Silent Vengeance

by Jamie Fredric

  Even though they had not yet entered the cemetery, the men would respect the hallowed grounds of Arlington, and would speak softly.

  Grant looked across the parking lot. "Don't see Scott's car yet."

  "We'll hear it before we see it," Adler said.

  Grant motioned Stalley closer. "Doc, do me a favor. Go to the Visitors' Center. Get the location of those two sailors. You remember their names?" Stalley nodded. Grant patted his shoulder. "Go 'head."

  Once Stalley was out of earshot, Adler said, "This last op sure affected him, Skipper."

  "Yeah, I know."

  "Think he needs to take some time off? You know, maybe go visit his folks? They're only a few hours from here."

  Grant folded his arms across his chest, and leaned against the SUV. "Already made the suggestion to him. I think he'll snap out of it once his mind's focused on getting the training facility up and running."

  "Do you think he should've come with us today?"

  "Absolutely, Joe."

  "Hey, boss," Novak said, as he approached, "are we gonna do our own 'visiting' or do you want us to stay together?"

  "I'll leave it up to all of you. But Scott, Joe, and I want to stop at Tony's grave first." Grant spotted the red Trans Am turning into the parking lot. Mullins pulled into a space opposite the SUVs.

  Stalley walked up to Grant, holding a piece of paper. "Here are the grave numbers, boss."

  "Okay, Doc. Hang onto that."

  Mullins closed the car door, and walked toward the men waiting. "Sorry I'm late."

  "Not a problem, Scott," Grant said shaking Mullins' hand. "Has your lunch hour been cut short, though?"

  "I took the afternoon off," he replied, looking toward the cemetery grounds. "Right now, I've got a couple of things to tell all of you." A.T. gathered around him. From his expression, it was impossible to tell whether the news was good or bad.

  Mullins quickly surveyed the area, making sure it was clear. He said in a quiet tone, "First, those four prisoners you brought back are being held at an out of the way location. I can't tell you anything else, but I should have more in a few days."

  "It'll be interesting. But I expect somebody's gonna end up at Leavenworth."

  "Believe you're right, Grant. Next item on the agenda. An anonymous tip was issued to the Bangkok authorities giving the location of that pill factory. What they do with the info we might never know." Looking over his shoulder, ensuring it was still clear, Mullins said, "I didn't bring official paperwork, but the executive order was carried out successfully. The SEALs are safely back in Coronado."

  Whatever was uttered by the men was barely audible, but obvious relief and satisfaction showed on every face.

  "Can you give us a quick rundown on how it went down, Scott?" Grant asked.

  "The Team arrived on the 23rd, and waited in Subic Bay. They had the three possible hiding locations mapped out, with routes and means of attack planned for each. CIA and NSA had listened closely for any transmissions that could've meant Artadi was at one of them.

  "They received the go for mission two days ago and headed to Castillejos. Mission accomplished. Three hours later, they were back at Cubi Point, waiting for a flight to Naval Air Station North Island."

  Stalley was the first to comment just above a whisper, "Very cool!"

  Grant smiled. "Feel better, Doc?"

  "Affirmative, boss!"

  "Okay, Scott. Appreciate the report." Grant's eyes went to each of his men. "Guess it's time to pay our respects."

  "Lead the way, boss," Novak said.

  Team A.T. fell in behind Grant, Adler, and Mullins.

  Chapter 30

  Six Months Later

  Eagle 8

  Virginia

  Inquiry letters had been received and answered, then application forms sent. Phone interviews were the final phase. The top forty men were chosen to attend the first session at the Eagle 8 Training Facility. All were either still in the Navy or their tours had recently ended.

  For the past three days the Team had been interviewing for purposes of categorizing them to be either "A" or "B" trainees. Those considered "A" would be watched carefully. Once training was completed, they'd become lead candidates into possibly become part of a squad, working with Alpha Tango. "B" folder was mostly young men who needed confidence-building.

  Grant was sitting at the dining room table reviewing an application, along with interview notes. Printing an "A" at the top of the paper, he placed it in a corresponding folder.

