He took a deep breath, hoped what he was seeing wasn’t a problem with the updates. That kind of problem missed for so many hours could cost him his job—a job he loved and didn’t want to lose.
Chapter 12
Mediterranean Sea
Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June
Scott was exhausted and wasn’t thinking clearly. It didn’t matter that he had sat beside Edie in the infirmary. It only mattered that the ensign said she was dead.
Thoughts of Edie flooded through Scott’s mind. He saw her face, her blue eyes, her red hair—sapphires and flames. He smelled her perfume as if it lingered in the air about him. He felt her hand in his.
He thought of all the times he could have just let go. How he could have just given her the one thing she wanted—her love returned. But his love of her was a thing he kept deep inside, so deep inside that he never shared it—never truly even saw it until just now. Now, he was certain she could have been the love of his life.
“Blood of czars and gypsies,” he told himself with a wretched half laugh, knowing he could have loved her if only he could have pushed aside his feelings and reservations about the two of them being together. It wasn’t just the age difference—her 28 to his almost 40. It was Cynthia. Cynthia who he was separated from. Cynthia and little James, his infant son.
But nothing had been the same after they’d left Baltimore. Nothing. They’d told each other that they could make it alone. They had for a time too but there was really nowhere that a former top operative for the NSA and the daughter of the Chairman of the National Security Council could escape to. They’d known they would be found eventually.
With each new month that passed though, they’d gained new hope. The first month on the run was true bliss with Cynthia’s belly growing every day and little James inside doing his best to capture their attention. The nurse and her Rottweiler stayed with them that first month while they sought out somewhere warm, somewhere tropical.
It was a case of “be careful what you wish for” though because by the second month it was clear the nurse was wishing she was back in the U.S.A. The Rottweiler seemed to hate the jungle too. The jungle just wasn’t a good place for anyone or anything not used to the constant heat, humidity, and mosquitoes.
The nurse stayed until James was born, which was fortunate as the birth was as difficult as the pregnancy. After James was born, things worsened, however. Cynthia didn’t want Scott to touch her or James. She just wanted to be left alone, to sit in her rocking chair, to stare out the window.
Sometime after the birth, maybe a few days or weeks, Cynthia made a plan to return to the states. Her plan was one that didn’t include Scott. A trial separation she called it. Scott begged her not to go, not to take little James and leave. Cynthia had anyway. The nurse and her Rottweiler went with Cynthia. Little James went with Cynthia too.
“I’ve so much to work out,” Cynthia told Scott. “I need time that’s all. A trial separation, that’s all.”
But Scott wasn’t just separated from Cynthia. Separation was a lie she told him and he told himself. Divorce was the truth, for he ultimately signed the papers her attorneys sent even though doing so tore his heart into a million tiny pieces. The actual separation had been six months. Six months followed by divorce papers, followed by 8 months of a fresh hell every single day.
Sea Shepherd wasn’t his first duty as a mercenary for hire. His first duty had been in Afghanistan. As Afghanistan wasn’t getting the job of killing him done fast enough, he’d signed up for what seemed a more dangerous mission aboard the Sea Shepherd. With tensions as high as they were in the Mediterranean, his end seemed a sure thing—only the wrong person had been killed. Edie shouldn’t have paid his price. He should have.
If he wasn’t a coward, he’d have put a 50-cent bullet in his own brain. But he was coward in that way. If he was going to die, he was going to go out fighting, not whimpering in some dark corner readying to eat his own bullet.
All these thoughts and more ran through Scott’s mind in the time it took to put his hands to his head, pull at his own brow and then take his hands away.
When he found focus once again, Scott found every eye in the room was on him and Captain Howard was shouting, “How did this civilian get into my situation room?”
Scott didn’t give a damn about the red-faced captain shouting at him. He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts. He told himself Edie wasn’t D.O.A, told himself that he’d sat beside her in the infirmary.
“Security, security,” the captain shouted, pointing to Scott as the sentries who had been posted outside the door rushed in.
Scott pleaded with the ensign, said, “Edie, the civilian from the Sea Shepherd, red hair, blue eyes, late 20’s. She was in the infirmary, is she okay?”
One of the Navy SEALs, still in covert field dress, stood and moved to Captain Howard’s side, whispering something Scott couldn’t hear.
Scott also didn’t quite know what followed. One moment he was standing at the back of the room and the next he was on the floor with his arms being yanked backward. The pain he felt was searing. In fact, after all he’d been through, it seemed every bump, cut, scrape and bruise he’d received earlier in the day was suddenly on fire.
“Scott Madison Evers,” he shouted out as his head, twisted sideways, was being pushed forcefully against the floor. “Security Chief aboard Sea Shepherd.”
He screamed out in pain as he was pulled roughly by the arms from the floor. From the hallway, he heard a voice say, “My responsibility, sir. Evers here must have turned wrong.”
Scott recognized Midshipman Tinsdale at once. Her short-cropped blond hair and blue eyes were unforgettable. Her expression when she eyed Scott said she wasn’t happy—and yet she seemed to be trying to cover for him or perhaps simply accepting the blame for his actions.
