. "This is good news—the fact that we're going to bring those children back to a safer loc
ation. And, oh, here's some good news for you—I'm not pregnant. I got my period this morning. So you can stop worrying about Wes coming after you with a shotgun, huh?"

  She wasn't pregnant.

  Colleen tried to smile, but just managed to look...almost wistful? "You know, it's stupid, but I imagined if I was, you know, pregnant, the baby would be a boy who would look just like you."

  She was kidding, wasn't she? Bobby tried to make a joke. "Poor kid."

  "Lucky kid." She wasn't kidding. The look she was giving him was fierce. "You're the most beautiful man I've ever known, Bobby. Both inside and out."

  He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think.

  And Colleen went back to looking out the window. "Funny, isn't it, how one person's good news can be some­one else's disappointment?"

  "You're disappointed? About..." He had to search for the words. "You wanted to have a baby? But, Colleen, you said—"

  "Not just any baby." When she looked at him, the tears were back in her eyes. "I wanted Analena. And I wanted your baby. I'd make a terrible mother, wouldn't I? I'm already playing favorites."

  "Colleen. I'm..." Speechless.

  "I had this stupid fantasy going," she said in a very small voice, almost as if she were talking to herself, not to him, "that I'd be pregnant, and you'd have to marry me. And then, after we were married, I'd somehow make you love me, too. But real life doesn't work that way. People who have to get married usually end up resenting each other, and I'd hate it if you ever resented me."

  Make you. Love me. Too. Bobby wasn't sure, but he thought it was possible he was having a heart attack. His chest was tight and his brain felt numb. "Colleen, are you telling me—"

  "Heads up, Taylor. We're getting close," Senior Chief Harvard Becker's voice cut through. "I need your eyes and ears with me right now."

  Damn.

  Colleen had turned her attention back to the drab scenery flashing past, outside the window.

  Bobby stood up, shouldering his weapon, using every ounce of training he'd ever had to get his head back in place, to focus on the mission.

  Rio Rosetti was nearby, and he caught Bobby's eye. "You okay, Chief? Your shoulder all right?"

  His shoulder? "I'm fine," he said shortly. Dammit, he needed to talk to Wes. Just because Colleen loved him— and she only maybe loved him, he didn't know it for sure— didn't mean that gave him the right to go and ruin her life by marrying her. Did it?

  "Okay, listen up," Captain Joe Catalanotto said for the benefit of the Relief Aid volunteers, the bus driver and the Tulgerian guard who was leading them down the unmarked roads to the hospital.

  All of the SEALs knew precisely how this was going to go down. Swiftly and efficiently.

  "We sent a small team in early, to do surveillance," Joe Cat continued. "One of those men will meet us on the road about a mile from the hospital, tell us if there's anything

  unusual to watch out for. If it's all clear, we'll pull up right outside the hospital doors, but everyone will stay in their seats. Another team will go in to check the place out, join forces with the rest of the surveillance team. Only when they secure entrances and give the all-clear do any of you get off this bus. Is that understood?"

  A murmur of voices. Yes, sir.

  "At that point," Joe Cat said even though they'd already gone over it dozens of times, "you'll move from the bus to the building as quickly as possible. Once inside, you will stay close. You do not wander off under any circum­stances."

  "You all right?"

  Bobby turned to see Wes right behind him.

  "The bus driver will stay in the vehicle," Joe Cat con­tinued. "The plan is to return to the bus with the children and nuns as quickly—"

  "Your head's not here," Wes said quietly. "Come on, Bobby. Now's not the time to screw around."

  "I'm in love with your sister."

  "Ah, jeez, perfect timing," Wes muttered.

  "I think she loves me, too."

  "No kidding, genius. You're just figuring that out now?"

  "If she'll have me, I'm going to marry her." Damn it, he was as good as any doctor or lawyer out there. He'd figure out a way to make money, to buy her the things she deserved. When she was with him, he could do anything. "I'm sorry, Wes."

  "What are you crazy? You're sorry?" Wes stared at him. "You're apologizing for something I'd sell my left nut to have. If it were me in love with your sister, Bobby, you better believe I would have told you to flip off days ago." He shook his head in disgust.

  "But you said..."

  "Marry her," Wes said. "All right? Just don't do it right this second if you don't flipping mind. We're all a little busy, making sure these tourists stay alive—in case you haven't noticed?"

  These tourists—including Colleen.

  "I'll forgive you for damn near anything," Wes contin­ued, "but if you get Colleen killed, I swear to God, you're a dead man."

  Colleen. Killed.

  Wham.

  Just like that, Bobby's head was together. He was back and ready— percent ready—for this op, for keeping Colleen and the others safe.

