Zane: A Navy SEAL Romantic Suspense Page 13

  We told Doctor Antoniou we were staying just around the corner. Paid him and walked out. We walked around the block until we were sure he wouldn’t be able to see us and we hailed a cab. No need to have this one called in or checked up on. Even by an older fella that means well.

  The cab dropped us off at a twenty-four hour market on a dark corner in the middle of the island. We went inside. I’m sure it was more to avoid anyone knowing where Abbey and Frost stayed than it was to buy snacks in the wee hours of the morning. I didn’t care. I took the opportunity to by some domestic coffee, tzatziki sauce and some dipping crackers. I knew there wasn’t going to be any shuteye soon. I wanted to be prepared. And I needed to feed my growing addiction to tzatziki sauce.

  Abbey entered the house first. Frost and I came second as a team. He was leaning on me for support. There were two men each sitting at a separate small table. Typing away on small laptops.

  “Is this the guy?” the closest man said.

  Abbey smiled. “Yeah that’s him. He got another one.”

  The man stood and smiled ear-to-ear. He approached me rapidly with his hand extended.

  “What’s wrong with you man?”

  I was caught off guard. “Come again?”

  “Just busting your chops SEAL.” I caught his hand in a firm shake. “Agent Dimitriadis. You killed me the other morning.”

  “Me too,” the other man said. “Papadakis.”

  I laughed. “Sorry about that boys. Hope I didn’t leave you floating face down too long.”

  “Man, I was just about to crack. You got out of there just in time.”

  “Water zombies aren’t really too believable are they?” I said.

  “No,” he laughed. “No they are not!”

  “Think you would have got us with live rounds?” Agent Papadakis said. Still staring into his screen.

  “I know I would have got you.”

  “I admire your confidence. I saw your rifle scores.” He pecked away at his keyboard for a couple seconds. He turned to look at me for the first time. “I wouldn’t doubt it one bit.”

  He stood and walked over to me. We shook hands.

  I sat on the edge of one of the beds and filled everyone in. Abbey had already heard, so this time she took notes for her report. Thorough. Making sure to document everything.

  “So you’re all staying here?”

  “We’ve got the other place next to this one,” Dimitriadis said. “Same set up. We’re just here tonight trying to put this one together. To figure out where you disappeared to.”

  “Any leads before I turned up?”

  “None. We called in permission to approach the Turk. The powers that be were still considering it. We called it off a few minutes ago. Abbey has to file the report now. Explaining the mess that went down today.”

  “What about Hassan?” I said.

  “Papadakis and I are gonna sweep the boat right now,” Dimitriadis said. “We’ve got enough on him to detain him for at least a few days. It’s not the best, but it’s the best under the circumstances.”

  “Can’t we just leave him hog-tied for a few days?”

  Dimitriadis lowered an eyebrow and raise the other. “I heard you SEALs were out of your mind. Now I see what they’re all talking about.” He laughed. “We can’t just keep him.”

  “Unless we detain him?” I said.

  “Exactly. Same thing, just one’s official and the other is highly illegal. Playing with the rules they give us, Zamora. That’s all we do.”

  “I’m outside the rules. Off the books, right?”

  “You’re off-the-books about as much as that undeclared drug income these guys are pulling in hand-over-fist. Everybody knows it’s there, but it’s just not official. Yet.”

  “So I’m on the books?”

  “You’re off, but by the time we wrangle these guys in you’re definitely going to be on. And we need you clean then. One hundred percent above board or everything could blow up on us.”

  “Understood.”

  “OK, we’re off to do some sweeping.” Agents Dimitriadis and Papadakis stood up and swung backpacks over their shoulders. “We’ll be back with our friend Hassan.” They walked out into the morning that was quickly filling with ambient light from the sun, which was about to rise.

  I looked to the bed by the door. Frost was flat on his back sawing logs. Light inhales followed by quick, deep, forced exhales. He wasn’t waking anytime soon.

  “Want to see what we’ve got so far?” Abbey said as she moved from her standing position to sitting on the other bed.

  “Sure.”

  We sat with our backs against the wall and our legs stretched out. She showed me surveillance photos of the Turk and some of his associates. We went through photo after photo to see if there were any faces that matched people I had seen so far. She would ask this one and roll her feet against mine, pushing them together and down away from her. I would study the face and say nope as I rolled our feet back her way. We were trying to make connections, but kept coming up empty. At least we were having some fun. About as much fun as you could have. We looked and looked and looked. Nothing. Finally we took a break. She shut her laptop and we both exhaled hard at the same time. We laughed together.

  “Were you worried about me?” I asked teasingly.

