SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9)

by Hamilton, Sharon

  It didn’t taste as bad as it smelled, which was another blessing. After her initial gag reaction, she discovered she could finish the whole jar, and then reached for and did the same thing to another. There was a handful more, she noted. If left all alone, she now had food that could last her for several days, and enough liquid in the jars to help supplement her lack of water.

  Scanning the shelves further, she found some discarded soda cans and two long necked bottles with cracked bottoms, contents having exploded leaving rusty ribbons down the back of the wall and crystalline light brown flakes of what looked like dried beer on the shelving. Stepping off the mattress, she found the concrete floor littered with broken glass from the window.

  Megan’s feet hurt already, but she was able to navigate around the glass with small steps, bracing herself against the workbench until she reached a bag from a fast food restaurant, the contents long since dried up. However, she did notice a set of plastic utensils wrapped in cellophane, and after stooping over, found the wrapper contained a fork, a spoon and a serrated-edged sparkling white knife. She slipped the fork and spoon into her bra and slid the knife up her long dirty cotton sleeve, which was a minor feat. Megan noted even though the blade was serrated, it would not be nearly strong or sharp enough to cut through her wrist or ankle bindings.

  A large metal trashcan stood at the end of the workbench, propping up a broom and dustpan, and the area looking freshly swept. It took forever to make it over to the galvanized bin, but when she peered inside, she found pieces of lumber with nails embedded in the ends, like from a broken doorframe, and several old telephones, some without handsets, and some with broken dials. She also found a plate of sheet metal like the flange on an old wood stove.

  Hearing a vehicle arrive outside, she took one of the pieces of lumber, grabbed one broken bottle, and tossed the fish jars through the broken window into the yard outside to hide the evidence of what she had eaten. She carefully returned to her place on the mattress, buried the bottle against the wall at the corner nearest the shelving, end to end with the thin piece of doorframe. She took care to make sure the nail that jutted out was safely sheathed in the mattress.

  The last thing she did was reluctantly pull the hood down over her eyes, sit back, and wait.

  Chapter 41

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  When Rory, Kyle and the rest of the team entered their Team 3 building, they saw something they’d never seen before. Right in front of Rory, holding a briefcase, stood Raymond Corrigan.

  The buildings were only for active team members, even retired SEALs from the teams rarely were admitted. Instructors were not admitted. Even LPOs from other active teams were not admitted. Occasionally they’d have an Admiral, their Chief or Master Chief. The President of the United States had been to one back east. Nevertheless, there, looking fit and well, was the man who called himself his father.

  At a loss as to the correct protocol in such an unusual situation, Rory quickly began introducing Raymond to Kyle, Coop and several others of the team he’d not met in the hospital. Corrigan shook T.J. and Brady’s hands warmly, slapping their arm. “Nice to see you again, boys,” Corrigan said to both of them.

  Rory motioned toward Collins and Forsythe.

  “All taken care of, son,” Corrigan said in his raspy, commanding voice.

  Rory wanted answers. Kyle shrugged at him. “Don’t look at me. I’m as fuckin’ surprised as you are, kid.

  Corrigan turned back to face Forsythe and Collins, allowing them to take the floor.

  “Rory, this is actually your dad’s idea,” Collins said. “He came up with a plan we think might have merit.”

  The presence of Corrigan complicated Rory’s escape plan. Anxious to get information on Megan’s whereabouts, he wasn’t interested in attending another strategy meeting. He wanted to get into action before it was too late.

  “Hey, they talked to me about risks,” Corrigan started. “I mean, I live for risk. That’s how I make my money, son. I make calculated decisions based on the facts at my disposal. I try to have better facts than anyone else does, so I can make better decisions. But I base it on the strength of the argument, not on what’s going on here.” He knocked on his chest wall as if it was a door.

