SEAL Brotherhood Lucas

by Sharon Hamilton

  “So, I’m gonna ask you one more time. Have you seen this man?” Kyle held the picture of the Shiek up to the builder’s nose.

  “He was there. Didn’t talk to him, though.”

  “How many are they?”

  “How the fuck do I know? They have some young ones that stay in the other buildings. Saw them through the windows. Never saw them outside. I only went inside their bunkhouse one time when I got paid. We made a point not to stare, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sure.” Kyle sighed. “So guess. Humor me.”

  “Thirty? No telling how many inside those other buildings.”

  “So what’s the scene like? You were there, what, three days?”

  “Four.”

  “Okay, so what did you see that you remember? Anything unusual?”

  “What, besides the fact that they pray several times a day? They wear long white robes in the fuckin’ ninety degree afternoon? They got sandals instead of cowboy boots? You wear sandals here when you’re a full grown man and you’re, well, we don’t do that here.”

  “I got you. So they’re different. What else. What about this guy?” Kyle tapped on the picture.

  “His look. The way he looked at me.”

  “How was that?”

  “He looked like he fuckin’ hated me.” He pulled his jeans up, bringing his belt buckle up into the middle of his “pregnant” belly. “After the first day, I had the creeps. I asked for all my money. I gave it to my wife in case I didn’t make it out of that place alive. The Mexicans in my crew didn’t seem to have a problem with them. They’re used to not understanding the conversations I have with clients.”

  “So what gave you the creeps?”

  He looked up at the trees as if the camp’s spies were looking down on all of them, and bit his lip, following along the horizon. He watched the soccer players for a few silent seconds without showing any expression, his lips pursing in fleshy puckers, and then smoothing back into a grimace. At last he took a deep breath and made a line in the dusty dirt with the side of his cowboy boot. When he looked up at Kyle, the man’s eyes didn’t stray a quarter of an inch from side to side. Lucas could see there was a little courage, a little fight left in the man. But not much. And though he was trying to mask it, Lucas could tell he was more than a little intimidated.

  “One night we were working late. I saw this guy walk between the buildings. The sun had gone down. They’d finished their prayers. We were picking up our tools but the moon was bright so we could see. I wanted to get out of there so fast it made me sick to my stomach. We knew we’d be done in one more day, and that was one day too long.”

  “Okay. So what happened?”

  “He walked into one of the houses. Before that, I never once saw or heard a woman. But that night, I heard a woman crying, like things were being done to her, you know? Those animals were doing things to her.”

  Lucas could see Kyle wanted to punch the guy, but his mission was more important than his own satisfaction. Instead of chastising him, Kyle showed mercy. Not many men, especially men who weren’t trained to see the kinds of things they saw over in the arena, would know how to deal with this. It wasn’t something people in the U.S. were used to seeing. Unfortunately, it was something all three of the SEALs standing before this man knew without a doubt occurred in the world of evil men. Lucas knew it hit all three of them the same. Someone innocent was being violated. Someone needed rescuing.

  Kyle spoke softly, making the man lean towards him to hear. “Now you know why we must be here.”

  Chapter 30

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  MARCY’S HEAD HURT with a dull ache, which is what woke her up. She was confused, but gradually the fog lifted and she remembered what had happened before she’d passed out. She also remembered hearing voices in a strange dialect, and hands holding her body, carrying her somewhere. But the splitting pain forced her to keep her eyes closed, keeping the room from spinning, knowing even limited light would hurt worse. And then things would go black again. This happened several times before she woke in earnest.

  Now, nausea plagued her. She needed to roll over and vomit, but when she tried, discovered she couldn’t move. As she struggled with her own mind, trying to will her legs to slide off the bed, and found she wasn’t on a bed at all, but a hospital gurney. She smelled the sweat from her body and knew she’d been there more than a day. She had to go to the bathroom.

