Band of Bachelors: Alex, Book 2

by Sharon Hamilton

  Chapter 19

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  Before leaving for San Diego, Sydney previewed an apartment in a new complex on the north side of Santa Rosa, not too far from the gym and close to the freeway. With the move-in bonuses, she only had to leave a $100 deposit. Subject to her credit, which she knew was excellent, the attractive two-bedroom place on the top floor was hers. The large balcony off the living room faced east, but wrapped around three sides of the apartment. It would be perfect for having morning coffee or breakfast after an early morning run or workout.

  She dictated notes for all the details she had to handle when she got back to town. By the time she got to her place and connected her computer to the Internet, the list would be transcribed and waiting for her. Next, she dialed her roommate.

  “Okay, Sydney. As usual, your timing’s perfect. I’m moving to Florida.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Got a coaching job there.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Was just going to stay here for the summer to not leave you in the lurch, but since you already did that—”

  “Oh, come on. I would have helped you pay for it, if I left you stuck with the full rent.”

  “I know. I’m just jealous. Things are really looking up for you. And there’s a new man in your life. About time.”

  Before Sydney could respond, her roommate interrupted. “Oh gosh, Jack said to give him a call. He’s been a pest.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Says he’s been trying to get in contact with you for several days.”

  “He knew exactly where I was, and I’ve only been gone four days total.” Sydney checked her phone, which was on vibrate and sure enough, there were several messages from Jack. And one voice message. “Okay. I see them. I’ll call him next.”

  She stopped by her landlord’s real estate office and told her about the move. There was always a waiting list for little houses down by the beach. Moving out quickly wasn’t a problem because the rent always went up for the next person in line.

  So that left Jack. At first she got the sound of his message recording. “Okay, Jack, sorry I didn’t call you back—”

  “Sydney! You’re back. You were going to let me know.”

  “I told you where I was going. Sorry, I forgot to call.” Her stomach lurched with what she had to tell him next. “Um, Jack, things have made a dramatic shift for me. I’m excited to tell you I’ve chosen a partner to train with, but it will mean I move up to Sonoma County.”

  “Really? Wow. I thought—”

  “I know. This is sudden for me too, but I really like the direction everything is headed. So I’m going to withdraw from the co-ed league. I hope you can find a replacement for the tournament coming up. Maybe Holly?”

  “Stop it, Sydney. Now you’re making fun of me.”

  Only Jack would take a photograph of himself and think it was a cartoon. “I think my plan is going to work. And I like the idea of training in some degree of privacy.”

  “How are you going to get to games?”

  “Well, it’s not like we’ll be in the middle of Africa. They do have cable and satellite here. And we won’t be ready for qualifiers for several months, maybe a year.”

  “Of course. Dumb question.”

  “So, I’m afraid this is it. Hopefully, in about a year you’ll see me at the beach events with Carly.”

  “Okay, kid. You’ll be the one that got away.”

  “Aw, Jack. The way I see it, maybe you’ll stay married longer this time.”

  “Ouch.” After a brief silence. “Okay, best of luck, Sydney.”

  Back at her bungalow, she removed her trophies, plaques, and her pictures, some of them taken in high school. She saw one with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background as she stood with her dad when he was healthy. She touched his image with her forefinger as if she could make the connection again.

  Her resentment towards her mother for having forced her father to leave their home hadn’t waned. With her mother’s radical mood swings and wild ideas and boyfriends, Sydney had become the parent and her mother the child. The woman wasn’t capable of taking care of anyone, including herself, and went from loser to loser, each “friend” a little scarier than the last. Finally, Sydney’d had enough and reached out to her father, who welcomed her with open arms. He put braces on her teeth, spent hours helping her with homework and bumping the ball around the yard. She had never felt so safe or so loved.

  She packed the photographs and picture albums with the trophies. Under the blotter on her desk was the funeral notice for her father’s service. She’d forgotten she’d saved it there.

  After her father died, they had to wait three days until they could find her mom, who had been partying in Las Vegas with future ex-husband number five or six. Sydney was grateful she and her dad had talked about her future and his finances. He left a sizeable trust fund administered by an attorney friend of his. It had been the first thing her mother inquired about, and it didn’t surprise Sydney one bit.

  She read over the Order of Service, and the thank you from the family, and then discovered the message she’d written just for him:

  “You were the best dad a girl could ever want. These past two years with you have been the best I’ll probably ever have. I’m not sure how I’ll get over missing you, but I know for sure I’ll never stop loving you. I will make you proud, Dad. Your Favorite Giraffe.”

  She’d forgotten he used to buy her stuffed giraffes. All arms and legs with practically no meat on her, she fit the description of his favorite nickname for her.

  The notice was tucked carefully between two glass-framed awards, the awards added to a box, and one by one, all the boxes were stacked in the living room.

  The next morning, moving men came, loading boxes, various pieces of furniture including her bed, desk, the dining table, and her big screen TV. Into her Murano she placed a few of her valuables, her favorite pillow and comforter, and some other personal items for the return trip to Sonoma County. She said good-bye to the movers, who would keep her things in storage for a week until she made it back up to Santa Rosa and called for them.