  The front door opened, then closed. Adler walked in holding another application. Grant slid the pencil behind his ear, then picked up a glass of Coke, as he smiled, "Busy three days."

  "No shit!" Adler pulled out a chair, then straddled it. He laid the paper upside down in front of him. "We've only got a few more to interview and we'll have our first forty. Jesus! They came out of the woodwork!"

  "Have you had any feedback from the guys, Joe? I mean, are they still gung-ho over this?"

  "You're kidding, right?! Listen, I don't think I've ever seen them so ready. They're all eager to begin molding this new crop of young men. Besides, it's sorta like starting a new career, but in the back of your mind you know 'Uncle Sam' can reel you back in any time he wants!"

  Grant smiled, then rested his arms on the table. "Okay. Who's next?"

  Adler tapped the paper with his finger. "This kid's name is Luke Mitchell. He's intelligent, good personality, athletic, and in great shape. He's stationed aboard a cruiser in San Diego. He heard about the program from a buddy. But I gotta tell you, the way he answered my questions, I could tell he's got that 'fire' in his belly."

  "Sounds like he's what we're looking for, Joe."

  "That's my impression. In fact, he made me think that's what you were like at his age."

  Grant rocked back in his chair. "Scary thought, huh?"

  "We won't even go there." Adler picked up the paper and handed it to Grant. "He took 30 days leave to come out here. He's already got his path set, but I'll let him tell you."

  "Okay, Joe. Send him in." As Grant waited, he read some of the background info: PO 2nd Class; TS (top secret) clearance; CT rate (Cryptologic Tech); speciality, Russian; high school football linebacker; swim team; 3.75 GPA; SAT upper 25%.

  The front door opened. "Captain Stevens?"

  "Priyti v (come in)." Grant stood and walked around the side of the table.

  Mitchell removed his black ball cap, and without missing a beat, he responded, "Priyatno poznakomit'sya, ser."

  Grant smiled as he offered a hand. "Nice to meet you too."

  The young man latched onto Grant's hand, holding it with a firm grip. He was close to 6' tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes that locked onto Grant's. Something in those eyes made Grant pause. Something.

  "You can take off your jacket, if you want."

  Mitchell unbuttoned his black leather jacket. "That's okay, sir. I'm good."

  Grant pulled a chair from under the table. "Have a seat."

  As Mitchell sat down, he laid his ball cap in his lap. "Mind if I ask you something, sir?"

  "Shoot."

  "Have you had much chance to use your Russian, I mean, like, in Russia?"

  "Between you and me, right?"

  "Roger that, sir!"

  "Da," Grant responded with a half grin. The young man simply nodded in understanding.

  As Grant held the paper, he asked, "Have we . . . ever met? Maybe it was in San Diego."

  "No, sir. Not that I can remember. And this is my first trip to the East Coast." The right side of his mouth curved up. "Before this, the farthest east I ever got was Great Lakes."

  "Bet you sure as hell enjoyed your time at the DLI in Monterey after that!" (Defense Language Institute)

  "Yes, sir! Quite a change."

  "Let's get started. Can you tell me why you wanted to come here?"

  "Well, sir, I'm due for PCS soon (Permanent Change of Station), and I've put in my request to attend OCS (Officer Cand
idate School) for the LDO Program (Limited Duty Officer, not requiring a college degree.) Whether that works out or not, I'd like to become a SEAL. But I want to give myself a 'leg up' and prepare myself the best way I can." He lowered his voice, and gave his head a slight shake. "I don't take failure very well, sir. It's not an option for me."

  "We all feel the same, Luke." Grant rocked his chair back. "If you do become an officer, and go to BUD/S, you'll still be crawling around in the mud, freezing your ass off in the ocean, receiving the same miserable treatment as everyone else. You do realize that, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! That's the way it has to be."

  Grant smiled, while inwardly thinking, Joe was right.

  "One more thing, sir. I. . . I heard about you and your Team. My impression was that it was more than just scuttlebutt, sir."