  The tiny room was cold, like a closet off a main living area, without heat. Someone had covered her with a blanket that smelled like it hadn’t been washed in months. And then she discovered she was nude underneath the blanket. So where were her clothes? Did she require surgery? Was she in a hospital or clinic of some kind?

  Light crept under the doorway, where she heard muffled talking, again in a foreign tongue.

  She checked herself over, closing her eyes and concentrating on what hurt and what didn’t, discovering her head was still the most painful. She willed her bladder to hold and to her surprise, it worked. Wiggling her eyebrows up and down, she felt the welt on the right side of her forehead. The rusty taste in her mouth and clots of blood on her lip made her heart beat faster. It was one thing to be involved in an accident. But to be drugged and kept in a storage closet, without any medical care, meant only one thing: the accident had been anything but an accident, and the same people who caused it now held her.

  They hadn’t gagged her, so Marcy deduced they weren’t concerned about her screaming for help. She guessed they were somewhere out in the boonies, since she could hear neither traffic, airplanes or other sounds of civilization, except for the faint middle eastern music and the sing song of the unfamiliar dialogue in the background.

  The room smelled of bleach, or some sort of pungent cleaning fluid she didn’t recognize.

  Because one ankle strap immobilized her left foot, toes pointing down, Marcy developed a calf cramp in her left leg that began to drive her wild. She focused on the cramp, pushing into it, while her other leg developed another cramp. She willed herself into accepting it and stopped fighting, which gradually sent the dual cramps into remission.

  She steadied her breathing, promising herself that, as more and more memory began to dawn on her, that she would not panic. What had Lucas said?

  ‘Aren’t you being overly dramatic?’

  “Fuck,” she muttered softly. She hated to admit it, but being overly excited would interfere with her problem solving, and she most definitely had a problem. A life or death problem. She harbored no illusions as to their intentions.

  Marcy struggled against her foot binding and a small metal tray fell from the gurney, crashing onto a concrete floor. The door to the lighted room opened, flooding her with bright white light. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Someone closed the door partially, giving her eyes time to adjust. Standing before her was a young man in white robes. His full beard framed the smooth, young face of the man she recognized near Lucas’ cabin from three days ago. He saw in her eyes the recognition she bore.

  His teeth were white and perfectly straight. His smile tilted upward to the left as he scratched his chin. But the eyes of this man carried a coldness she’d not seen before.

  He removed a large ugly knife, brandishing it from palm to palm, showing off the highly polished glint of the blade. His eyes studied her as he peeled back the top of the blanket and lowered the tip of the knife to her abdomen. He jerked it upward, tickling her skin without penetrating. Still dangerously clutching the handle in one hand, the man pulled back the blanket to below her belly button. His sharp inhale told her he was turned on by the violence he anticipated. She braced for a stabbing, a deep cut, or perhaps a beheading.

  One more time the blade was lowered and this time she felt the cold metal on the flesh of her upper abdomen, causing her to shiver. With a flick of the wrist her captor scraped her left nipple. He stared down at her chest, licking his lips.

  He was muttering a prayer. Marcy accepted the fact that ther
e was nothing she could do, except perhaps throw her weight to the side and topple them both. But being strapped to the gurney would put her at a disadvantage.

  And then it hit her. They wouldn’t kill her until they abused her. The way this man looked at her flesh, she became convinced his pleasure would be extracted from her pain. If she showed fear, or struggled, it would enhance the experience for him.

  She vowed to hold out for as long as she could.

  The robed man shouted several Arabic names and instantly the room was filled with several young boys barely old enough to shave.

  He waved the tip of the blade at her while he spoke to them. None of them would look her in the eyes, but remained focused on her breasts. The robed one squeezed her left breast first, muttering something in a sneer, citing a verse the rest of the room repeated. He fondled her right breast, but this time, tweaked her nipple, twisting it until it caused pain.

  She arched up as much as she could, but did not scream. That action drew a reaction from the young boys. One by one, they each took a nipple, twisted it until Marcy finally cried out. She watched in horror as the boys were encouraged by her terror.

