by B. B. Hamel
“That’s amazing,” I said. “You don’t meet a lot of people who really go for what they want.”
“That’s the kind of man I am.” We made another strange turn, heading away from my house again and down an alleyway. When we got to the end, he turned right, and I realized that with each new turn, we were getting closer and closer to my house, even though we were taking the strangest route possible.
“I grew up with my mom mostly,” he said. “My dad left us when I was just a baby.”
“What happened to her?”
“Cancer,” he said. “Died when I was fifteen. I lived with my aunt until I left for the Academy.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“So I understand what you’re going through to some extent. I respect single mothers.”
I nodded but had no clue why he was suddenly telling me all of this. Not that I minded; actually, it made me like him much, much more knowing that we had similar backgrounds. But I didn’t get why he was just talking, on and on.
And then it hit me as we made another weird turn. He was trying to keep me calm by talking to me. What we were doing was bizarre, totally strange, and he was basically a complete stranger to me. I was following him along and he could be taking me anywhere.
My heart started hammering in my chest when I realized that. He was keeping me calm and could be leading me anywhere.
I stopped walking.
He turned back to me. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know you,” I said. “Where are you taking me?”
“Back to your house.” He walked closer to me. “We have to move, Tara. We can’t stand here.”
“What’s going on?”
“You have to trust me. Come on, we have to move.”
“No,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on or I’m not moving.”
He took a deep breathe and slowly released it. “Listen to me, Tara. If we don’t start moving right now, we both might be in danger, and I can’t put you in that position.”
I stared at him, and that same look crossed his face, sincere and intense. As strange as this was, I still believed him and trusted him. I didn’t know why, but I did.
“Fine,” I said, “But promise you’ll tell me what’s happening when we get back.”
“I promise.”
He turned and started walking, and I followed.
He wasn’t talking to me anymore. He wasn’t trying to keep me calm. I just kept pace with him down the streets, cutting through yards where we could, moving in the strangest pattern back toward my house.
Finally, after maybe a half hour of walking, we made it. I spotted my house up ahead.
“Wait,” he said, stopping me. “Stay here.”
“What?”
“Stay here.” He walked off without another word.
I stood there and watched as he slowly walked around my house, checking in the windows. He paced across the street, his eyes constantly sweeping the space, before coming back to me.
“Okay. Come on.”
I followed him again, my heart racing, completely confused.
We went up to my front door. I unlocked it and pushed it open. “Hello, Mom? I’m home.”
“Hi, sweetie.” My Mom appeared in the kitchen, holding Mason. “Who’s this?”
I looked back at Emory and watched him relax. “Mom, this is Emory.”
“Emory Rush. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” He walked inside and smiled a charming smile. My mom shook his hand.
“Oh, hello. Are you friends from school?”
“Not exactly, ma’am. I know Tara from India.”
She paused, and I knew she had just put it together. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said absently. “Why don’t you two go sit in the living room and talk? I’ll take Mason to the park.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“That’d be great, Mom,” I said, interrupting him.
“Great. Well, have a nice time.” She walked off and headed upstairs.
Emory looked at me. “Nice lady.”
I rolled my eyes and dragged him into the living room. I pushed him lightly and he dropped onto the couch, grinning at me.
“Okay, we’re here,” I said. “Now talk.”
“Sit down first,” he said, looking serious.
I sat down, my heart racing in my chest.
6
Emory
Tara sat down next to me, looking annoyed as hell.
I had to admit, the girl was fucking sexy when she was pissed. She was a good sport following me back from the café like that. I’d completely expected her to rebel at least a few more times, but she managed to question me only once.
Which was impressive. Not many civilians would be willing to go along with an evasive maneuver like that with absolutely zero explanation, especially with a stranger.
Which was why I wanted her to know me better. We really did have a lot in common. Meeting her mother, seeing where she lived, it felt a lot like the way my life looked back before my mother got sick.
But unfortunately, I had to tell Tara what was happening. I’d meant to tell her today regardless. I wished I could keep it away from her, but it would be hard to protect her if she had no clue what I was doing. I couldn’t risk her thinking I was just some psycho and potentially calling the local police on me or some shit like that.
And so I had to tell the girl that she was in mortal danger from a serious terrorist group.
The same terrorist group I had spotted while we were sitting in the café.
It was all but confirmed for me. The man I spotted was sitting at the bus stop across the street, pretending to read the paper, but I would have recognized him anywhere. Omar Vazir Hooth was one of the deadliest members of The Network, and the fact that he was anywhere near Tara meant that her life was in more serious danger than I had thought.
Omar was one of the leaders of The Network, and definitely one of the most radical. In our raid of their organization, I’d killed his brother and several of his cousins personally and had wondered why I’d missed him.
Now I knew. Omar Hooth had been in America this whole time, probably for years. I was willing to bet this thing with Tara was personal revenge for what I’d done to his family, but I couldn’t be sure.
