“That’s cute.”
“One night, the goat appeared in our mess hall. No kid, just the goat. We were worried the kid would come looking for him. Those streets at night were deadly, dangerous. We also worried something had happened to him. So, Markham chose two of us, Ryan and me, to take the goat back to the boy’s house. But we weren’t to create any attention. We already had the goat, and there wasn’t any way to hide that. Markham’s idea was to dress one of us up as a woman.”
“No.”
“Oh yes. It made sense. And Ryan volunteered. We had some women’s clothing we kept on hand, and we trussed him up to look like he had big boobs. The ladies over there don’t do that, by the way, but it was some dumbass’ idea. We wrapped him up with a huge headscarf, but he still looked like Ryan. So we put lipstick on him and used some of it to give him nice pink cheeks.”
Stephanie smiled, buried her chin in her knees. That was not a story Ryan would have ever told her.
“Well, there’s more. We took this goat toward the kid’s house, and we ran across some military-aged males. Ryan and I were packing, for sure. They were looking us over pretty hard, so Ryan reached over and planted a big one right on my kisser. Right here,” he said, pointing to his lips. He shook his head. “That crazy dude.” He kept shaking his head.
“Did you make it to the boy’s house?”
“We did. When the kid’s mother took one look at Ryan, she grabbed the goat and slammed the door. I guess they don’t go doing that over there very much.”
It warmed her heart to hear the story.
“When we got back to camp, I had red lipstick all over my face and ever after that the guys kept teasing us, “When are you two getting married?”
She chuckled into her hand.
“And for the record, I don’t care what the hell people do nowadays. But who do you know who can say they’ve kissed their best friend on the lips?”
Chapter 21
They had a layover in Djibouti until their transport into Central Africa was arranged. A joint task force was monitoring rebel and militia groups who moved fluidly between the borders of Chad, Niger, and other border countries. Accidents and mistaken identities happened every day. The unnecessary bloodshed was a way of life. But the task force didn’t want to drop the SEALs right in the middle of the storm.
A new complication arose when the Deputy Chief of Mission, Connie Renquist, was declared missing, along with her driver. It had all the earmarks of a kidnap for ransom and an assessment was being made whether the abductors, if there were any, even knew Connie was State Department.
Several of the men on Kyle’s team had worked with two Security Agents at the Mission, who had transitioned from the Navy to State as part of the Ambassador and Embassy staff protective detail. Kyle was pleased they would meet them upon arrival.
The Mission staff arranged two transport trucks to meet them in a remote location south of the city of Abuja, where they could be dropped in at midnight.
Twenty-four were to be released in two groups of twelve and meet up at the rendezvous to get the vehicles. Kyle and Cooper led one group of twelve, and they took Patrick with them. T.J., Armando, Fredo, Tyson, and several others were to be dropped about five miles away. Both areas, upon last intel, were reported quiet.
But the mission started off bad from the start. The infrared flares that were supposed to be left for the pilots as markers were turned off. Based on the terrain, they jumped into two locations that resembled the topography on their maps.
But they’d miscalculated.
They were ten miles from where the trucks were located, and instead of being sent to a remote area, they were dropped at the private gardens and animal preserve of a beautiful estate. Kyle radioed and was told it belonged to one of the largest warlords in the region, Mohammed Cunanon. The wealthy Egyptian banker was an arms dealer, and not a friend of the U.S..
“Fuck! Well, we got one more barrier to cross and a lot more terrain to cover. Just another great day in the neighborhood,” barked Kyle.
With their night vision and Invisios, the two groups pooled together instead of staying smaller and stealthier. The heat footprint would be a risk, but they were literally surrounded by a jungle of wild animals. Most of the large cats were not separated by cages, and roamed the perimeter checking them out. Their eyes glowed in the night like diamonds.
“I think they know I’m more a dog person, what do you think?” teased Fredo.
“No, I think it’s your body odor. If you’d shower now and then—” Coop was interrupted by Kyle’s arm on his shoulder.
“Fuck you!” whispered Fredo, trying to get the last word in.
“I’m going to have someone’s ass when we get back to Djibouti,” whispered Kyle. “We got to get to those trucks before sunrise, and I don’t see how the hell we can make that.”
In normal and familiar terrain, ten miles would be no problem, even with all their gear and at night. But having to skirt buildings and farms they didn’t recognize and do it quietly without detection in a foreign country where the natives shot first and asked questions second was a whole other thing. Making it worse, there were no known friendlies in the area.
Coop extracted his new drone and changed the setting and lens for night. He clicked the little switch, and Patrick heard the whir of a tiny motor running inside the device. He swung his long arm over his head and behind, ran ten feet, and launched it into the sky. He quickly adjusted his tracker screen and got the drone in his control, sending it back and around them in one large swing.
The images that came back indicated there was a sizeable force with vehicles and stores, probably private security, right behind them, still inside the perimeter walls.
“What do you think?” Kyle asked him.
“I don’t like our choices,” answered Coop. “I can get one of those trucks to start. No guarantee I pick one that works, though. And most of those Russian-made things are noisy as hell. They’d clear out of the dorm or whatever that is, and we’d be caught in the cross.”