  Her stomach finally could hold out no longer as the nausea swept up from her abdomen, quickly sending bile and contents of her lunch up and out her mouth, spraying the group with her vomit. Pandemonium spread over the little gathering, as the room emptied, no doubt sending the boys to the showers to wash up.

  She got what she’d been hoping for and didn’t have time to brace herself against. The robed man’s hand came crashing down against her left cheekbone and again the room went black.

  Chapter 31

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  EARLY NEXT MORNING, Donna Grant went for her usual five mile run. The faint scent of burning leaves was in the air. Heat from yesterday’s sun had soaked into the soil and the asphalt she ran on at the side of the country lane, but the air was crisp and cool, perfect for her run.

  As the road veered off to the left, she heard a vehicle approach from behind so she moved further onto the shoulder to make sure to give the driver clearance. But the motor slowed and began following close behind her. She tapped her watch, sending her personal signal through the Apple device. The watch would clock her location and send that information as well.

  The motor continued to run but when she turned to look behind, three dark-skinned men in green camo caught up to her, despite the fact she’d put on the speedburner sprint most men had difficulty keeping up with. They grabbed her arms, one of them put his hand over her mouth where she was able to bite down and take a sizeable chunk from the man’s palm. She could feel freedom within reach when suddenly a moist rag was placed over her nose and mouth and she succumbed to spotted dizziness fading to black.

  “FORSYTHE IS COMING today. We’re gonna show him the camp. He’s bringing sat photos, and another special honored guest,” Kyle reported to the group before breakfast. “We do our PT here. No one leaves the compound until Forsythe okays it, understood?”

  “Who’s Forsythe bringin’?” asked T.J.

  “T.J. because I’m not totally positive he’s coming, I’m going to wait. But you’ll find out when all the rest of us do.”

  Tyler raised his arm and was called on. “How about a rematch with the ladies? We’re looking at O for three.”

  “Not a fuckin’ chance. Besides, I think they’re leaving soon, maybe even today. I don’t want Forsythe to get the impression this is a Club Tennessee all inclusive fucking resort, catch my drift?”

  Lucas noted how disappointed Tyler was. “I’ll kick the ball around with you after breakfast, if you want. We can do that without the girls, right? You still remember how to play with men, don’t you?”

  The team laughed at Tyler’s expense. Tyler took off his sweaty shirt and threw it at Lucas.

  Breakfast was somber. The girls obviously noted none of the SEALs sat with them, as was the custom. Everyone on Team 3 had one eye on the entrance to the mess hall’s doors, looking for Forsythe.

  Lacey cornered Tyler when he went back for seconds. “You guys sore losers?” she asked loud enough for the entire room to hear.

  “Nah. We got—” he looked at Kyle for reassurance he could mention Forsythe and got the nod, “We got brass coming in today. We’re supposed to show our bad-ass side, not the fraternizing side. Nothing against you ladies.”

  “What a load,” Chloe said under her breath as she walked past the men on her way to hand in her tray. Lucas thought it was funny as hell.

  “See, that’s what’s wrong with women,” Jake started. “They win a little bit, and then they take over. Mess with your head. Talk about sore losers. They hate to waste an opportunity to pound us into the ground.”

  “Fuck sake,” said Alex. “It’s their job to win. That’s what they train for. We train for something else. They get in your head, Jake, because you let them get inside your head. Your fault, man.”

  Cooper leaned forward to be able to deliver his message to both Jake and Alex. “Boys, I’m having a hard time imagining you ever being married. I mean ever. This isn’t about winning. You don’t treat a woman like that. You continue with that shit and you’ll be jerking off to the TV when you’re seventy. Broke and lonely.”

  “Fuck, already broke,” Jake said after standing. Tyler nodded to Lucas and the two of them cleared their spots, then headed over to the bunkhouse to retrieve the soccer ball.