“Turned wrong?” Captain Howard shot back.
The Navy SEAL in covert field dress moved back to Captain Howard’s side. More whispering followed. A moment later, the captain said firmly, “Security, stand down. Return to your posting while we sort this out.”
Scott pulled at the neck and sleeves of the long black t-shirt he wore to fit the shirt back into place. While he did so, he looked directly at Captain Howard. He twisted his neck back into place too and a loud crack seemed to settle everything into place.
“Well then,” Scott said boldly, firmly. “Brig? Infirmary? Or would you like to hear what I have to say about how we can get these sons of bitches and make them pay?”
Chapter 13
Ligurian Sea
Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June
The director’s screen faded to black and his speakers began playing the warm orchestra music of Phantom of the Opera. He closed his eyes and air played along with master violinists as his soul was swept away and his mind cleansed.
Selective focus was the cornerstone of his decades of success.
Know only what you need to know for success.
Look no further.
Ask no questions you don’t want answered.
In another life he would he been a violinist, not a purveyor of the illicit.
What did it matter who was paying? What did it matter who was doing the killing or who was being killed?
Life was a dirty game. Everyone paid; everyone killed. Some got their hands bloody; others let others get their hands bloody.
The buzzing of his phone startled the director, not because anything actually frightened him anymore but because he’d been so lost in his thoughts.
He was eager for news, but waited for his phone to confirm the call was secure, encrypted and untraceable. Standard procedure was to redirect all incoming calls through multiple routers before being connected to the Secure Mobile Server on his ship.
He checked his earpiece. It took a moment but soon a green alert and shield icon on his phone confirmed a fully-encrypted and untraceable voice call. “Yes,” he answered, his voice full of purpose and inquiry.
; “I’m in place,” the female caller replied.
The director sensed the tension in her voice, felt she knew that breaking protocol might be at the cost of her life. Operatives always worked through intermediaries; they didn’t work with the director. Ever.
Nonetheless, she was the agent in the field and the only one who could help remedy a crisis that was spiraling out of control.
“I have an update,” she said.
The director said nothing. His only response was to push the earpiece more tightly into his ear as he waited for her to continue.
When she spoke, her voice was void of emotion. “I’m taking care of it. The girl, done. The insider, done. Evers, next.”
The director went to his computer. He right-clicked the contingency file that had been prepared, selected Send To and then selected the caller’s number. “Sending,” he said finally.
Chapter 14
Mediterranean Sea
Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June
Safely aboard the amphibious assault ship USS Kearsarge, Alexis paused at the bulkhead door. She looked at her phone, saw the text containing the attachment from the director. “Received,” she said as she opened the file.
The called ended.
She read through the file as her thoughts raced. I have my final orders, she told herself, intending to comply fully with everything expected of her.
She looked at her watch. Less than 36 hours now to do what must be done to change the world and decide everything.
She knew she was in uncharted territory, that things had gone terribly awry. She was in trouble, but pushed dread from her thoughts.
Her basic survival instincts had kicked in and she was operating on a new adrenaline rush that coursed through every part of her. It was the kind of high she had after a good kill. The only thing she needed to do now was to make things right with the director and try to get out alive.
As expected, the HH-60H Rescue Hawk had taken her to the Kearsarge after discovering her in the water and the shipboard triage team had taken her directly for treatment. She was after all unconscious and only partly responsive at the time from the drugs she injected once she sighted SAR and waved them to her.
The drugs slowed her heart rate and lowered her body temperature dramatically—enough to make it look like she was suffering the effects of hypothermia after being in the waters of the Mediterranean all day.
Being moved from incoming triage to the infirmary was an unexpected windfall. She easily killed the girl and the insider in the infirmary. She should have been able to get to Evers in the infirmary, but he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He never seemed to be where he was supposed to be.
After a quick backward glance, Alexis opened the bulkhead door and walked hurriedly down the hall in search of another fortuitous windfall. A windfall whose neck she was going to snap like a twig.
She was accustomed to following carefully constructed plans, but this situation had completely fallen apart and the director himself had taken over.
She was unnerved by this, but resolved herself to her task. She had endured no shortage of challenges in her life and had learned to rely on her intellect and training to overcome whatever obstacles were in her way. Her goal now was to do what she must and survive the inevitable backlash no matter what it took.
Chapter 15
Mediterranean Sea
Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June
The Navy SEAL standing next to Captain Howard snickered, but the captain brushed him aside. “Evers? I’ve heard about you,” the captain said. “Brass balls indeed.”
Scott grimaced. Captain Howard had more than heard of Scott. The two had met before, but it seemed only Scott remembered the encounter.
Captain Howard returned the look. “Evers, is there a SEAL detail under my command that you haven’t harassed or harangued?”
Scott was too torn up inside to grin, but he almost could have. “Probably not, sir. Nothing personal. My job to protect Shepherd’s crew and mission. Yours, your mission. The job.”
The last two words set Scott’s thoughts spinning again. The j-o-b had always been his excuse with Edie. “Damn you, Edie, for dying on me,” he told himself.
