The SEAL's Special Mission

by Rogenna Brewer

  Cara looked at him as if she was about to burst out laughing. Okay, so maybe Mal was a little too attached to him. They’d been pals since she was, like, twelve.

  Obviously, his wife intended to put an end to her little sister’s hero worship by finding Mal a more appropriate hero to worship. But Nouri?

  “Is he a SEAL? Is he hot?” Mal fired off a barrage of questions at him as they made their way to the counter to fill out the forms for her gun purchase.

  “Define hot,” Nash said.

  “He’s gorgeous.” Cara went on to describe Ensign Kip Nouri for her sister. “Blond hair. The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Surfer-god hot.”

  Nash turned to his wife. “You think Kip Nouri is hot?”

  Cara patted him on the chest. “He can’t compete with your swarthy good looks. But yeah, he’s hot.” She fanned herself and he playfully swatted her on the bottom for being cheeky with him.

  “Are you sure they won’t just issue me one at the academy, Nash?”

  “They do not issue hot guys at the academy,” he said over his shoulder to Mal.

  The guy behind the glass display case chuckled.

  “I was talking about a firearm.” Mal nudged him with her shoulder. “Pay attention, Nash.”

  “You’ll like this one better.” He went on to explain to her in detail all the advantages this model had over the one she’d be issued. For one thing, SEALs preferred a SIG without a safety—they didn’t have time for that extra step, which could be a matter of life and death.

  “I’ll like it better. But because you bought it for me,” she said. “Thank you for my graduation gift.” She planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Don’t thank me yet. There’s a waiting period.”

  * * *

  DUCKING UNDER THE yellow tape, NCIS Special Agent Tess Galena flashed her badge at the local law as she crossed the police line. Cruisers with their red and blue flashing lights blocked both ends of the alley. Neighbors appeared outside their homes in full force. Officers with the K-9 units were shaking down bushes while others were interviewing homeowners. Meanwhile, the FBI clustered around the open back of an ambulance as the paramedics hauled off one of their own.

  Tess walked up to the man in the navy blue military-issued trench coat standing off by himself.

  “When did you get here?” she asked without preamble.

  “Not that long ago,” McCaffrey said. “Boarded a military hop from North Island to Buckley as soon as I heard.”

  She nodded. “So, what do we know?”

  “He was here,” McCaffrey confirmed. “The animated G-man over there...” He nodded across the alley toward a man in black arguing with another agent as paramedics rushed to close the back of the ambulance. “Says Nash shot his partner.”

  Two quick blasts of the siren to clear the barricade and the ambulance drove off in silence under police escort. Tess frowned after the departing vehicles. That couldn’t be a good sign. “Is the partner dead?”

  “No, and if he survives surgery I intend to keep it that way. I called in a few favors. Spread some rumors. No one is getting near him without my knowing.”

  “So you think Nash shot him.”

  “I know for a fact he did not.”

  “So who did?”

  “The partner’s story is full of holes. Start there.”

  Galena had a lot of respect for Mike McCaffrey. He had good instincts and liked to challenge her to dig deeper for the less obvious truth—as he had in the case of Cara Nash. The evidence stacked against Kenneth Nash had been overwhelming and had led to his conviction. But over the years she’d come to know Nash as something other than a murderer, so she was willing to take the commander’s beliefs on faith. And dig deeper.

  “You think the agent shot his own partner,” she said.

  He flipped open a small notebook to read from his notes.

  “You never take notes,” she said. He wasn’t an investigator. Aside from being the C.O. of SEAL Team Eleven, he was more or less Nash’s handler. And was always there when it came to anything that involved Kenneth Nash.

  “I want to get this right,” he said. “Still, I’m just paraphrasing his exact words. So, following a distress signal from Ms. Ward, Agent Tyler broke through the front door while Agent Morgan ran around back. The suspect then shot Agent Morgan at the Dumpster. No witnesses.” He flipped a couple of pages.

