She turned the sticky ring over in her palm. It looked real enough. So if it wasn’t a joke, what was it?
A proposal.
It was what she’d wanted and waited for all her life. And feared. And he was dead. And she was never getting out of this hellhole. So what did it matter, anyway?
It mattered, it mattered, her heart cried.
She started to put it on the ring finger of her left hand, then thought better of the idea. Instead, she hid the ring in her mouth for safekeeping.
She jumped as the door opened again. Ollie entered her cell with his usual flurry. Grabbing her by her collar, he yanked her to her feet. Once more, he tied her hands behind her back, then forced her into the outer room.
Her prized possession went undetected tucked in her cheek. She prayed she wouldn’t be forced to make another videotaped confession right now.
She’d read a prepared statement to the camera after she’d first been captured, careful to pronounce each word exactly as written, hoping the bad diction would clue in the viewer. Hoping someone would see it. Hoping they wouldn’t believe for a minute that the words denouncing her country and Commander in Chief came from her.
Stan joined them, holding her survival vest in one hand and waving what she recognized as her 9-mm pistol in the other. He aimed it at her chest and she stumbled backward into Ollie, who forced her to her knees.
Stan and Ollie argued over her head. She may not know the language, but their intent translated clearly enough.
They were going to kill her.
They were just fighting over the honor.
She couldn’t die like this. Bile rose in her throat. She choked it down. The ring triggered her gag reflex. She coughed. Keeping her mouth closed, she tried, between spurts of coughing, to keep her precious treasure hidden.
Michelle attempted to swallow the ring. But the butt end of Ollie’s automatic weapon slammed between her shoulder blades before she got the chance.
Zach’s ring flew from her mouth.
It rolled silently across the dirt floor and stopped at Stan’s sandal-clad feet. Her world spun in slow motion as the skinny man bent to pick it up.
She held her breath, unwilling to betray her emotions. Not for the first time she wished she had Tabby’s training and her father’s experience as a Navy SEAL. They would know what to do in this situation.
But they weren’t in this situation. She was.
Her gaze zeroed in on the man standing before her. He ignored her to examine the gold, biting the soft metal to test its authenticity. Michelle picked frantically at the knots binding her hands, hoping Ollie’s focus was equally intent on the ring.
Stan jabbered something to Ollie. Waving the pistol, the skinny man invoked their leader’s name. Michelle had pieced together the fact that they were deserters from the Republican Guard, but she couldn’t figure out how or if they fit into the rebel cause. Or why they’d hold her for so long just to shoot her in the end.
Should she try to barter her freedom with Zach’s ring? She didn’t want to part with it. But they already had it. And they’d already helped themselves to everything else that was once hers. At the moment she didn’t have anything to lose by trying. Any maybe her life if she didn’t.
“Let me go and you can keep the ring. Me go. You keep.” Did she actually think she could bridge the language barrier with Tarzaneeze? She may as well be speaking pig Latin.
Stan laughed at something Ollie said. She dared a look over her shoulder. A wide grin spread across Ollie’s porky face as he met her gaze, and both men started laughing.
“You keep,” Stan repeated in his tinny voice, pocketing the gold band.
“I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” she snapped as Zach’s ring disappeared. And with it her hope. If only she had her pointee-talkee.
Yes! Her pointee-talkee.
The aid had been in one of the pockets of her survival vest. But they’d stripped her of everything before she’d gotten the chance to use it. Did she dare hope it was still there? With her bound hands, she tried to point frantically at the vest in Stan’s hand.
She nodded her encouragement as the fellow rummaged through the pockets. Dog tags dropped to the dirt, along with her compass and a growing pile of other useful items. Finally he found the communication aid and a piece of material called a blood chit. Michelle almost wept with relief when he tossed the vest aside and waved the two items at her.
“Yes, yes!” The pointee-talkee listed selected phrases in English opposite the Arabic translation. The blood chit depicted an American flag and promised great rewards to anyone assisting the bearer to safety.