  “You were a SEAL. How can I worry about you?”

  “Not even a little?”

  “OK, maybe just an incy wincy bit.”

  The childish and playful side of her was coming out again. I reached over and grabbed her face with my hand. We kissed. It felt good to taste her again. Good until she pulled away.

  “Not right now, Zamora.”

  “OK.”

  “You know I want to, it’s just my head is so full of other things right now.”

  “Mine too. I’m trying to multitask.”

  “Not funny!” She elbowed me in the side as she laughed. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. She rested her head on my shoulder.

  “I’m glad you’re back safe.”

  “Me too.”

  She pulled away and flipped open her laptop. “But right now we’ve got to stay focused.”

  We continued to look through face after face. After about forty more minutes had passed I stopped on a peculiar face.

  “Can you blow that one up?”

  Abbey put her two fingers together on her track pad and pulled them in diagonally in opposite directions. The screen was filled with just the man’s eyes.

  “Devlin.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No question.”

  She reversed her fingers direction making the image smaller. She double tapped on the middle. The screen filled with information. I read over her shoulder while she studied his file.

  “This can’t be Devlin.”

  “The file is wrong. The photo is Devlin.”

  “And the information?”

  “It’s totally off. You’ve got him pegged to someone else.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I told you.”

  “They don’t put them in here unless they’re sure.”

  “We’re humans. We make mistakes.”

  “I’m calling it in.”

  She jumped out of bed and grabbed a satellite phone. A secure line.

  She quickly rattled off a series of numbers. Surely her call in PIN. She picked up the computer and read numbers from her screen.

  “Alpha. Charlie. Seven. Four. Bravo.”

  “It’s a mismatch,” she said.

  “The picture is of a last name Devlin. Delta. Echo. Victor. Lima. India. November.” There was a pause. She raised her head to look right at me. It was an apologetic look as if to say I’m sorry for what’s about to happen next. She spoke into the phone. “Yes. Target of Zamora.” So much for being off the books.

  “Roger that,” she said.

  She took off her headset and sat the sat phone on the bed. Frost continued to sleep as if no one else was in the
room.

  “So they know about me.”

  “Of course.”

  “How much?”

  “Enough.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Zamora. You’re helping your country.”

  “And what do I get out of this?”

  “What do you mean? We’re helping you. We’re keeping you at an arm’s distance. Frost and I specifically requested it.”

  “And that helps me how?”

  She looked at Frost to make sure he was asleep. She slowly walked over and placed her hand above his mouth to check his breathing. She walked back over and sat next to me on the bed.

  “You know how these things end. We’re dealing with violent people here. Violent, dangerous, narcissistic maniacs. They’re uncontrollable.”

  “You’re starting to repeat yourself,” I said.

  “They’re uncontrollable. The situation is uncontrollable. You’re off the books with a different set of skills and training so it’s easy to look back in hindsight. After we’re all finished.” She seemed to stop mid-sentence.

  “And?”

  “And see why you might have also been uncontrollable. Possibly acted uncontrollably.”

  We were staring at each other. Her look was full of empathy. I caught her message. She was giving me exactly what I wanted. That and then some. If this thing came down to a final play, a final moment, there’s no telling what I might do. I might pull a trigger out of revenge. I might not and simply bring him to her kind of justice. She was setting it up so the option was mine. And what I chose at the first crossroad would determine the journey’s final destination. Disappear back to where I came, or take a bow and discuss what professional move might be next. She was leaving all the doors open. It was for me to choose.

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “No need, but you’re welcome.”

  I leaned in and gave her a kiss. She didn’t try and fight it. She didn’t make any excuses. She just laid into it and enjoyed it. As much as I did. I pulled away first this time. She was right. We had work to attend to first.

  “Any news about Agent Johnson?”

  “None.”

  “We’re hitting a lot of dead ends.”

  “A whole heck of a lot.”

  “Time to regroup.”

  “And?”

  “Probably step it up a notch. Apply pressure. Move things forward.”

  “How?”

  I slid my feet forward and laid on my back. I stared up at the ceiling. That was the million-dollar question.

  I thought back to Devlin. The first time I heard his name.

  I had just come out of the water from a morning surf at Swami’s. My buddy from the teams, Patel, and I had pulled a dawn patrol and were headed back to the dry bag we hid behind some brush.

  One missed call. I called it back.

  “Zamora. It’s Rodriguez. Unsecured line.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Aeromex 189 at 1728 out of TJ. Layover in Mex. Arrives at José María Córdova in the morning. Can you be on it?”