  “Agent Tyler pursued the suspect on foot. One block over, the suspect orders Ms. Ward into a late-model black Ford Explorer at gunpoint. Agent Tyler aimed for a tire and shot out the back window.”

  Tess cringed. “Bad shot.”

  “Unable to pursue on foot, he returned to his downed partner.”

  “Maybe it’s your note-taking that’s full of Swiss cheese. Where is Benji, the son he’s accused of kidnapping?”

  “Let’s assume Nash is carrying him,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Agent Morgan is sixty-five years old. And a good thirty pounds overweight. For the sake of argument, let’s say Nash is carrying an extra fifty, sixty pounds of little boy—which is probably not a problem for him—but let’s pretend for a minute that slows him down and that Morgan manages to stay ahead of Nash this whole time. Why run out the back gate at all? Why not cut Nash off at the back door? So I would suggest that the open gate proves that Nash was the one out ahead.”

  “That makes sense,” Tess agreed.

  “Okay, now look at this—from back door to back gate to the spot where you and I are standing is a straight shot.”

  Tess glanced at the open back gate of the six-foot, rough-hewn privacy fence, through the open back door of the Ward residence and into its well-lit kitchen. “Yes, I see it.”

  “Good.” McCaffrey reached over the waist-high chain-link fence on their side of the alley and parted the brush. “Because I’m pretty sure Nash and the boy were right here when things went down.”

  Tess looked down at the trampled grass—someone had been crouched down in it very recently. Then she noticed the crumbled limestone at the base of the garage and the number etched into the siding. “License plate?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Hmm, Nash even left us a clue. Did you let the police know? They need to get the K-9 unit over here—”

  “The dogs scented all over this place, both inside and out.” McCaffrey gestured to the house directly behind them and the garage. “This is where the babysitter lives. They followed the trail, which leads to a pile of broken glass and a crumpled Mustang the police have probably already hauled off to the impound.”

  “In other words, parts of the FBI agent’s story are true. What about forcing Mallory at gunpoint?”

  “I could see that, but chances are she chose to go with him rather than get separated from Ben. But the babysitter said something interesting when she was interviewed. Apparently Mallory wrote the girl a check for four times the normal amount. Does that sound like someone who’s planning on sticking around?”

  “You think she was getting ready to run. With him? Or from him?” Tess asked.

  “She has no reason to run from him—not that she believes it. I think it’s safe to assume that upon seeing the two agents waiting for her on her doorstep, she began hatching an escape plan—a plan that involved taking the boy and running before Nash showed up at her door, too.”

  McCaffrey shrugged before continuing. “We know she didn’t shoot Stan. The neighbor saw her come out the back gate. Morgan was already down on the ground and she apparently stayed by his side for several minutes. During which time she called the neighbor over to stay with the agent until the ambulance arrived. Before she took off down the alley the neighbor says Mallory grabbed Morgan’s firearm—so we can assume she was armed when she met up with Nash. Who’s more likely to kill whom i
n that scenario?”

  Tess crossed her arms against the evening chill. “You’re not always right, you know.”

  “I’ve been right about Lieutenant Commander Nash all along. And I’m right when I say the man’s not going on a killing rampage two weeks before testifying against the leader of one of the most notorious terrorist cells to ever infiltrate this country. Nash is not some rogue superspy turned terrorist. And the origins of that rumor rest squarely with the FBI.”

  “And the U.S. Marshal Service—”

  “Just lost a protected witness. Yeah, I know, and they’re a little anxious to get him back.”

  “Two of their own are dead. Marshal Reid Thompson’s dying words were ‘Kahn, came to rescue him.’ ‘Him’ meaning Nash. What would you make of that?”

  “Unfortunate choice of last words.”

  “That’s pretty callous even for you, Mac. How does your wife put up with you?”