“Fredo, can we jam them up?” Kyle asked.
“Sure. I mean, they’re all in one place.”
“Make them run after something. Armando, could you pick a couple drivers off?”
Armando pointed to a storage shed flat roof top. “I’d get good vantage here. But which way do we go? Looks like the gate is here.” He pointed to a large sentry station with an active heat signature showing two guards at the entrance. But the entrance was in the opposite direction to where they were headed.
“We could blow the back wall,” added Fredo.
“Nah, I want to leave without them knowing we were here, somehow. I just want them to think one of their own borrowed a couple of trucks,” said Kyle.
“Maybe we have the Head Shed create a diversion outside?” suggested Coop.
T.J. asked Coop to reposition the drone near the road north that led to the capitol. With little markers in a row bordered by a large square building, he directed Coop to zoom in.
“Just what I thought. That’s a Catholic church. That’s a graveyard.”
Patrick could see that it was flat, there were no big barriers or fences, and it probably wasn’t guarded very heavily. The church itself had a small light inside, candles, he thought.
Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick caught a view of a perfectly manicured soccer field built on the grounds. A cart filled with balls was stored beside one of the cages, covered in a tarp.
“Let me ask you something,” he started. “Fredo, could you rig something that would ignite on impact and make a fireball?”
“Sure. I got plenty of goodies. How would we get out of the way in time?”
“Can you rig something I can kick that won’t take my foot and ankle with it? Something that had some kind of delay? Cause I can kick a well-inflated ball almost eighty yards.”
Fredo examined his feet. “It would be easier if we had an air drop, but if I rig something for impact, then yes, it
might explode when you kicked it.”
“I kick it from underneath, like scooping it up, I can get it maybe fifty plus yards. Maybe more.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Kyle. “They take off in their trucks, and we wait outside the gate and pick off a couple.”
“And we head north to the road across the church property. Look, it borders the main road,” said T.J.
“What do I use to re-seal the soccer balls afterwards?” Fredo asked.
“Duct Tape,” several of them said at once.
Even Patrick had a couple of rolls.
They all rechecked their batteries and Invisios, coordinated their times, checked their weapons, and repositioned knives, rope, and sidearms for quick and easy use in case of close combat. Not everyone brought an M4.
Fredo and Coop made the mixture, setting it carefully in little sandwich bags and bubble wrap, double knotting it with rubber bands. Armando had gone off in search of another rooftop closer to the entrance, taking Danny Begay. Within minutes, they messaged ready.
The balls were carefully filled, sealed, and piled up in the cart. Coop relaunched the drone, and they searched for a target and found the perfect one.
Just outside the complex was an airstrip. And on that airstrip was a very expensive private jet.
“Ladies, I think we have our target,” whispered Kyle.
“You gonna shoot down that pretty bird?” Danny messaged back over the Invisio.
“I’m thinking it will get their attention. What do you think? Looks like it belongs to Mr. Cunanan himself,” answered Kyle. He left word that they were going to blow up a plane in order to get transport to the meeting point and got final approval.
Patrick took a couple of practice kicks with balls they didn’t fill, since he hadn’t used those skills for nearly a year. When he picked up the first missile, he didn’t like the feel of it.
“Whoa. We got to put more air in this one. Maybe all of them.” He rummaged for a pump inside the ball bag and found an expensive French device and gently inflated each ball until he liked the tightness of the leather. “Here goes.”
The team immediately backed away from him as he held the soccer ball, let it drop, and kicked it on the underside, just like he’d planned, which made it go high and long, but not fast. He was known for those floaters, which would give his forwards time to get down field.
Fredo whistled.
The ball hit the right wing of the jet with a cracking noise as if the fiberglass body was damaged. The ball bounced off, landed underneath, hit the underside of the jet on the second bounce, and then rolled to a stop at the landing gear. Within seconds, it became a huge fireball. A minute later, the entire plane was engulfed.
“Now that was a nice score, Patrick,” said Kyle. “Get ready, Armando and Danny.”
“Roger that.”
“You want another one?” Patrick asked.
“Fredo, are these dangerous to carry?”
“Well, you can see they did—what?—three, four hops. Not sure all of them are like that, but I think we could take a couple.”
Kyle leaned over to him, “When we get a truck, you load the whole basket in the back. I like the way you think, goalkeeper!” He gave Patrick a nice pat on the back.
The sound of electronic communicators squawked and echoed throughout the huge grounds. Several men in pajamas and tee shirts ran for trucks with rifles over their shoulders. Several got through the gate, but the last two Jeep-like vehicles were a good distance behind. With sounds of revving motors and men yelling to organize a fire brigade, the two little cracks from Danny and Armando’s sniper rifles were barely heard. Both vehicles slowly headed for the wall and stopped with their drivers dead or wounded.
The team disposed of three additional passengers, quickly loaded up the soccer balls, jumped inside, and headed for the gate and down toward the church. At the last minute, Danny and Armando jumped aboard.
Patrick watched the balls carefully.
By the time they got to their rendezvous point, they were only an hour behind.