  I didn’t hesitate. Rodriguez was our Troop Commander. An O-4. If an O-4 asks us to jump the only correct answer is, how high. Rodriguez hadn’t given his rank due to the line being unsecured. Why would he be calling out of Colombia on an unsecured line? And why did he want me to fly out of TJ instead of San Diego International? This sounded serious.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

  “Roger that.” I head a dial tone.

  “Everything cool, Zamora?” Patel said.

  “Yeah, man. All good.”

  “They got you on the move?”

  “Colombia.”

  “Colombia? With all those little Shakiras down there? Oh, man. You’re gonna be in heaven, bro!”

  “Hells to the yeah!” I played along with Patel, but I knew there were no little Shakiras on this trip. Something really serious was up.

  Special Warfare Operator Third Class Nguyen was there at the airport to pick me up. He was dressed up like a drug lord out of a bad B movie. And just like a drug lord he had a very serious look on his face. No smile. Just a somber greeting and we were out of there.

  I knew better than to talk on the ride. I’d be briefed when I arrived at wherever it was Nguyen was taking me. It was unlike Nguyen not to talk. He was always talking. Couldn’t shut the guy up.

  He was a solid dude. Part of our rat pack we called the UN. Nothing to due with the United Nations, just that we had so many ethnic groups on our team. Mutts we called each other. A bunch were first generation Americans. Nguyen’s family was Vietnamese Australian. Patel’s was British Indian. Troop Commander Rodriguez was Mexican American. I’m not first generation American. My bloodline goes way back, but I can relate to these guys. I grew up everywhere, so I never felt at home anywhere. I found my home because I found my brothers on the SEAL Teams. So wherever they are, that’s my home. And it looked like my home right now was about to be somewhere on the outskirts of Medellín.

  We drove for a good thirty minutes until we were in the middle of nowhere. Nguyen pulled down a dirt road. Another four and a half minutes and we came upon what appeared to be a driveway. He took the driveway back to a line of bushes. The bushes were cover for a gate. Pattinson was manning the gate. He was also sporting a somber look. He let us through. I was taken inside and led upstairs. Nguyen gently knocked on the hatch. A strange way for a SEAL to knock a hatch. I heard a voice say, “Yes.” Nguyen opened the door for me, shut it behind me and was gone.

  Troop Commander Rodriguez was sitting at the desk. He stood and offered me a seat. He was in civilian attire. Not American civilian. Colombian civilian.

  “Zamora, there’s been an incident.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No rank, Zamora. Just Rodriguez while we’re down here.”

  I nodded.

  “Low profile with everything. On post and off. Low voices or better yet, none at all.”

  I nodded again.

  “Smith’s dead. I’m sorry.”

  I could feel my body go numb. I was shocked. Petty Officer Second Class Smith wasn’t ever going to die. He was tougher than all of us.

  We had met at BUD/S. And that’s what we had become. Best buds. We spotted each other. We looked out for each other. We helped each other with family stuff.

  This last mission I was due to return stateside. I took it. Smith wanted to grab a little incentive pay before the holidays. Hazardous duty. Demolition. If he was lucky hostile fire. That was our favorite pay to receive. We knew no one in the world was going to drop a Navy SEAL, but if they wanted to send rounds our way we were more than happy to line our pockets and send rounds back their way. The difference? They could send as many rounds our way as they wanted. All we needed was one round going back and the threat was going to be eliminated. We didn’t just feel that. We didn’t just know that. We lived that. The year before, in the Iraq, an insurgent shot at Smith for over two hours.

  “Let’s just see if we can bleed out his ammo.”

  We all laughed.

  Two hours later, Smith rolled over and delivered one single, fatal blow. When we went down to secure the area where he had been we counted over five hundred shell casings. Five hundred to one. The one won.

  That was Smith for you. A good ‘ol boy from Hugh-stone, Tek-sus. His daddy was a rancher. So was his daddy’s daddy before him. And his daddy’s daddy’s daddy.

  “So Smith, you gonna be a playin’ ‘round with them cattles once you’re done shootin’ bad guys?” We were training with the U.K. Special Boat Service and they were having a lighthearted go at him. “You gonna be a, what do you Yanks call it?” One of the other SBS men spoke up. “I think it’s called a cow-boy.”

  We were all lying in our racks after a long day. It was nearly lights out. The Brits were having a good laugh. We were too, waiting to hear what Smith was going to fire back with.

  “Actually, gents. I think I’d rather fancy a go at a teahouse on the south s
ide of London proper. That’s what real men do, is it not? Tea and cakes in the mid afternoon good chap!” His accent was spot on. We were rolling on the floor. Busting up.

  “Quiet down in there! Lights out!”