  “Just lucky, I guess. Look, I was recently out to that safe house in the Catskills. I met those men—decent guys both of them. But they died in the line of duty. I’ve lost men in the line of duty, too. You grow calluses, that’s what you do. As for the meaning behind Thompson’s words, they’ve gone to the grave with Thompson. Until they review the surveillance, the only thing of significance is that he mentioned Kahn. And we know that there’s only one crooked Kahn not in jail awaiting trial at the moment.”

  “Bari Kahn.” She sighed heavily. “I take it Sari’s been moved for her protection.”

  “She’s all they’ve got if Nash is unable to testify.”

  “But what motive would an FBI agent have for shooting his own partner? And what’s the connection to Bari Kahn, if any?”

  “I’m not sure there is one. Nash has a lot of enemies, and not all of them on foreign soil. What was the name of that marine guard at Gitmo? The one Nash helped put away? The kid who got his rocks off torturing prisoners?”

  “You’re talking about Corporal Joseph Tyler.” The man had blamed Nash in his suicide note.

  “With a little digging I think you’ll discover that Special Agent Christopher Tyler was also a marine—and older brother to the late Corporal Joseph Tyler. I’d kill for my brother.”

  “And I’d like to kill your brother.” She was talking about Itch, even though they weren’t actual brothers. And they both knew she didn’t mean it.

  “Still mad at him, huh?”

  “I’ve gotten over him is more like it.”

  “He wasn’t a good fit for you, Tess. A nice guy is not what you need, Ms. Galena. And I hate to say this, but you weren’t a good fit for him, either. But anytime you want me to set you up with a SEAL, you just let me know.”

  “Where are you going?” Tess asked as McCaffrey started to walk away.

  “I’m leaving you to your investigation or whatever it is you do. While I reassure the U.S. Marshal Service and the federal prosecutor for the state of New York that Nash will be in court in two weeks. And then I’m going to sit tight and wait for his call.”

  “And you’re so sure he’ll call.”

  He pointed out all the reporters on the perimeter. “Actually I’m hoping he takes Mal and Ben and just disappears.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MALLORY SETTLED BACK against the passenger seat. A few blocks later, they reached a well-lit intersection with fast food on three of the four corners.

  “I’m hungry,” Ben said.

  “Not now, Ben.” Despite the fact that neither of them had eaten dinner, and she was just as hungry, she knew Nash wasn’t about to pull up to a drive-through window. “We’ll get something to eat later, okay?” she promised with a glance toward Nash, letting him know he’d better keep it.

  “There should be a box of protein bars back there,” he said. “And here.” He handed back a bottle of water he’d already tapped. Mal grabbed it before Ben could. Retrieving her gym bag from the floorboard, she began to dig around, hoping her sport bottle was still in there.

  “What are you doing?” Nash reached out to stop her and she slapped a pack of breath mints she found at the bottom of her bag into his hand.

  “Getting my water bottle. He doesn’t need your germs.”

  He glanced at the pack of tiny pink mints before tossing them to the center console. “What kind of germs do you think I have?”

  “Cooties,” she said, sounding more like thirteen than thirty. It was the same thing she’d said countless times upon finding him with his tongue down her sister’s throat. And who knew where the hell his tongue had been for the past seven years?

  It appeared someone—not her—had shoved clothes in on top of her workout gear. She pulled out a handful of lace panties and stuffed them back with disgust. Leave it to her kidnapper to grab the slutty underwear instead of something more practical. She found her toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant floating around loose at the bottom despite the fact that she already carried small makeup and toiletry bags within the gym bag.

  Obviously, he hadn’t searched the gym bag, because she also came across the clear window wallet with her membership ID and a credit card she rotated for use at the juice bar after a deserving workout. That was sloppy of him. Tucking the flat ID wallet up the sleeve of her suit jacket, she pulled out her pink sport bottle.

  “Here it is.” She sat back in the seat and poured water into it, then handed the sport bottle to Ben. She passed the near-empty water bottle back to Nash before picking up the breath mints from the console and shaking out a couple to chew on. Then she discreetly slipped the wallet into her jacket pocket along with the mints.

