Backlash

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  Jim smiled now. “I have a few ideas.”

  “I’d hoped you would.”

  * * *

  Kel stared out at the James River from the passenger seat of Brent’s car. They were almost to Norfolk, and he could see several cruisers docked at the naval base. The blue sky over equally blue water only served to depress him. It was a perfect day to go out for a sail or for a swim or even for a walk. He could do none of those things.

  After his surgery, Kel had listened to the doctor, not surprised by the prognosis. The surgery had indeed revealed a torn ligament, and the doctor had successfully repaired the damage. How strong the reconstructed knee would be was yet to be determined. As his doctor in Norfolk had already told him, he would be lucky to regain 85 to 90 percent of his previous strength. Everyone felt confident that he would be able to remain on active duty, despite the lingering nerve damage from the gunshot wound, but no one, including Kel, knew if he would still be able to stay with the SEALs.

  Brent had taken it upon himself to call Marilyn after speaking to the doctor, so Kel hadn’t spoken to her since he had left the day before. He thought of their last conversation, wondering if she was genuinely coming around to how important his career was to him. He also wondered if her change of heart was coming too late.

  Brent’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I forgot to tell you that the real estate agent called this morning.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He found several houses he thought you might like.” Brent checked his mirrors and changed lanes before continuing. “I told him that you’d just had surgery, so it might be a few days before you and your wife would be up to house hunting.”

  Kel looked down at the bandaged knee, hating the way it was upending everything in his life. “I’m not sure I want Marilyn to know about this until after everything is settled.”

  Brent’s jaw dropped, and he glanced over at Kel. “You’re planning to buy a house without telling your wife?” He shook his head. “Kel, I don’t think this is the kind of surprise most women would like. Picking out a house is kind of a woman thing.”

  “I know, but I’m afraid if I don’t force the issue, she won’t want to move,” Kel admitted. “I tried talking her into buying one a couple of years ago, but she said she didn’t want to buy something when I might get transferred any minute.”

  Brent’s eyebrows lifted. “Kel, we’re in the navy. That’s always going to be the case.”

  “I know.” Kel rolled his eyes. “You’d think after being married to me for five years, she would understand that.”

  “Still, this time is different. You’re planning on moving for safety reasons.”

  Insecurity laced Kel’s voice now. “Yeah, but what if I can’t make her recognize the danger of going back to the old house?”

  “Surely she understands what Ramir is capable of,” Brent insisted.

  “She doesn’t know who Ramir is. How could she? It isn’t like my wife works with our unit like yours does.”

  “I just figured she’d have some idea of the kinds of people we deal with.” Brent’s voice was insistent as he continued, “She has the right to know what we’re up against.”

  Kel’s lips pressed into a hard line. Reluctantly, he gave a curt nod as dread settled in his stomach.

  * * *

  Marilyn set a drink down on the end table next to where Kel was sitting on the couch, his injured leg propped up on a pillow on the coffee table, a bag of ice draped over his knee. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Kel patted the couch beside him. “Sit down. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  A million possibilities of what he might say flashed into her mind, none of them good. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not exactly.” He let out a little sigh, waiting for her to lower herself onto the couch before speaking again. Then he seemed to draw up all of his energy as he shifted to face her. “I hope you know that I’ve always done everything I could think of to keep my career from affecting you.”

  Still unsure, Marilyn managed to nod.

  “I think I know who called the hospital pretending to be my dad.”

  “Who?”

  “Akil Ramir. He’s an arms dealer I’ve had a run-in with before. Actually, it was probably one of his men.” Kel waved away that detail, forcing himself to look at her. “Either way, they know who I am, and they know where we live.”

  Marilyn listened to his words, feeling like she was watching a movie rather than living the moment. The thought of a criminal knowing where they lived, even caring where they lived, was completely surreal. Slowly, she asked, “How can you be so sure?”

  “Last week some of my guys stopped by to check out our house. Someone took a shot at them.” Kel’s eyes darkened. “They’re sure that the shooter was an associate of Akil Ramir.”

  Marilyn’s eyes widened. “There was a shooting in our neighborhood?”

  “I know you haven’t been crazy about moving, but I really think we’re going to have to,” Kel said gently. “It’s too dangerous to go back to our old house.”

  “You’re serious?” Marilyn shook her head. “Did your squad catch the guy? If they did, maybe it’s safe now.”

  “They caught him, but that doesn’t mean Ramir won’t send someone else.” Kel reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Marilyn, Ramir is ruthless. He kills people without thinking twice. You have to understand how dangerous he is.”

  “But why? Why would he come after you?”

  Kel took a deep breath and blew it out. “My last assignment involved him. We think he may have seen an article about me getting wounded and figured out that I was there.”

  “So he’s trying to get even or something?”

  Kel hesitated briefly before answering, “Something like that.” Now he took another deep breath. “I set up a meeting with a real estate agent tomorrow to look at houses.”

  Marilyn’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Marilyn, we have to move.” Kel’s voice was persuasive. “I can put us on the waiting list for a place on base, but I thought you would rather live in town.”

  “But how did this Ramir guy find you? Won’t he be able to track us down again if we buy a house?”