Tara looked at me expectantly, and I wondered how the hell I should phrase this.
“You know I’m a SEAL,” I said.
She nodded. “You told me that already.”
“Well, I specialize in anti-terrorism. The night we met was the night before I deployed into Pakistan.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“No. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. But in Pakistan, we went after a terrorist group called The Network. They’re one of the largest and deadliest organizations in the world, and they absolutely hate us.”
“Okay,” she said. “So what?”
“I don’t know how, but The Network figured out my identity. Worse than that, they had spies in the resort we were staying at.”
I saw the wheels turning in her mind. “In India, they were watching you?”
“Yes,” I said. “That was how they found out about you.”
She stared at me, and I could see comprehension dawning on her face. “They know about me?”
“Tara, about two days ago I got a photograph in the mail. It was a picture of you, a recent picture of you. I believe The Network sent it to me as a message.”
She leaned back into the couch, shaking her head. “No way. This is crazy.”
“Stay with me, Tara,” I said. “This is all real.”
“No,” she said. “No. I’m not the target of some terrorist group. You’re crazy.”
“I believe you are. In the past few days, has anyone approached you? Possibly a man that looked Indian, about my height and weight? He likely spoke perfect English.”
She shook her head. “No. Nobody like that.”
“Think harder, Tara. Have you seen anyon
e following you lately?”
Slowly she nodded. “Oh my god. Yesterday.”
“What happened?”
“Just before you showed up, I was in the park with Mason and I dropped my wallet. A man followed me back to my house to return it.” She looked at me, stunned. “He looked Indian, just like you described. Seemed nice.”
“I believe that man was Omar Hooth, one of the most dangerous Pakistani terrorists in the world.”
She looked dazed. “Is that why we left the café?”
“Yes,” I said. “I spotted him sitting nearby, watching us. I decided we should lose him and talk.”
“I can’t believe this,” she said. “I can’t. You have to be lying to me. A terrorist wants to hurt me?”
“He wants to hurt me,” I said, “and he’ll do anything to do that.”
She stared at me, and I could see the fear beginning to bubble for real underneath her gaze. She was taking it pretty well, all considered, but I knew she was just a second from losing it completely.
“We need to call the police,” she said.
“No. We can’t call them.”
“Why? Emory, they can help us.”
“I’m under orders from my commanding officer. We can’t alert the local police.”
“But they can help,” she said again, clearly desperate.
“If we call the cops, the media will hear about this. Maybe not right away, but sooner or later, they will. And if word gets out that Omar Hooth is in America, there will be a panic, and we will lose him.”
“So you’re using me and my baby as bait?”
“Not at all,” I said. “But if we want to stop him, we can’t let him get away.”
“Emory, this is insane. Please, let’s just call the police or the FBI or someone.”
I shook my head. “No, Tara. You don’t fucking need them. You have SEAL Team Eight.”
“I just have you,” she said softly.
“For now.”
“There are more of you?”
“Of course there are,” I said, grinning. “If we need help, they’re a phone call away.”
“Call them,” she said.
“Not yet. Omar hasn’t made a move yet, but he definitely knows I’m here. We can’t risk spooking him.”
She shook her head, her eyes wide, and stood up. “I want you to leave.”
“Tara—”
“No. I want you to get out. First you get me pregnant and disappear, and now you’re saying some terrorist is going to try to kill me?”
I stood, shaking my head. “I didn’t want any of this.”
“Yeah, well, it’s your fault. Your fault.”
“I know that.”
“Get out. I want you to get out.”
“Okay.” I took a few steps into the kitchen and then looked back at her. “But I’m not going far. Hate me or don’t, but Omar is dangerous and he’s nearby. I won’t leave you alone.”
“Just get out.”
I turned and left, closing the front door behind me.
I stood on her porch for a second, taking deep breaths. I understood why she reacted that way, but it still didn’t feel nice to be reminded that this was all my fault.
She was right. It was my fault.
I never meant for this girl to get mixed up in any of this. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of myself, or at least the person I used to be. Back before all the training, before my mother died, I was just another Midwestern kid trying to live my life.
Now I was an international terrorist hunter, and I wouldn’t have it any other fucking way.
But I wasn’t about to let Tara and Mason down. We hadn’t talked much about him, since the pressing issue of a dangerous terrorist coming for them was a little more important, but he was never far from the back of my mind. Mason was my son, that was for sure, and whether or not I ever planned on having children didn’t matter anymore.
I was a father.
But first, I was a SEAL.
I moved out, cutting across her lawn. I was determined to sweep the area again, maybe see if I couldn’t smoke out Omar on my own.
7
Tara
I felt like my whole body was ringing as Emory left the house.
I couldn’t believe a word he had told me. Apparently I was the target of some incredibly dangerous international terrorist from Pakistan, and I had even met him just the day before.