“Lies!” Stan wadded the blood chit and stuffed it into his pocket along with the ring.
Well, the man spoke one English word clearly enough.
“No, not lies!”
Stan and Ollie started arguing again. When did they ever stop?
Inside she begged for her life. Outside she wouldn’t allow the facade to crack and continued to work at unraveling the rope binding her hands behind her back. Somehow she had to free herself, disarm two men and escape Iraq on foot. Or convince them she spoke the truth and enlist their help. “Not lies,” she repeated.
Both tasks seemed equally daunting. But her only other option was to die trying.
They were no longer even listening as they argued over her ring. She kept her eyes on Stan. And read Ollie through the other man’s reactions. As long as the nervous-looking fellow had the gun she might stand a chance. He’d never once raised a hand to her. Could she convince him the evasion aids were telling the truth?
Despite her promises he soon gave in to the fat bully’s overt demands. All hope fled as he handed Ollie the gun.
Michelle felt the touch of cold steel as Ollie put the muzzle of her own pistol to the back of her head, execution-style.
No! her mind rebelled. I will not die like this.
She heard the click as he chambered a round.
CHAPTER FOUR
2120 Friday
HOTEL DEL CORONADO,
Coronado, CA
ZACH SPOTTED his family right away, the big noisy group in the corner of the outdoor piazza with its firefly lights twinkling against the backdrop of a moonless night.
Varsity night, pilots called it.
A moonless night at sea made for rough landing conditions. And the experienced pilots knew it. The less experienced soon learned it. When Commanders filled out the duty rosters, they snagged all the full moons for themselves. The lower the rank, the darker the night.
A night prone to accidents.
A dangerous night.
A shiver raced down his spine. Goose bumps peppered his flesh.
The naval aviator in him put a name to the feeling he hadn’t been able to shake all evening—dread.
Something was in the air tonight.
Zach put his sunglasses back on. As unnecessary as they were this late in the evening, he still needed them to shield his emotions. He’d made a mistake in coming here. He turned to leave, but it was too late.
“Zach,” the family chorus greeted him.
He could barely stand to face them all: mother, father, sister, brother-in-law, baby niece and adopted nephew.
But he stowed his reservations and turned back around.
“Join us.” His father—Captain Tad Prince, retired—commanded, hailing a nearby waiter.
“We just started in on the salad.” His mother smiled up at him.
“Sit by me, Uncle Zach,” seven-year-old Aaron invited.
“Sure thing, sport.” Zach forced the upbeat tone, even managed to ruffle the boy’s dark hair. It all seemed so normal. Yet there was nothing “normal” about the way he felt.
His brother-in-law offered his chair and pulled up another from a nearby table, quite a change from the hard-ass who’d knocked on his door that morning.
Tonight they were just family.
In fact, Marc didn’t even mention that Zach was twenty minute
s late. Twenty minutes Zach had spent at the Officers’ Club in Miramar deciding if he would have another drink or be a man and face his family.
“What’s with the shades?” his father asked as Zach took his seat.
Zach hesitated only a moment before removing his aviator sunglasses and hooking them onto the pocket of his bomber jacket. He knew an order from his old man when he heard one.
He heard his mother suck in her breath. The rest were a little more subtle in their reactions. There was one unspoken question on everyone’s lips: Was he even sober? He didn’t give a damn what they thought of his bloodshot eyes as long as they didn’t guess the truth.
The waiter materialized. “Another round,” his dad ordered. “And a beer with a whiskey chaser for my boy here.” He patted Zach on the back. His old man subscribed to the hair-of-the-dog theory.
“Very good, sir,” the uniformed server responded.
Zach cocked a wry grin in his father’s direction. “Make that a diet root beer,” he corrected, absently running a hand over his flat stomach. He made a quick selection from the menu before the waiter had a chance to disappear.