  A black SUV with darkened windows pulled up and three men stepped out. The security team consisted of the driver and two details. Ian Forsythe extricated himself from the rear passenger side, while Jackie Daniels got out on the other side behind the driver. Kyle was quick to appear and give the man a shake, and give Jackie a bear hug.

  Jackie was roundly welcomed. Lucas knew then, that if the mission was successful, they’d be interrogating the Sheik or his underlings, and that would require someone with native language skills. Jackie was the only man any of them trusted for this job. And he had saved their lives on several other missions. Not only was he deadly with his interpreting, he was deadly with any weapon they gave him, and never hesitated to use it. He was as close to an Afghani SEAL there was.

  Several minutes later, the team was briefed. Forsythe showed photos of satellite surveillance on the camp.

  “You’ll see these trucks are in constant use. We’ve tracked them as far as we can. Gonna have to paint them somehow, or install tracking devices. We’re bringing in some drones, but understand only Coop operates them. I don’t want any incidents, or alerting the camp to our presence.”

  Coop nodded. “Can I take pictures?”

  “Being fitted now as we speak, Coop. Daytime only, I’m afraid, though.”

  “We’ll do the best we can.”

  “Chatter is up, indicating we got something coming very soon. The Oregon incident was apparently orchestrated by a group in Northern California, but you know as well as I do, there are over thirty training camps operating in the U.S. today. Our leadership hasn’t been comfortable spying on them, although God knows they should be. I mean what the fuck do they want with training camps, learning how to shoot while crawling on their bellies, breech boats and blow shit up.”

  “Wonder if that guy who got away—remember that guy, Rory?”

  “Sure do. The sidekick of the dude Megan went all Bobbitt on,” said Fredo.

  Jackie piped up. “I do not understand why your government does nothing. They know. It’s like they want to allow these people to do evil things to the good citizens of the United States. This should never have been allowed.”

  “And it’s getting worse,” Forsythe said.

  “Not like it’s a church or Boy Scout camp,” added Jackie. He continued to shake his head.

  There was a general mumble of approval from the group.

  “You know what they say. Evil exists when good men do nothing.” He paused. “When Kyle reported your builder guy heard a woman crying out, that escalated this mission into a primary target. We can’t
engage unless they engage first. Be very clear about that. We in no way want to bring in local news crews or garner criticism about SEALs doing work inside the U.S. borders, so we’re still considered a training mission. Doesn’t hurt to take pictures, and if need be, stage a rescue if we can get the approval.”

  Armando stood. “Sir, wouldn’t it be a good idea to inform the locals? Isn’t this something the Sheriff’s Department or Marshall’s Service should know about?”

  “We’re studying the situation. Not sure it will work that smoothly. We got three jurisdictions and they don’t always cooperate. But yes, we will if we can. If we have time. That would be ideal. But gentlemen, we’re here to learn about this verified threat of militias kidnapping and taking hostages—SEALs, not civilians. So we’re taking the broad interpretation it’s our mission. But again, I have to underscore we keep it tight. We say nothing to anyone. No one. Understood?”

  The Team was in agreement.

  “We will have to verify there’s a hostage situation. We can’t just send guys in there, even locals, unless we can verify this. So far, we have nothing on what we’ve taken by air. Hope the drones work better, Coop.”

  “If she’s able to be seen, we’ll find her.”

  “I’m working on VIR equipment for your two drones, too,” said Forsythe.

  “Two? Hot damn!”

  Lucas knew Cooper was their gadget guy and could rig up anything to look harmful or not harmful, depending on the requirement. In his single days he lived in a motorhome by the beach, outfitted with more devices than some small police departments had. His home on wheels, before his marriage to Libby, was affectionately called the Babemobile and had been used on some surveillance and rescues in the past, before Lucas’ time on the Team.

  Jackie Daniels spoke up. “You get something to record their conversations, and that will be more incriminating. They have to speak to someone by cell. They probably have computers, which would be good to try to capture.”