This was all so unreal. I sat down on the couch and began to take deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
There were a few things that pointed toward his story being true. First, there was the fact that I couldn’t find Emory no matter what I tried. It was totally possible that he really was a SEAL and the government really did protect his identity.
Next, there was the fact that he described the man I’d met almost perfectly. Plus, I’d been feeling strange lately, like someone was watching me. Maybe that was because someone really was watching me; I just couldn’t see who it was.
Finally, there was the way Emory had brought us back to the house, that winding, strange path. It was clearly a way to make it difficult for someone to follow us, though why that mattered was beyond me. They already knew where I lived.
And in that moment, I realized that I believed him. I believed what he had told me and I believed that I really was in danger.
That realization sent a bolt of terror through my spine.
Mason and my mom. They were walking around the park, the last place I ran into Omar.
I stood up and ran out the door. I didn’t see Emory anywhere as I looked around frantically. I gave up after a second and practically sprinted to the park, not caring that I probably looked like a crazy person.
I burst onto the blacktop of the walking path and looked around. They were nowhere in sight. Panic was welling up in my chest.
What if Omar Hooth had my son and my mother? Would he kill them or just hold them ransom?
No, I couldn’t think that way. I just couldn’t let myself start thinking of the worst. Mom and Mason were fine. I just had to find them.
I started walking, looking everywhere. I walked fast, not trying to draw more attention to myself than I already had, but I probably looked like a crazy person. My heart was racing in my chest and fear was icing up my legs, but the thought of someone hurting my baby or my mother kept me moving forward.
I rounded the corner, headed toward the jungle gym, and there they were. Mom had Mason in her arms, a bottle in his mouth, sitting on a bench facing the swings.
I practically ran over to her. “Mom!” I called out.
She turned and smiled. “Hi, sweetie,” she said.
“Are you okay?” I asked, a little out of breath as I stopped in front of her.
“Of course I am. Are you?”
“I’m fine. Just ran over here.”
She cocked her head at me like I was a crazy person. “Why would you do that? I watch Mason all the time. Did something happen?”
“No. Well, yes, but no. Everything is okay.”
She looked at me like I had just sprouted an extra head, which wasn’t too far from the truth. “Okay. Well, I just saw your friend Emory. He seemed nice.”
I blinked. “Emory was here?”
“Well, he just walked by and waved.” She smiled at me. “Is it him, Tara? Is he the father?”
I sighed and looked away. Emory had checked up on my mom and Mason already. That man was so frustrating, and I was terrified of what was happening with him, but I suddenly felt incredibly grateful.
He wasn’t just thinking of me. He was thinking of my mother and our child. Whoever he was, he at least meant well, or so I hoped.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go back. I have to tell you and Dad something.”
She nodded. “Okay, sweetie. Let me finish feeding Mason and then we’ll head back together.”
I stood impatiently while my mother finished feeding Mason. I wanted to get out of the open area as soon as possible.
; She finished up and I took Mason, putting him into the stroller. We walked back together, chatting aimlessly about work and school. Dad would be home shortly, and I was going to have to tell them then.
I was going to have to tell them that their daughter was wanted by an international terrorist.
I didn’t know if this was the right thing to do or not. Emory hadn’t explicitly told me not to, although he did make it clear that people weren’t supposed to know. Still, these were my parents, and they were involved as well.
They had to know, I decided. I didn’t care what Emory wanted. This was my family and my decision.
Once we were finally back inside the house, I took Mason upstairs while Mom started on a late lunch. I heard Dad’s car pull into the driveway while I rocked Mason, getting him ready for his nap.
“You’ll be okay,” I said to him, “perfectly okay. Daddy is here and we’ll be okay.”
I wasn’t worried about Mason being afraid. He was too young to be scared. I was saying these things for myself, and I knew it.
Finally, Mason seemed tired and on the verge of sleeping. Very carefully, I transferred him down into the crib. I made sure he didn’t wake up before sneaking out and heading back downstairs.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked into the kitchen. He was a big man, portly, partially balding, with a big smile and a bigger heart. Dad was basically the nicest man I’d ever met, and everyone he knew agreed with me.
“Well look who it is,” he said. “The prodigal daughter returned.”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. I sat down at the table across from him.
“Your mom says you have something very important to tell us.”
Looking at Dad in that moment, I felt a stab of panic.
How could I tell these people and expect them to really believe me? Truthfully, I barely believed it myself. It was without a doubt the most insane thing I had ever heard, let alone believed.
And the more I let it stew, the more I believed it. He hadn’t really shown me any proof, but there was something about Emory that made me intuitively trust him.
Sure, he was a cocky asshole. There was no doubt that he frustrated me, pushed my buttons. But he was a Midwesterner like myself, and he seemed to genuinely care about my safety.