  Grant couldn't hold back a grin. "Curiosity brought you across the country?"

  "Oh, no, sir!"

  "Look, how about we finish up here, and then maybe we can have a one-on-one another time."

  "I'd like that, sir."

  Grant perused the form. "I see that you're a California boy."

  "Yes, sir. I was born in San Pablo. My mom and I lived there until I was about three, then she married my step-dad, who legally adopted me."

  Grant tapped the paper with his pencil as he scanned the application form more closely, looking for a date of birth, then the next of kin information. Something caught his attention. Mother: Angie Mitchell. Angie? He snapped his head up, staring at the young man. Angie! Holy shit! It can't be. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but where was your mom from?"

  "Oh, she was raised in Jenner. That's about 75 miles north of San Francisco, near the Russian River. Her maiden name was 'Collins' if that means anything. Did you know her?!"

  Grant's heart thumped against his chest. A cold sweat formed on his brow. He nonchalantly swiped it away. How the hell do you answer that, Stevens?! He couldn't. Instead, he just gave the slightest shake of his head, then continued. "How 'bout we get back on track. Looks like you've done quite a bit of traveling, even before you joined up."

  Mitchell had noticed Grant's change of expression, and wondered why . . . and why he didn't reply to the question. He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. My dad was a project manager, so we'd move every four years or so."

  "You've lived in Japan and South Korea."

  "Yes, sir. South Korea was his last assignment before we moved back to California, just before I started high school."

  Grant perused the paper. "Your GPA and SAT scores were outstanding. Didn't you consider going to college?"

  Mitchell shrugged his shoulders. "Hard to say why I didn't, sir, except something inside me made me want to join the Navy asap."

  "You know, you had a good chance of being accepted into the Academy."

  "You're probably right, sir, but at the time, I think my decision was the right one for me."

  Grant's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "Something tells me your mom didn't want you to join, and you signed up before telling her, right?"

  Mitchell couldn't hide his surprise. "How . . . how'd you know, sir?!"

  "You're an intelligent young man, Luke. I guess it was a reasonable explanation for passing up college." Mitchell gave an almost imperceptible nod. Grant thought it was time to move on. "I understand. I salute you for following your dream."

  "Thank you, sir. If it's all right, I have another question for you." Grant nodded. "I know you'll be running this program for a while. I'd love to be part of your teams. If I don't make it through BUD/S, and when my tour is up, do you think I can come back -- as long as I do okay here?"

  "I have a feeling you'll do fine here and in BUD/S. But either way, you contact me." Grant silently wondered whether that was a wise response—if his assumption proved to be correct.

  "Thank you, sir!"

  Grant stood, then offered his hand. "This has been a very . . . uh, enlightening interview, Luke."

  Mitchell's grasp was strong as he shook Grant's hand. "For me too, sir."

  "You'd better get some rest. Tomorrow we'll start putting you through your paces."

  "I'm looking forward to it, sir! And spaseeba!"

  Mitchell turned to leave, when Grant said, "Tell Lieutenant Adler I'd like to see him."

  "Yes, sir." Mitchell left.

  Grant's shoulders went slack. He still couldn't believe it. He walked into the living room, and went to the front window. Resting his palms against the glass, he lowered his head, as his mind flashed back in time. He and Angie Collins went through high school together. Unofficially engaged during their senior year, they planned to marry after he graduated from college. Then Grant received his final letter of acceptance into the Naval Academy. She voiced her disappointment after counting on him attending UC at Berkley or Stanford. He tried persuading her to make the move with him, but she refused because a life in the military was unacceptable to her. She broke off the relationship.

  Sure, he had some guilt, but deep inside him, he new the Navy was his future. It was as if he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, living a Navy life. Once he received his Letter of Assurance, he would have been foolish to pass up an opportunity to attend the U.S. Naval Academy.

  He hardly heard the door open and close, as Adler walked into the room. "Well, what'd you think about that kid?" Grant remained motionless and silent. Adler walked closer, and tapped his shoulder. "What's wrong?" Grant finally turned around. In all the years they'd known one another, it was the first time Adler had ever seen him so visibly shaken. "What the hell's wrong?!"