  When she moved to San Diego two years ago, the first thing she did was sit on the deck at the Hotel Del Coronado and have chowder and a margarita overlooking the ocean, then walk down the beach and watch the young men in their boat crews trying to pass this little segment of the grueling BUD/S course required before they could move on to SEAL Qualification Training. Her friends had told her about this special breed of men, one in a thousand regular Navy ever getting to apply. And the pass rate for any of them to become full-fledged Navy SEALs could vary from 5 percent to maybe 20 percent by the time all was said and done.

  So this being her last day in San Diego for a time, she decided to do the same again. The restaurant was packed since it was near the weekend. Outside, she had to share a section surrounding an unlit fire pit with several couples of various ages, celebrating birthdays or anniversaries. Though she felt out of place, she hoped someday to be one of those couples.

  She finished her chowder and her drink, but picked up her French bread and took the wooden steps down to the white sand. She could barely see orange netting separating the beach from the training area. As she got closer, there was a crowd of people taking pictures, sitting and watching the men pick up the little rubber boats, put them on their heads in teams of ten or twelve, and navigate them over a rocky barrier that was sharp, craggy, and slippery. The boat was never allowed to touch the rocks or it had to be brought back to starting position. Once the rocks were scaled, the boat was put into the water.

  Some of the boats capsized, dumping everyone out into the surf. Other teams drifted right out through the whitewater and into the inlet area, waiting for permission to come ashore. The same drill was done over and over again. Teams were yelled at by instructors with bullhorns. Two recruits were doing sit-ups in the surf for some sort of infraction. One boat crew was allowed a rare moment of rest, sit
ting at the edges of their rubber boat, oars pointed to the sky, watching all the activity before them. They cheered encouragement and shouted warnings to their fellow Team members. Other teams that groaned or occasionally complained were rewarded with a wet and sandy. Another team with several men who laughed as they ran by their fellow recruits’ bad luck were ordered to join them in the surf.

  The first day here and now the last day, she paid homage to these brave young men. With any luck perhaps one would permanently become a part of her life.

  She blew the young men a kiss, turned on her heel, and headed back to the parking lot and then to the highway leading north.

  The apartment was just as lovely as she’d remembered it. With no bed or furniture, she wrapped herself in her comforter, took a water bottle out on the balcony, and sat gazing at the red glow of the sunset. Tomorrow she and Carly would have their first real training day. She’d found her old workout schedule from college to use as a guide.

  She closed her eyes and wondered what Alex was doing.

  Be safe, my love. Come back to me.

  Chapter 20

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  Kyle asked Alex and Danny to accompany him on a scouting mission to see if they could locate the missing children. He’d had limited contact with the drone handler and not much had been learned, except the armored personnel carrier hadn’t moved from the large hall adjacent to a bombed-out factory of some kind. Thinking it might be left there for a quick escape, they decided that’s where they’d check first. They were mic’ed up. Cooper and Fredo were to listen in and comment if necessary from their bunker.

  The Kurdish fighters struck up a conversation with Jackie in a pigeon Pashtu common to all of them. Jackie addressed Kyle.

  “They say they’ve heard noises, perhaps an injured dog or something. They are not sure.” Jackie shrugged.

  “Maybe one of the kids?” asked Danny.

  “My bet would be one of the aid workers,” answered Kyle. “Those animals won’t let them alone, and maybe that’s a good thing in disguise. Gives the kids a fighting chance if the guards are preoccupied.”

  Jackie began the guttural singsong conversation again and then nodded. “They have not seen any women here for some time. And they do not know the exact number of guards.”

  Alex thought that whatever was going on in there, if this was the right place, it was fully self-contained, and he commented so. Kyle nodded.

  “Ask them when their supplies come in, and if they ever leave to do a perimeter search or take a leak,” demanded Kyle.

  Jackie gave them the answer. “No leaks, no one comes and goes. But they are fastidious about taking out the trash. They leave white garbage bags outside the door first thing in the morning. A truck comes by once a day to pick up all the trash.”

  “So we steal one of those bags. That will tell us what is going on inside,” said Kyle.

  “I should go with you, Kyle,” whispered Jackie.

  “We’re not here to talk, my friend. I need you to listen on the com in case we’re overrun.” He ordered Fredo to give him a mic. “You’re more helpful telling me what I’m hearing, okay?”

  “Okay, boss.”

  “Armando, you be ready. T.J., you help Fredo get out some flashy stuff we might need. See if there is anything here you guys can use.”

  “Roger that, Kyle. Do I have permission to move around outside?” answered T.J.

  “Not yet. I can’t take the chance someone saw us come in and is waiting in the wings to pick us off one at a time or radio for help. Stay invisible.”

  The town was without power either day or night, but at night the SEALs had the aid of specialized equipment. It gave them two very good reasons to explore then: it was cooler and it was easier for them to maneuver undetected.

  There was one gas station operating with a generator attached to one pumping station. Dogs barked in the distance as they drew nearer to the building.

  The roar of an oncoming jeep or large truck had them ducking into a doorway of a bombed home. The truck continued on its route without stopping at the warehouse building. Alex heard relief in the sighs of the men.