  “Fuck! Everyone. This is a wonderful family reunion and all, but Megan’s life is on the line. I’m supposed to make contact with this asshole,” Rory checked his watch, “Right about now. If someone has a plan, I’d like to hear it. We’re running out of time.”

  Forsythe presented Rory with his old computer. “Go ahead, make the connection. Tell him you’re back in town and we’re back in business.”

  Rory lifted the cover on his Mac, logged in and scrolled down his email accounts. There were two messages. One had occurred right after he’d left the message in Alaska, and one about a half an hour ago.

  The oldest message was a repeat of her picture, as if he could forget it. Beneath the photo was written,

  ‘Every minute you delay she suffers. Her suffering will intensify.’

  The next message hit Rory in the gut.

  ‘You are out of time.’

  Rory immediately bent over the keys. “So I tell him I’m back, right?”

  Forsythe nodded, his arms crossed. He was watching Corrigan carefully.

  Rory typed in the letters and they waited, hearing the electronic paper airplane deliver its payload. Less than a minute later Rory’s cell phone rang. He showed Corrigan the number. “Your phone.”

  Corrigan and Forsythe exchanged a glance. “Answer it, son.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do we have your attention?” the Middle Eastern accented man said.

  “You do. Why Megan?”

  “Let me speak, and you listen very carefully.”

  Rory put the phone on speaker. “Go on.”

  “So we have an audience. No matter.”

  “You’re on speaker phone, and yes, my direct superiors are with me.”

  “Very well. I am holding Megan in an undisclosed location, not very far from San Diego. If you do everything we say, she will be returned to you, unharmed.”

  “I’m concerned about the extent of her injuries. Has she been seen by a doctor?”

  “Surely you are joking. You think we subscribe to some tribunal or something? Some watchdog group looking for human rights violations? What kind of a fuckin’ idiot do you take me for, Mr. Kennedy?”

  “What is it you want?”

  “Now we understand each other. We are asking for the sum of one hundred million dollars.”

  Rory’s stomach lurched. He placed his hand over the speaker to muffle the sound of several on his team who swore a little too loudly.

  “I see I have impressed some of your SEAL buddies. I’m glad. I’m as serious as a heart attack, Mr. Kennedy. I will kill her and then go get one of your other wives and hold her, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll get another and so on and so on, until my demands are met.”

  “One hundred million or one million dollars—Tariq—this is Tariq, correct?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Where am I going to get that kind of money?” Rory was watching Corrigan and Forsythe exchange glances, occasionally making Collins a threesome.

  “I suggest you ask your father, Mr. Kennedy. I happen to know he has more than that readily available. If you deliver the funds quickly, perhaps we won’t ask for any more. But Raymond Corrigan is good for it.”

  Rory stared at Corrigan, who was looking down at his feet.

  “I’ll—I’ll have to get in touch with him. He left for New York two days ago.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Mr. Kennedy. I think he’s right there with you. Put Mr. Corrigan on the line.”

  Forsythe was engrossed in thought, his palm covering his mouth and jaw. Collins was clearly nervous. Rory saw they hadn’t expected Tariq to know Corrigan was with them.

  Kyle and Cooper were conferring off in a corner. Cooper left without making a sound, and Kyle came back to s
tand next to Rory.

  Tariq raised his voice in a shout. “Put Mr. Corrigan on the line now or I will cut off one of her arms. You do not want to test me on this.”

  “Yessir.” Rory handed the phone to Corrigan.

  Raymond sucked in a deep breath and blew it out before he began. “Tariq. We’ve been friends for what, ten years?”

  “Shut the fuck up. I was never your friend. I was your paid employee.”

  “My mistake. The point is—”

  “The point is, I care nothing about the girl. I’m only after the money.”

  “I understand, and we’re willing to cooperate, Tariq. But she must not be further harmed.”

  “You have no right to talk to me that way, you arrogant prick.”

  “What did I ever do to you? What is the source of all this hatred you have for me? Haven’t I been good to you and your people?” Corrigan was getting angry.