“Well, so much for being stealth,” T.J. said between chortles. “Why, we were in and out, and no one knew we were there. We didn’t leave a footprint. We left a crater.”
Chapter 22
The test was positive. There was no denying it. She stared at it as if it would change the outcome.
How could this happen?
Well, they weren’t using anything for protection, but their lovemaking had been very sporadic, and it seemed like a month had gone by without any sex at all. Patrick had been tired from all the PT. The stress had dampened their libido and interfered with their sleeping.
But she blushed when she thought about some of the make-up events they’d had. The intensity had perhaps made-up for the lack of numbers. They even joked that the sparse times were created so they could come crashing back together again. There wasn’t a square inch of her body that hadn’t been loved, kissed, sucked, or fondled. He commanded everything she had and caused her to want to give him even more.
But this? This might be seen as a betrayal. Or he might think she’d wanted to talk about starting a family as a ruse since she was already trying to get pregnant. And what would she say to him when he called?
When the phone rang, she was hoping it wasn’t him. She hadn’t prepared herself for what she had to say. Thankfully, it was Lizzie.
“You ready for a girls’ night?” the beautiful blonde asked.
“I’m tired, Lizzie. I can’t do a late night.”
“Oh heck no. Some soup and French bread? Salad?”
“That sounds great. Where will I meet you?”
“Let’s go to the Scupper. We might see some of Coop and Patrick’s friends.”
“What about the kids?”
“I dropped them over at Christy’s. Brandon is having a birthday party, and she said they could spend the night.”
She agreed to the meet and took a shower, changed her clothes, and checked her phone for messages. It had been a week, and there had been no word from Patrick. No one had heard anything from the Team.
On her way out, the bedroom she caught the scent of Patrick coming from the closet. Sliding open the door, she found an old keeper jersey and several of his jackets and shirts he’d worn once, still with aftershave and the scent of soap on them. His favorite leather bomber jacket hung like a sad abandoned toy. Her fingers clutched the worn black leather, bringing it up to her nose where she inhaled after closing her eyes. She felt his presence as if he was standing there at her side. Hot tears slowly dribbled down her cheeks while she swayed to some silent music, holding the jacket to her chest and wrapping the long sleeves around her back and waist.
Unable to put it away, she slipped it over her tee shirt, put her hair up in a clip, and rolled back the cuffs a whole six inches so her arms wouldn’t drown in it. He was going to go with her wherever she went tonight. She didn’t want to be alone.
Lizzie wasn’t there when she arrived at the Scupper, but she found Jake and Trevor Markham and several other SEALs from Team 5 and approached their table.
“There she is. We were just talking about you,” said Markham. Jake saluted her with his long neck. Markham yelled for another beer for her, and she corrected the order with mineral water.
“I’m exhausted. New school year. The kids seem to get more energy the more I teach. What’s up with that?” She leaned into the table and noticed everyone there had dropped their jaw.
“What is it?”
Markham cleared his throat. “Ma’am, with all due respect, these guys are a little overcome with your beauty.”
She blushed and started to say something when she saw their eyes focus on Lizzie coming up behind her. “Hey, fellas.” Lizzie put her arm around Stephanie’s shoulder, grabbed an unfinished beer from the middle of the table, and took a sip.
“I’ll get you one,” said Jake, brightly.
“I’m good. Steph and I are going to just have some comfort
food in a quiet corner. We’re not here to cause trouble.” She winked at Spencer, who still hadn’t closed his mouth.
“Thanks for the save,” Stephanie whispered as they walked to the small dining room at the rear.
A hostess followed them down the narrow hallway memorialized by patches from Teams and police and fire departments from all over the world. There were some campaign flags, even a patch from World War II. Over the bar used to be pictures of fallen SEALs until their numbers got too big to display, so the cards and signed pictures of men lost or grave stones covered the four walls of the small dining area. It was a living monument, Stephanie noted, to the men and women who had pledged to keep her safe, even if they couldn’t save themselves. It was part of the culture, and it would be forever changing as the years went by.
She took a huge gulp of water and wrapped herself in Patrick’s jacket, suddenly shivering. Lizzie seemed not to notice. “You want some French fries?”
Stephanie felt like she was going to heave. Pieces of the puzzle were fitting in now. How she’d not just been bored with Patrick being gone, but she was tired too. And that she’d just discovered today, was because of the pregnancy. Maybe it was time to share the news, even at the risk of it getting back to him before she could tell him.
“I’m not very hungry for anything greasy. A nice bowl of soup like you mentioned and their killer French bread would be awesome.”
“Share a salad?”
She shrugged and nodded her head.
After their food arrived, Lizzie studied her. “Everything okay?” She frowned and pointed to the jacket with her fork. “Isn’t that—?”
“Yes.” She pushed away her soup, which she’d barely touched. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered again and searched the room for an open window but found none. “What did you do when you found out that you were pregnant with Jameson’s child?”
Lizzy’s eyes got huge. “Are you? Could this be?”
Stephanie nodded.
Lizzie rushed around the table and gave her a big hug. “Oh, I’m so happy for you.”
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