  They kept to the shadows. There were lots of partial walls and piles of debris. Of biggest concern were explosive devices either left on purpose or left behind by retreating troops of either side. A no-man’s land that technically was controlled by ISIS, there was no way to tell what fortification or level of manpower they’d encounter up ahead. The drones wouldn’t be out until dawn, and they didn’t have the intel on the ground that SEALs had used in the past. Their heat monitors showed nothing but small animal signatures, but the bright moon was interfering with the map.

  A pinkish glow had just formed on the horizon, and at first Alex thought there was a fire up ahead. It turned out to be the toxic sunrise generated from burning oil fields. A measured sniff confirmed that detail. They’d have to be quick about getting back or lose the element of surprise.

  The thick walls of the warehouse were not yielding anything from their new Graphene Sensors. Alex wondered if the bad guys had gotten smart about not positioning anyone inside against the perimeter walls.

  One by one they hugged the perimeter and still no heat signature. Of concern was the fact that there were no windows or doors except the one in front facing the street. Alex guessed the enemy had selected this building carefully, knowing a rescue operation might ensue. This would be easier to defend or to control the outcome on the insides if compromised. Though this forward planning was disturbing, he’d been trained to read the enemy’s intent and use whatever assumptions they had against them. Heavily laid plans were easiest to thwart with the element of surprise.

  He guessed Kyle would create a breach of the walls of the building rather than attempt to use the entrance where they’d be expected.

  Kyle was relaying intel back to the camp when they heard voices and someone coughing, coming from inside. And then they heard the distinct whimper of someone in pain, unable to control it. It did sound like an animal, like a dog. But it could also be a child.

  Danny’s jaw was set, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the noise. Someone was whispering a word they couldn’t understand.

  “You hear that?” asked Kyle.

  “No, sir,” came Coop’s response.

  “Sounds like motley, something like that,” Kyle answered. Danny and Alex nodded in agreement. “See if you can get a translation. Jackie?”

  “No, boss. I’ve never heard that language.”

  “So get some help. Coop? Swedish? Bulgarian? Ugandan?”

  “Swahili, sir.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I’m just saying it would be Swahili, not Ugandan.”

  The coughing continued, followed by another moan, “Mauti.” Muffled voices and more coughing ensued from multiple sources. Danny opened his eyes at the sounds, which brightened his countenance. It appeared the coughing was intentionally done to hide the sounds of the injured party’s moans.

  “I’m confirming multiple persons, and I’m going to say they do sound like women or children. More than a handful,” Kyle said to his earpiece.

  “Roger that. Will relay,” said Coop. “Working on motley too.”

  Kyle motioned toward another old storefront with the roof caved in, missing all its windows. It was located at the rear of the subject building, but still gave them a vantage of the street. The APC gave them partial cover, but blocked their view of oncoming traffic under the carriage or around the body of the APC.

  The sky began to turn lighter gray with a pink tinge to it.

  “We’re coming back in five.” Kyle pointed to his eyes, asking Danny and Alex to search for something they could use. Danny came up with some strips of cloth and a leather belt. Alex found two metal tins opened by a key, covered in what appeared to be Russian writing. The rolled edge was sharp enough to cut through a thick hide. A couple of cardboard boxes looked familiar, and they were surprised to find a board game of some kind using co
lored marbles. Danny was ecstatic with his find and filled two pockets with the little glass orbs.

  They slipped down the back alleyway, again hugging the shadows of buildings, stopping to check out if anyone had eyes on them.

  They heard the distinctive metal sound of a latch being pulled back and a door on creaky hinges being opened.

  A small figure with a mop of dark hair held a plastic garbage bag, depositing it in the street, just before a hand yanked him backward and shut the metal door. The boy’s anguished yell drilled fear down Alex’ spine, but Danny was grinning from ear to ear.

  “I swear that’s Ali. He’s alive, guys. We’re gonna get him,” said an animated Danny.

  “Hold that thought. We got a bunch of incoming. You guys make yourselves invisible and hope to God they’re just moving through,” said Coop.

  The trio quickly ducked into another hovel of some kind. They could still smell food, as if someone had lived there recently. A makeshift mattress in the corner, made up of rags and old hides appeared to have been someone’s bed for a time.

  Soon, four large Russian military trucks drove through the dusty downtown area, turned right and then proceeded without stopping.

  “I’m gonna get that bag,” said Danny.

  “No wait.” Kyle directed his next comment to Coop. “Anything more?”

  “I think we’re clear for now.”

  Kyle nodded. Without making a sound, the Navajo SEAL ran with lightning speed, picked up the white garbage bag, tucked it under his jacket and returned without breaking a sweat.

  “Good work. We’re coming back, with a package,” whispered Kyle.

  Chapter 21

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  Sydney went for a five-mile run before she got to the gym and still was nearly twenty minutes early. The bookkeeper, Mrs. Beeson, let her in and signed a key to her name. The heavyset black woman waddled in shoes that squeaked as she showed Sydney where her personal locker was and where the equipment and supplies were stored.