  "Yeah, that's more like it," Wes said, glancing up at him as he checked his weapon. "You're all here now."

  Bobby leaned over to look out the windows, to scan the desolate countryside. “I love you, man. Do you really for­give me?"

  "If you hug me," Wes said, "I'll kill you."

  There was nothing out the window. Just rocks and dust. "I missed you, Wesley."

  "Yeah," Wes said, heading toward the front of the bus. "I'm going to miss you, too."

  Something was wrong.

  Colleen shifted in her seat, trying to see the men having a discussion at the front of the bus.

  They'd stopped, supposedly to pick up one of the SEALs who'd been sent ahead on surveillance.

  But instead of picking him up and driving the last mile to the hospital at the outskirts of the small town, they'd all but parked here at the side of the road.

  The SEAL had come onto the bus—it looked like the man who was nicknamed Lucky, allegedly from his past exploits with women. Yeah, that perfect nose was unmis takable despite the layers of dust and camouflage grease­paint. He was talking to the captain and the SEAL who, according to Wes, had actually gone to Harvard Univer­sity—the senior chief who was almost as tall as Bobby. The other men were listening intently.

  Susan came forward a few seats to sit behind Colleen. "Do you know what's going on?" she whispered.

  Colleen shook her head. Whatever they were saying, their voices were too low. Please, God, don't let there be trouble.

  "All right," the captain finally said. "We have a situa­tion at the hospital. For a place that's supposedly staffed by a single doctor and four nuns, we've got twelve men inside, wearing surgical scrubs and long white coats—the better to hide their Uzis.

  "We've ID'd them as members of two particularly nasty local terrorist cells. We're actually surprised they haven't blown each other to pieces by now—but apparently their goal of taking out a bus-load of hated Americans is more than enough to overcome their natural distaste for each other."

  Colleen flashed hot and then cold. Terrorists. In the hos­pital with the nuns and the children. "Oh, my God," she breathed.

  Behind her, she heard Rene start to cry. Susan moved back to sit with her.

  Captain Catalanotto held up his hand. "We're going in there," he told them. "Covertly—that means secretly, without them knowing we're there. Lieutenant O'Donlon's report indicates these are amateur soldiers we're up against. We can take them out quickly. And we will.

  "We're leaving Lieutenant Slade and Chiefs Taylor and Skelly here with you on the bus. They are in command, if there's an emergency, you will do as they say. I considered sending the bus back into Tulibek..."

  He held up his hand again as there was a murmur of voices. It was amazing, really, how effective that was.

  "But I made a command decision. I think you'll be safer right here until we secu
re the hospital. Once we have pos­session of that building, the bus will approach, but you will not leave the vehicle. We'll be going over the hospital inch by inch, making sure the terrorists didn't leave any booby traps or other nasty surprises. Our priority will be to check the children and get them out of there and onto the bus.

  "Are there any questions?"

  Susan Fitzgerald, head of Relief Aid, stood up. "Yes, sir. You've just basically told us that you and your men are going to sneak into a building where there are twelve ter­rorists with twelve machine guns waiting for you. I'm just curious, sir. Does your wife know about the danger you're going to be in this afternoon?"

  For a moment there was complete silence on the bus. No one moved, no one breathed.

  But then Captain Catalanotto exchanged a look with his executive officer, Lieutenant Commander McCoy. They both wore wedding rings. In fact, many of the men in Alpha Squad were married.

  Colleen looked up and found Bobby watching her. As she met his eyes, he smiled very slightly. Ruefully. His mouth moved as he spoke to her silently from across the bus. "This is what we do. This is what it's like."

  "Yeah, Dr. Fitzgerald," Captain Catalanotto finally said. "My wife knows. And God bless her for staying with me, anyway."

  "I don't care," Colleen mouthed back, but Bobby had already looked away.

  Colleen sat on the bus in silence. Wes and Jim Slade both paced. Bobby stood, across the aisle from her. He was still, but he was on the balls of his

  feet—as if he were ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation.

  Colleen tried not to look at him. God forbid she distract him. Still, he was standing close, as if he wanted to be near her, too.

  "How much longer?" Susan Fitzgerald finally asked.

  "We don't know, ma'am," Wes answered from the back of the bus. He touched his radio headset. "They'll open a channel we can receive at this distance only after they've got the place secure. Not until then."

  "Will we hear gunshots?" one of the men, Kurt Freid-richson, asked.

  "No, sir," Wes told him. "Because there'll be no weap­ons discharged. Alpha Squad will take them down without a struggle. I can guarantee that as much as I can guarantee anything in this world."