  “My people? My people are dead. All of them.”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “Your rescue doomed everyone I ever cared about. Now, you can take my life, but we will take more from you. Each time you get one of us, we will take two, maybe three of you. You see how it goes?”

  “How it goes? How does it go, Tariq? When does it all end?”

  “When there’s no one left to fight. Death doesn’t scare me. But it should scare you, Mr. Corrigan. Perhaps not your death, but the death of someone you love. You might live many years knowing that your son watched as his woman was defiled and then executed. Ask yourself how valuable life would be to you then? You’d seek death, as I now do.”

  “Tariq. This isn’t your war. Your family’s enemies are not here. They’re over there.”

  “One hundred million dollars, Mr. Corrigan. And then I’ll let you keep my boots as a memento.”

  The line went dead.

  “Fuck,” Corrigan said as he sat down, tossing the phone on the table in front of him. “He doesn’t sound anything like the man I knew and did business with for over a decade.”

  “You think he’s going to take the money himself?” T.J. asked the room.

  “No. A man like Tariq can’t just disappear to a small island somewhere and drop out of society. He’s like me. He’s a control freak. Adrenaline junkie. He has to be running something, otherwise he’s dead. He stays alive because he continues playing, collecting his chips.”

  “Last man standing,” Collins muttered.

  “In a way, yes. They are playing to the end game. The time and place when it all comes down. Then the new kingdom comes, they are all united, and those who survive will father generations of princes, who will, according to their scripture, rule the world. There will no longer be any opposition.”

  “I think the only reason he isn’t dead is because he has a lot of information. Information some, especially some of the Saudi princes, don’t want to be made public.” Forsythe let his voice trail off.

  “I just don’t understand how come he had the about-face. He had a comfortable life. I paid him well, so did several others I knew.” Corrigan was shaking his head slowly.

  “Most of the terrorists coming over now are from wealthy families,” Forsythe said.

  “I’m not sure now we’ll ever know,” said Collins.

  “At the risk of sounding difficult, what’s the plan?” Rory asked. “I mean, Tariq hung up on us without giving us a time and place for the money. How are we going to get to Megan?”

  A voice from behind the crowd spoke up. “Boy, I love those straight-arrow Fed guys. They have the best surveillance equipment on the planet.” Coop held up a white piece of paper. “I know exactly where the call was generated from, thanks to you guys.” Cooper presented it to Collins and Forsythe. Coop walked to the large wall map of the county. “The phone is near the inlet, one of those little waterways the duck hunters made when hunting was plentiful. Somewhere in this vicinity.” He circled an area the size of a quarter, which Rory thought was incredible, considering how big the whole area was. “There are numerous abandoned buildings, some still in use today. I’ve gone out here to test my drones. Right about here, and you all know it well.”

  Kyle walked over to the map, noting where Cooper pointed his finger. “Well, fuck me. That’s Griz’s place. The Golden Bear.”

  “Gentlemen,” Fredo said as he adjusted the waistband on his pants. “I feel the need for some pancakes. Who’s gonna join me?”

  “Hold it. Hold it a second,” Forsythe objected. “We’re not going anywhere until we get the money together.” He turned to Corrigan. “I believe you told me you’d have to wait until U.S. Bank opened up this morning at ten?”

  “That’s right. That’s what I told you,” said Corrigan. “But the truth of it is, the money’s right here.” He held up his briefcase. “Whoever holds this briefcase has access to every penny of one hundred million dollars. I have the account numbers and the passcodes and locations. It’s available in cash, but he’ll have to fly to the Cayman Islands to get it, and he knows that. If these Navy SEALs are going to escort me to breakfast, then this is coming with us. He can call whenever he likes. And if he takes too long, we go in and get the sonofabitch if we’re that close.”

  Collins and Forsythe rode together, taking off beforehand to meet them over at the Golden Bear. Rory would have loved to be a fly on the ceiling of that car. The Naval Intelligence Officer was reluctant to give Rory back his computer, but finally agreed.