“Evers, what am I going to do with you?” The captain asked. “You deserve the brig. You’ve earned—”
Midshipman Tinsdale cut in, “If I may, sir. Evers was my responsibility. Orders were to the mess and then back to the infirmary for further observation, sir.”
Tindale’s voice cracked on the final sir and the captain winced. For a moment, the captain seemed unsure what to do. The master chief intervened. He reached out to Scott, shook Scott’s hand.
As the chief ushered Scott forward, he said quietly, “Cooper was my man. You did a good thing out there. Saved him. If Midshipman Tinsdale can recognize that, hell, I can too.” Then louder, the master chief said, “Where did you serve, Evers? Too good, too smug not to have.”
“A few too many duties. A few too many wars,” Scott said as the midshipman took the opportunity to step away and into the hallway. “Then field operations for the Agency, a few more unnamed wars, and now, well...”
“Which agency?” the chief asked.
“The NSA—” Scott caught himself as he was about to say “sir,” but he knew better. No master chief was a sir. A master chief was what he was and so he finished by saying, “—master chief.”
As the master chief turned to face the unhappy SEAL standing beside Captain Howard, Scott noted the chief’s name tag for the first time. It read: ROBERTS.
Scott did a double take. Was this the Master Chief Roberts he’d heard so much about? If so, the man was a living legend or as much of one as there could be in the close-knit special operations circles Scott traveled in.
Against the weight of the chief’s stare, the Navy SEAL in covert field dress said, “Evers is a risk to security, to our operations. What in the world could he offer up that’s possibly worth our time?”
Just as he had taken a moment to size up the chief, Scott now took a moment to size up the speaker. It was something he normally would have done without a second thought, but he wasn’t thinking straight and this wasn’t a normal situation. It was an extraordinary circumstance. One that had started with the sinking of the Bardot III and culminated in a well-planned, precision attack on both the Sea Shepherd and two heavily armed NSW RIBs.
The one thing he was sure of: The attack was timed and meant to hit the Shepherd and the RIBs. But were the Bardot and the Shepherd targets of opportunity to guarantee a full-scale naval response in the Mediterranean? Or were the Bardot and the Shepherd part of a bigger plan—one that also required a full response from the US Navy?
The SEAL carried himself in a way that spoke of authority and the tall, broad-shouldered man certainly had no qualms about approaching or speaking openly to Captain Howard and Master Chief Roberts. If as Scott suspected, Captain Howard was the Kearsarge’s executive officer, the SEAL was likely the commander of covert operations. If so, that meant the SEAL was the overall commander of all SEALs aboard the Kearsarge and that would explain a lot.
Scott had given the SEALs who tried to board the Sea Shepherd no shortage of guff. But he didn’t want them aboard the Shepherd. It was one thing if the Navy suspected the Shepherd’s crew were cutting nets and sabotaging Tunisian fishing boats, another if evidence was found that they actually were.
Playing on his hunch, Scott turned to the captain and said, “Executive Commander Howard…” Next, he turned to the SEAL and said, “Operations Commander…” Then, finally he turned back to the chief and said, “Command Master Chief…”
He smiled at each of their subtle nods, then continued, “The situation as I see it is this… Everything is out of control. Someone sank the Bardot III in the early hours. The attack was designed to get a direct response from this strike group. Part of your response was to send two heavily armed NSW RIBs, with full crew and SEAL complements, to the Sea Shepherd.
“When the N
SW RIBs arrived, a plan already set in motion was carried out, resulting in the sinking of the Sea Shepherd and the loss of the NSW RIBs. You believe all or nearly all of the crews from the Bardot, the Shepherd and the NSW RIBs are lost. You suspect this is the coordinated effort of a terrorist group, but no terrorist group is stepping forward and claiming responsibility.
“Search and rescue is finding precious little to recover. Seek and destroy fighters are chasing ghosts called out by airborne early warning. The fleet admiral of the carrier strike group has ordered a protective patrol, bringing all the ships back as a safeguard against an attack on the group.”
Scott paused for effect. “How am I doing so far? Close enough to right to call it right?”
The Command Master Chief moved next to the Operations Commander. Executive Commander Howard said, “If you think you have answers, we’re listening.”
“For starters, where were the Mason and San Jacinto? Why weren’t they with the main strike group? I also know that right now you’re finalizing plans to launch a response strike force.”
“Classified,” the Operations Commander said. “And if speculation’s all you have to offer, Tinsdale can show you the way back to the infirmary.” He paused, stared directly at Scott, then called out. “Midshipman?”
Chapter 16
Mediterranean Sea
Afternoon, Tuesday, 19 June
Midshipman Meredith Tinsdale heard someone pounding on the door to the women’s lavatory. The tiny room had one private stall with a door that could be closed, a sink, a shower, and a changing area. It also had a lock on the outer door, which she had secured.
She squatted down on the toilet and almost dropped her phone as she shouted, “Just a moment.”
Turning back to the phone, she said to the beautiful little face looking back at her, “Momma’s coming home soon.”
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