He didn’t have to buy into his dad’s methodology as an adult. But he got the feeling his parents were glad he wasn’t having a drink. They exchanged a parental smile. And his mother reached out and caressed the scar bracketing the right side of his father’s face. They’d always been a touchy-feely couple. It had embarrassed Zach as a kid. Now it simply amazed him. They’d somehow managed to keep their marriage strong even through years of hardship and separation while his frogman father had been deployed on one mission after another with the SEALs.
“Son, we’re glad you decided to join us tonight,” his father stated simply.
“Now, if only Bowie were here,” his mother added. Lily Prince lived for the moments the family got together and she could take snapshots to commemorate those increasingly rare occasions.
There was general agreement. Everyone missed Bowie. Zach felt a twinge of guilt. He’d avoided his younger brother’s calls all month, effectively shutting out the one person who might have understood what he was going through. “Where is the little squirt these days?”
“Guam,” his father answered, toying with his beer bottle. Tad Prince never sat still for very long. And never without fidgeting. “He’s traveling the South Pacific. Damn shame his eyesight keeps him out of the SEAL program.”
“Bowie loves his job as a SeaBee, Dad,” Tabby said, punctuating her words with her salad fork. “Besides, you already have me following in your footsteps and now Zach.”
His dad warmed to the subject. “Did you know your sister will be one of your SEAL instructors?”
“No joke?” He was in hell.
“Tabitha’s coming on board to prepare for the first class of female trainees later this year.” Marc’s eyes lit up when he looked at his wife. The pair practically lived in their uniforms, so they were never publicly affectionate. But the smoldering looks made a guy wonder if they were going to drop to the tile patio and go at it right there.
Get a room.
“Marc’s accepted the position as Commander Naval Special Warfare.” Tabby beamed with pride. “Brad Bailey from Team One is moving into the SEAL Commanding Officer of Training position.”
Could he and Michelle have managed dual military careers like that? And kids? Lots of kids.
God, he felt so alone.
Their waiter arrived with his salad and soft drink. “Your soda, sir.” The man set the salad and drink in front of him, then moved around the table with a round of beers and kiddie cocktails. It was on the tip of Zach’s tongue to tell the server to take the soda back and bring him something stronger, when the color caught the light.
His waning smile turned nostalgic. Michelle had eyes that exact color, root beer. Funny how he could remember them so clearly. Just like the smoking incident from their childhood.
At age eleven he’d taken one of his dad’s Cuban cigars, wanting to see what all the fuss was about. Michelle had offered her usual protest when he’d shown it to her, so he’d traded the fancy gold-foil cigar band for her promise to stay. And they’d lit up out behind the Danns’ barn. He’d taken a couple puffs of the nasty thing just to show off. Convinced Michelle to try it and grossed her out. Then took a couple more puffs to prove himself.
His dad had caught them. Zach had almost started a fire trying to put the thing out. Michelle had been sent home to tattle on herself, and Goody Two-shoes that she was, she did. His dad had lit up another cigar and invited Zach to finish his, talking to him as if he were an adult, conversely reminding him he was still a kid. But the cigar had lost all appeal. And that evening out behind the Danns’ barn, Zach had buried his desire to smoke, along with the contents of his stomach.
Oh, to be a kid again.
Dinner arrived and throughout the main course Aaron entertained him with a story about a home run he’d hit over the fence, almost.
This was exactly what Zach needed right now.
He’d been trying to go it alone for so long he’d forgotten how much family meant to him.
“It would have gone way over the fence,” Aaron insisted. “But the wind dropped it.”
“That so?” Zach listened to his nephew with interest and encouraged the boy to keep right on talking. It beat the hell out of listening to his own thoughts. Aaron finished the baseball tale and started in on another. The boy had a very active imagination.
Not to be outdone by her big brother, Mariah began to fuss. Zach insisted on holding his niece so his sister could finish her meal.