  “He probably found us through our DMV records. When we move, we’ll have to get a post office box, too, in order to protect our address,” Kel informed her. “I was also planning on buying the house in the name of my dad’s trust so that we can’t be tracked that way.”

  Marilyn tried to absorb his words. “It all sounds so complicated.”

  “I know, but it’s all going to work out,” Kel insisted. “Are you okay with this? You’ll come house hunting with me tomorrow?”

  “Are you sure we can afford this?”

  “I’m sure. We’ve been saving for this day for a long time.”

  Though her stomach was churning with nerves, Marilyn forced a smile. “I guess given the choice of having someone shooting at us or buying a new house, house hunting sounds like the better end of the deal.”

  Kel looked relieved as he smiled at her. “We’ll find a great house. I promise.”

  20

  The third house had charm and then some. From the backseat of the Realtor’s car, Kel ignored the throbbing in his knee and looked around the quiet cul-de-sac with mixed emotions. The street only had about a dozen houses on it, and the one for sale was situated on the circle. A soccer ball was nestled against the curb nearby, and a kid’s bike lay on its side in a neighbor’s yard. It was the perfect place to raise kids.

  Kel pushed that thought aside and concentrated on the house in front of him. A single cherry tree adorned the wide front yard, a small wooden bench situated beneath it. The front porch extended the full length of the house and then wrapped around one side. Kel already knew from the listing that the back yard sloped down to the water and had a private dock.

  He slid out of the car, shifted his crutches, and pushed to a
standing position. Marilyn stepped beside him, her eyes meeting his. He read the emotion there—wonder and excitement—and his heartbeat picked up a little. Kel took her hand and gave it a squeeze before gripping his crutches once more.

  The real estate agent started up the driveway, giving them the details: two-car garage, like they couldn’t see that for themselves; four bedrooms; unfinished basement; private dock. The Realtor opened the lockbox and unlocked the door. He then pushed the door open and stepped to the side to let Kel and Marilyn enter first.

  Inside was even better than Kel expected. The house was vacant, which he hoped meant they would be able to move in right away. Large ceramic tile covered the wide entryway and the formal dining room and then continued into the back of the house. Across from the open dining room, French doors led to a small study. Kel took once glance at the stairs in front of them and opted to continue down the hall into the kitchen.

  He wasn’t much of a cook, but he approved of the white cabinets and dark countertops and the way the dinette area opened into a cozy family room. Windows were placed generously along the back wall, overlooking the yard, with another set of French doors leading to the deck.

  Kel shifted to the window so he could see the whole yard through the window. And he smiled. The inlet was wide, the private docks for each house well spaced. The bumpy lawn sloped gently from the house down into the quiet inlet.

  When Kel had told the Realtor he’d wanted a house on the water, he had expected to find a house on the beach. As he listened to the water quietly lapping against the dock, he realized that this was what he really wanted. Instead of the roar of the ocean, they would be able to wake up each morning in this peaceful setting, maybe even have a boat of their own to go out and enjoy on his days off.

  Marilyn stepped beside him to look out the window, as well, and put a hand on his arm. “What do you think?”

  His eyebrows lifted, and he nodded thoughtfully. “I think we should take a look upstairs.”

  “I think so, too.” Marilyn smiled.

  * * *

  Jay studied the floor plan of their final objective, but he wasn’t sure what to think. He had been trained to jump out of helicopters and to insert onto a beach in the middle of the night. He understood how to operate a variety of surveillance equipment and how to safely use explosives and any number of weapons. But he hadn’t been trained for this.

  Currently, he was sitting in a car on the side of the road in Aruba waiting to hijack a delivery truck. In broad daylight. When he had found out that he was going out on his first real mission, he had been both excited and nervous. Now he was mystified.

  Over the past few weeks, he felt like he was steadily gaining ground with his new teammates. Other than a few practical jokes and some lighthearted teasing, they seemed to be okay guys. He still wasn’t sure what to think about some of their idiosyncrasies, especially their routine of praying at the beginning of each day and before every training mission. Everyone else seemed comfortable enough about it, and Jay didn’t really care one way or the other if they wanted to pray, as long as they didn’t expect him to say it.

  Seth had been the one to say the prayer before they’d headed out on this mission, and his words had been oddly reassuring. Jay was sure he was ready for anything. Then Brent had briefed them on the method they were using to infiltrate Ramir’s compound, and Jay realized that all of his training hadn’t prepared him for reality.

  He understood the intelligence reports and the one weak spot the CIA had identified at Akil Ramir’s house in Aruba: the food. So now he waited, his weapon in his lap, as he and the rest of his squad watched for the truck that would hopefully be their ticket inside.

  Quinn’s voice came over his combat headset. “Get ready. The truck just left the market.”

  Sitting beside him in the driver’s seat, Tristan started the car and edged it out into the street, angling it so that the road was blocked. He then cut the engine and hopped out to put the hood up as though they were having car trouble.

  Jay stayed in the car as he had been instructed earlier, his palms sweating. He looked down at the automatic weapon and hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

  The rumble of the oncoming truck sounded through the hot, moist air. A trickle of sweat beaded on Jay’s forehead. He swiped at it with the back of his hands and then rubbed his palms on the fabric of his pants.