  He might not be paying attention, but she certainly was.

  They took the on-ramp for U.S. 6—Sixth Avenue—at Federal Boulevard.

  The sound walls of residential neighborhoods soon gave way to open space as they approached the foothills of Golden, Colorado. Ben was being awfully quiet back there. She really had no cause to be snapping at the kid about being hungry—he was almost certainly more scared than she was.

  “How you doing back there?” She twisted in her seat.

  “Okay,” he said, staring down at the half-eaten protein bar in his hand.

  “Hey.” She reached out to smooth his hair and then lift his chin. “Are you sure you’re okay? Ben, can you look at me when I’m talking to you?”

  He narrowed his eyes and did the two-finger point. Mal slanted a glance toward Nash. “Did you teach him that?”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror and shrugged.

  “We have to keep quiet,” Ben said. “Or the bad man will shoot us.”

  His words squeezed at her heart. “We’re safe now.” Mal was trying her best to reassure him while envisioning years of therapy. This was not something any child should have to go through. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” She squeezed Nash’s shoulder, hoping he’d get exactly how painful it was for her to hear the fear in Ben’s voice. “And Nash won’t let anyone hurt you, either. Okay, baby?”

  “He’s not a baby,” Nash said at the same time Ben said, “I’m not a baby.”

  “You’ll always be my baby,” she said, unwilling to let it go. Though fearing tonight had changed him forever.

  “I’m not a baby. I’m a ninja,” Ben insisted.

  Secure in his seat belt, he reached into his backpack for his Nintendo DS game system to practice his ninja moves. He put his earbuds in and Mal turned back to the front with a heavy sigh. Maybe now was not the time to talk about this.

  Within the dark interior of the SUV, Nash shifted. She glanced his way, sensing his discomfort as the sweat dripped from his face, which she sensed had little to do with the heater blasting at their feet. The warm air was making Mallory drowsy, though, and she would have put her head back against the headrest and gone to sleep if it wasn’t for the bump on her head.


  Best not to drift off right now.

  The fact that they were being kidnapped should be enough to keep her wide-awake and alert. She touched the tender spot at the back of her head as she tried to piece together the last hour or so. “Why were you in custody?”

  He kept his voice low. “I’m a witness for the prosecution in the al-Ayman trial.”

  He didn’t need to go into detail about the trial for her benefit. The upcoming trial for terrorist Mullah Kahn had been hotly debated and in the news for months. “You’re a protected witness?”

  The truth was she would have guessed prisoner—the safe transport of federal prisoners was the responsibility of the Marshal Service. “Why are you running? And don’t give me a line of bull about not being able to tell me anything.”

  “Who am I supposed to trust, Mal?”

  “Your best bet is to pull in to the nearest police station and give yourself up. I can negotiate your safe return to federal custody. If you’re afraid—”

  “Afraid—”

  He started to snap and then glanced back at Ben and stopped himself.

  “He’s got his ears on.” She referred to the earbuds for the game system. “He’s not interested in the adult conversation. In fact, he’s probably trying to escape the reality of the danger you’ve put us in. So why don’t you find a nice public place to drop us off?”

  “Forget it. I’m not dropping you off anywhere. And I’m not turning myself in.” He white-knuckled the steering wheel. His scowl deepened—she had no idea what was going on in that brain of his. The sooner they got away from him, the better.

  To that end, she toed her gun from the side pocket of her gym bag, inch by inch, beneath the seat. She’d lost count of how many firearms they had between them. She could only hope he’d forget about this one and then she’d have a backup if and when she needed it. Nash definitely wasn’t at the top of his game today.

  He cracked his window and turned his face to the blast of cold air.

  Mal crossed her arms against the cold but didn’t say anything because she, too, needed to stay awake. Why didn’t he just turn off the heater?