While his dinner sat untouched, the “little miracle” rested her sleepy head against his chest, making him feel big and awkward. He patted her back and was rewarded with an unladylike belch. Soon afterward her eyes drifted closed.
Holding the baby while she slept stirred something deep within his lost soul. Something that made his heart ache just a little bit more.
A little bit of heaven on earth that he’d lost.
Smoothing his hand over the baby’s silky cap of dark hair, Zach stopped to fix a slipping pink bow. Who dressed her like that, anyway? Not his sister, must be Marc.
Zach exchanged a knowing glance with his brother-in-law, but didn’t come right out and accuse the man of sending subliminal messages to his own daughter. Somehow Zach knew that the bond between father and daughter was a special one, which even Tabby with her gender-neutral mothering would have a hard time usurping. Chalk one up for our side.
“Do me a favor, kiddo,” Zach whispered into her shell-like ear for reinforcement. “Don’t grow up to be a warrior woman. Bring guys to their knees the old-fashioned way. With apple pie.”
“I heard that, little brother,” Tabby chided. “If you’re going to fill my daughter’s head with nonsense, I’ll take her now, please.”
“What’d I say?” Zach reluctantly handed back the baby.
“We’re all going to encourage Mariah and Aaron to follow their hearts,” she lectured. “To be all that they can be.”
She sounded like a poster girl for love, peace and happiness. Not to mention the Army. Too bad life didn’t always work out that way. He’d followed his heart all right. But no one ever warned him it could be cut right out of a living, breathing body. And die, along with his dreams.
“I’m gonna be a baseball player when I grow up,” Aaron said, demanding his attention. “Or maybe a garbage man.” The adults at the table smiled at the seriousness of his declaration, but weren’t surprised by another career change in the very next breath. “Or maybe a pilot like you, Uncle Zach. Can you take me up in your plane this weekend?”
Zach turned his plate clockwise a fraction and placed his napkin in his lap, pretending sudden interest in his food. He’d taken Aaron for rides before. Even though the Navy had grounded him, he still had his private pilot’s license. He kept a single-engine Cessna Skyhawk at a private airfield near the base.
But he hadn’t flown since the crash.
He needed more time.
He missed flying. Maybe almost as much as he missed Michelle. He just hadn’t realized how much until his nephew put it into words.
But flying solo held little appeal.
He certainly wasn’t in any condition to give his nephew a ride. “Not this weekend, sport. But some weekend real soon.”
His mother wasn’t about to let the subject drop, however. “Why not this Sunday? You won’t get another chance before you start SEAL training. You could take your dad and me and Aaron up. We’ll make a day of it.”
“Mom…” He tried to come up with a plausible excuse. He wasn’t even fit to drive his car, let alone fly his plane. “It’s been a while.”
“We don’t want to see you give up your dream of flying, Zach,” his mother said.
Ouch. Rip off that bandage, Mom. What happened to mothers who kissed your boo-boos and made them go away?
“Well, if you’re not up to it…”
Leave it to his father to push him off the deep end with a challenge once he realized he might be ready for the wading pool.
Zach had detected the slightest hint of reproach in his father’s voice. And that was all the old man had to say. Before Zach knew what he was doing, he’d agreed to take his parents and Aaron flying on Sunday. “All right.”
“Good, Sunday it is. Now, who’s ready for dessert?” his dad asked.
“I left my camera in the room. I’ll just go get it and be right back.” His mother placed her napkin on the table.
“Don’t get up, Mom. Finish your dinner. I’ll get it for you,” Zach offered. “Aaron can come with me.”
She handed over the room key. Zach, with his nephew in tow, went to retrieve it. They found the digital camera easily enough, right on top of her suitcase where she said it would be. And returned within a matter of minutes.
The table fell silent as they approached.
He’d been set up.
A small cake had replaced his dinner plate. Two large candles, shaped like a three and a zero, burned brightly in the center. A couple of presents had appeared, as well.
Sign, SEAL, Deliver Page 6