  “We have to call the ladies. No deets yet, but just let them know we’re working here today, that we’re back in town. And they stay put.”

  Rory watched as Kyle, Cooper, T.J., and the rest of them called their wives. There were lots of smiles and personal messages with palms over the speaker. Watching the body language of these men he knew to be the fiercest of the fierce, reduced to making funny sounds and self-consciously touching their hair and slamming a palm on their thigh or the wall, seeing them make bedroom talk with their wives was entertaining for him. He hoped he had that opportunity. Most of them at one point or the other put their lives on the line for their families, sometimes more than once.

  “They really are the best of the best, aren’t they?” Corrigan said. Rory had forgotten all about him standing there, waiting for the phone calls to be over with before they could proceed.

  “That they are, sir. Most people don’t get a chance to work with the kinds of stuff these guys are made of. I get to do it every day. I’m just lucky I get to hang with them socially too.”

  “I never dreamed a son of mine would become a Navy SEAL.” Corrigan turned and faced him head-on. “I’m very proud, son. Very proud.”

  “Thanks, sir.” Rory shook his hand, still unwilling to hug the man he still had a hard time thinking of as his father.

  “Maybe when this is all over, you can come out and I can show you what my war is like.”

  “Oh, I think I’m getting a taste of it, sir. Remember? This asshole Tariq is your guy. Not ours.”

  “And I want to make it up to you. To all of you.”

  “You really okay with giving the terrorists a hundred million dollars? You sure you won’t get in any trouble with the State Department or something? I can’t imagine they’d just let you do that. That’s like arming the enemy.”

  “You want me to just let her die?”

  “Of course not, but the more it pays off, the more they’ll do it. It doesn’t take care of the problem, sir. It makes it worse.”

  “Well, Rory, suppose you let me worry about that, okay?”

  “No, sir. That’s our job. Your job is to make your millions, billions, or gazillions, give people jobs and take care of the ones that help you do that. It’s our job to keep it from coming over here.”

  The gear and several of the guys were loaded into T.J.’s Hummer, the damage from the fencing at the hangar looking nastier than Rory had remembered. Kyle drove a couple of the Team guys and Rory drove Corrigan.

  They didn’t say a word to each other.

&nb
sp; Chapter 42

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  Megan’s captors removed her hood and her headscarf and handed her a bottle of water. One of the younger men stepped on the mattress to offer her cigarettes and was horrified to find it wet, the liquid soaking into his canvas shoes. His angry rhetoric echoed throughout the warehouse when he discovered it was urine. Megan knew, judging from his hand movements, that he wanted to decapitate her on the spot.

  She turned to a more sympathetic young face and tried to mouth the word “food,” resorting to pointing to her lips opening and closing until they understood. She was hoping they had something, just a morsel of something she was used to eating so she wouldn’t have to make another meal with the canned fish. Her prayers were answered when she was given a small apple, bruised and slightly soft, but the sweet refreshing taste was divine. She doubted she’d ever think about apples the same way again. When she got to the core, instead of tossing it like she’d done for years, she ate the whole thing, seeds, stem and all.

  The well-dressed man arrived an hour later, brandishing a computer in an expensive leather case.

  “You will write your Mr. Kennedy a love letter now,” he said in his syrupy sweet tone that almost sounded like an exotic tune.

  She held her wrists out to him and his eyes focused on the bruised and puckered skin underneath the yellow cord. He frowned.

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question.”

  She considered her options with the tools she had. Since the knife would not cut through the duct tape on her ankles, she’d need both hands free to manage an escape through the window.

  “But it will be difficult to type with my wrists bound. Perhaps you could release them. Just for the message.”

  “I can, but I won’t.”

  The gentleman dragged a chair over. Placing the computer on his knees, he opened the lid.

  “You look very pretty today.”