  As expected, the delivery truck driver slowed down and came to a stop after seeing the obstacle in the road. The driver put the truck in park, shoved open the door, and started speaking rapidly in Papiamento. Tristan casually pushed away from the car and approached the other man. He pointed back at the car where Jay was still sitting and appeared to be asking for help.

  As soon as the driver turned away from Tristan to look at Jay, Tristan moved quickly. He grabbed the man from behind and immediately plunged a syringe into the man’s arm. The driver only had time to turn his head in surprise before he dropped limply to the ground.

  From their positions in the brush, Brent and Seth emerged and opened the back of the truck to make sure no one else was inside.

  Jay had to remind himself to shift into action. He slid over into the driver’s seat and proceeded to move the car back to the side of the road as Tristan pulled the now unconscious driver toward where he parked it in the shade.

  “Now what?” Jay asked as he climbed out of the car. “We aren’t really going to just leave him here, are we?”

  “Yeah. It’ll be too hot if we put him inside the car.” Tristan pulled the man farther into the brush and propped him against a palm tree where he wouldn’t be visible from the road. “He should be out for a couple of hours.”

  Another vehicle approached, sending Jay’s heart into overdrive. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw it was Quinn approaching on a motorcycle. He was already dressed in a delivery uniform identical to that of the man Tristan had just drugged. Quinn parked the motorcycle behind their car and impatiently motioned to Jay and Tristan. “Come on.”

  Following Tristan, Jay rounded the back of the truck and climbed in where Brent and Seth were waiting. A moment later, Brent closed the back, leaving them all in darkness.

  21

  The truck lurched to a stop, and Seth opened the door to let Tristan and Brent out. They were half a mile from Ramir’s compound, but Tristan and Brent would go the rest of the way on foot so they could cover them from the brush. Up front, Quinn kept the truck idling as he waited for Brent to give him the signal that they were ready.

  Seth wished they would have had more time to analyze Ramir’s defenses, but he agreed with Brent that they needed to strike while Akil Ramir was in Aruba. None of them wanted to go back into his home base in Nicaragua again.

  With Vanessa’s firsthand knowledge of Ramir’s house in Aruba, he was a lot more confident that they could succeed. She had lived here for more than a year when she was first undercover in Ramir’s organization. As a result, she had given them a lot of insight they would never have discovered for themselves, even if they had had the time to do adequate surveillance. Vanessa had helped the Saint Squad develop the mission plan and had even been relatively certain about how many people they could expect to encounter once they penetrated the main residence.

  Sure enough, the surveillance Quinn and Tristan had conducted earlier that day suggested that there were approximately twenty people inside. They also confirmed that two sentries were posted on top of the roof. They all hoped to remain invisible until long after those guards realized anything was wrong.

  A ten-foot-high wall ran the full length of the property except for the area that opened up to the beach. Logically, inserting from the water made the most sense, but their information suggested that Ramir was actually the strongest there. Using infrared imaging, Quinn had identified approximately fifty people inside the two guardhouses situated opposite each other near the edge of the beach.

  Realizing that Ramir was prepared for intruders arriving by water, they
had chosen to take a more direct and difficult route—right through the front door. Or close to it, anyway.

  Seth took a steadying breath when he felt the truck slow to a stop. They were there. Any second the back was going to open up. He just didn’t know who was going to be standing on the other side when it did.

  Seth shifted forward, an unusual sense of anxiety coursing through him, one he hadn’t experienced in years. The rush of adrenaline he always felt during a mission was there, but so was a new sense of uneasiness. The lack of Kel’s presence was an oddity in itself, and Seth struggled to push aside the guilt that his former commander’s injury had resulted when the squad had helped bring him home.

  Brent’s leadership style wasn’t much different from Kel’s. The inherent trust was there, an understanding that he knew everyone would do their job and that success would be the final outcome.

  Despite Brent’s unspoken confidence, they all knew there was an untested factor that could endanger all of them. So far Jay had demonstrated that he had learned the essentials in BUD/S, the basic SEAL training, but they all knew how quickly unexpected problems could arise in the field. No one was sure yet how the new kid would react under pressure.

  Seth had surprised everyone when he had volunteered to be Jay’s buddy for this mission. Jay was young and eager, but Seth sensed a strength there, one that hadn’t been completely explored. He also knew that Jay had already saved his life once when Ramir’s man had shown up at Kel’s house. That action had laid a foundation of trust Seth expected they could build on.

  Whether Jay was prepared to take an enemy life if necessary was still an unknown, and Seth hoped that test would wait for another day. If they all did their jobs as planned, no one would have to die today.

  Glancing over at Jay, Seth saw the nerves there. He understood them. Over their communication headsets, they could hear Quinn talking to the guards. Then footsteps sounded at the back of the truck. Seth gave Jay a little nod of encouragement. Both men quietly pressed back against opposite sides of the truck, poised to strike. Each of them lifted their weapons, a refined version of a tranquilizer gun. The darts were tiny, designed to drug the victim on impact.