  "Christ, Joe! Luke. He's . . . I think he's my kid."

  Adler's eyes went wide, as he stepped back. His rugged face showed obvious surprise. "Say what?! Your kid?! How do ya know?! Did he tell you that?!"

  Grant shook his head, as he slowly walked to the couch and sank down on it. Sitting there, with his head lowered, he continuously rubbed his hands along his temples, as he murmured, "Nobody ever told me. Over 20 years, I never knew."

  Adler sat on the coffee table in front of him. "Tell me! How do you know?!"

  "The next of kin named on his application was his mother, Angie Mitchell."

  "Yeah. I saw that. So?"

  Grant proceeded to repeat his conversation with Luke, then his relationship with Angie.

  "Jesus, Skipper."

  The two sat in silence for several minutes, until Adler finally said, "But you know, there was something familiar about him. Now it makes sense. He does kinda resemble you, and he's got your build, mannerisms, even his voice sounds like yours! Think about how he answered your questions. Just about everything about him is—you!" Grant remained quiet. Adler realized what he'd just said didn't really matter for the time being. "Look, I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling, but you've gotta admit, he seems like a good kid. He's got his head on straight, and he knows what he wants."

  "But he doesn't know who I am, Joe. He gave no indication he knew."

  "My opinion?"

  "Sure. You'll give it to me anyway."

  "If you're positive he is, then you've gotta tell him. I think you know that."

  Grant sidestepped the statement. "But what happens if he comes back? He said he wanted to join the teams. How the hell will I be able . . .?"

  "How will you be able to send him on missions?"

  "Yeah."

  The front door opened, and Stalley leaned in. "LT! Boss! Everything okay in here?!"

  Adler looked past Grant's shoulder. "We're just having a discussion, Doc. Shouldn't be much longer."

  "Okay, LT." The door closed.

  Adler picked up the conversation. "Look, we both know he's got determination and drive. There's no way in hell you'll be able to deny him what he wants so desperately, what he's willing to give. Was anybody able to stop you from fulfilling your dream? No. I'll say it again: He's you." Not getting a response or reaction, Adler pushed ahead. "We've had a shitload of conversations about fate, and
how it's played a part in what we do. Well, maybe this is where fate is leading him . . . and you. Think about it. Maybe Luke's meant to be here. Maybe he's the one who's supposed to carry on with all of this."

  "Christ, Joe! You really believe that?! He's just a kid!"

  "Right now he seems like a kid in your eyes!" Adler bumped his fist against Grant's knee. "C'mon! Get that brain goin'! Besides, we sure as hell don't have plans to totally give this up anytime soon. But. . ."

  "But one day we will."

  "That's affirmative. For now, though, I guess we're both 'jumping the gun.'"

  Grant stood, and wiped perspiration from his brow. "I'll be right back." He went to the bathroom, turned the sink faucet on full blast, then splashed cold water on his face. As he straightened up and looked in the mirror, his expression said it all. Exhaling a long breath, he smoothed wet hair from his forehead, dried his face, then went back to the living room.

  Adler was pacing slowly in front of the window. He turned when he heard Grant's footsteps. "What are you gonna do?"

  Grant went to the table, angrily snatched the application, then walked back near the couch. "I'm gonna call Angie."

  "Is that wise?"

  "Maybe, maybe not -- but I have to. You've gotta understand why, Joe."

  "You make that call. I'll go see who's next for interviews. You want I should handle them, or should I put them on hold for now?"

  "Do what you can. Take those files with you. I'll come out when I'm through here."

  Adler gave a quick nod before picking up the folders. When he got to the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder, seeing Grant standing near the phone. It was time to leave. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  Grant rested his hand on the phone, then lifted the receiver and started dialing the number on the application. A range of emotions surged through him: anger, confusion, shock. But he had to keep himself under control if she . . .

  "Hello?"

  "Angie?"

  A brief moment of silence. With just the sound of him saying her name, she knew it was him. "Yes."