by Cindy Dees
“You sound pretty passionate about your work.”
“I am. It’s exhausting, but I love it.”
Gunner nodded. “I would say the same about my job.”
“How homophobic are the SEALs these days?”
“That’s a hard question to answer.”
“Try.”
“Most guys don’t give a damn who anyone else sleeps with. But SEALs do live in extremely close quarters with each other. We eat, sleep, bathe, and shit—sorry—literally shoulder to shoulder with each another sometimes. If a guy is the least bit hinky about being around a gay man, living in such close quarters could be a personal nightmare. And the guys in a platoon have to depend so completely on one another—our lives depend upon our brothers—that any disruption to that total trust is a huge problem.”
“So it’s not that the homophobia is bad or even prevalent. It’s just that even the smallest hint of it could cause a problem,” Chas said.
“Exactly.”
“How are the guys in your… platoon, is it?”
“They’re fine. Not that they knew I might swing the other way. But they wouldn’t care—make that wouldn’t have cared. Past tense.”
“You’re done being a SEAL? As in done, done?”
“Yup. Paperwork’s already signed,” he answered hoarsely.
“I’m sorry,” Chas said quietly.
“What are you sorry for?” Gunner exclaimed.
“I didn’t realize it was a fait accompli. That sucks.”
He’d avoided thinking about it for most of the past week. Poppy and Chas had provided plenty of distraction, not to mention the carload of assholes trying to chase them down and kill them. But now, on the road, with days of travel ahead of them and nothing to do but think, he couldn’t avoid the stark truth any longer. He was done as a SEAL.
“If the senior leadership had given me a chance to recuperate from my injuries, I might’ve been able to stay. But without that support, I couldn’t have fought the doctors on my own.”
“You mean SEALs don’t know when to quit and have to be forcibly retired by medical experts? Color me shocked,” Chas commented.
Gunner rolled his eyes.
“Are you gonna take the job Spencer’s offering you?” Chas asked.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Will it be dangerous work?”
“Sometimes.”
“More or less dangerous than being a SEAL?”
“Some of each. Most security jobs are less dangerous. But if they go bad, we would have less backup than a SEAL team would have.”
Chas fell silent at that. Silent enough that Gunner glanced over at him and asked, “What’s on your mind? You went quiet on me, and you’re the most talkative person I know.”
Chas made a face that made Gunner grin.
“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘fuck off.’”
Chas smiled. “Fuck off, G.”
Gunner was aware that Chas hadn’t answered his question. The guy was definitely fretting about something, but he didn’t want to talk about it. On the teams, they didn’t usually sit around airing out their feelings. And if a guy didn’t want to talk, nobody forced him to, as long as he was able to do his job effectively.
They drove for nearly an hour in silence before Chas asked, “How long until the bad guys pick up our trail and we’re bait on a hook?”
“We figure they’ll show up not long after we use your credit card. We’ve got maybe a day of relative quiet.”
“Do we have to confront these guys?”
“We need to find out who they are and what they want with Poppy. If she’s ever going to be safe, we have to at least know who hired them.”
Chas sighed. “I’m secure enough in my manhood to admit that I’m a little scared.”
“Being scared is rational. I’d be worried if you weren’t scared. The trick is not to let fear get the best of you. Let it make you sharp. A little edgy. But don’t let it overwhelm you.”
“Easier said than done,” he admitted.
“Spencer and Drago are an hour behind us. They’ll set up surveillance on our hotel and never take their eyes off us. They’re two of the best operators in the business. You’re in good hands.”
“I still don’t like being using as bait.”
Gunner snorted. “I don’t like it either. Actually, I hate the idea of putting you in any danger whatsoever. The only reason I went along with this plan was because I knew you’d do pretty much anything to keep Poppy safe.”
Chas reached across the center console and laid a hand on his thigh.
Gunner reached down and squeezed his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Chas.”
But when they checked into a motel in western Kentucky, his gut was uncharacteristically tight. Usually he went into ops as cool as a cucumber. He trusted his training and preparation implicitly. But Chas was a wild card.
He’d never run an op with a civilian in the middle of it before. Not to mention a civilian he did not want to see any harm come to. His SEAL teammates knew the risks anytime they went out in the field, as did he. But Chas—he hadn’t asked for any of this. He’d just been a Good Samaritan who picked up a baby and tried to keep her safe.
Gunner specifically asked for the room on the end of the old-fashioned strip motel whose rooms opened straight onto the parking lot. He backed the car into its space for a quick exit and scoped out the area behind the motel—a steep hill covered in thick brush, discarded trash, and plenty of tree cover—before entering the room. He removed the screen from the bathroom window and moved a nightstand into the bathroom for easy access to the high window. Only then did he relax a little.
“Okay. Why do we need a table next to the toilet?” Chas asked.
“To climb on so you can get out the window if we need an emergency exit.”
Chas swore under his breath. “And to think, I thought we got to relax tonight.”
“Ounce of prevention, remember? I just got a text that Spencer and Drago are pulling into town and will set up shop.”
“How close will they be to us?”
Gunner thought about the terrain outside. “Something like a hundred yards down the road. One of them may set up on the hill above the motel with a sniper rig.”
“Sniper? I thought the idea was to catch these guys alive.”
“We only need one of them alive to talk,” Gunner replied grimly.
Chas’s eyes widened. “You plan to kill them?”
“We plan to neutralize them. The hostiles themselves will determine whether that means they surrender or we take them out.”
Chas grimaced. “I hate violence. All violence.”
Gunner shrugged. “I see it as a necessary evil, to be avoided if possible and executed with maximum efficiency if not.”
“I never pictured you as a trained killer when we were growing up,” Chas commented.
Gunner dropped to the floor to do some push-ups and burpees. He badly needed to work out the kinks from sitting in a car all day. His back was achy tonight, and more of those ominous pinches of pain were starting to creep through. As he pumped out reps, he asked, “What did you picture me doing with my life?”
“When I was eight, I thought you’d make a good cowboy.”
“I hate riding horses. You have to have the right muscles for it; otherwise you get sore as hell and chafe in places you don’t want to think about.”
Chas laughed. “When we got a little older, I thought you’d be a good sports coach. You’re a natural leader.”
“Nah. I have no patience with people who don’t put out 100 percent effort. I would’ve been too tough a coach to be successful.”
Chas sat cross-legged on the bed and watched him work out. “What would you have done if you hadn’t become a SEAL?”
“I would’ve tried for the submarine corps.”
“I mean if you hadn’t joined the military at all?”
“Oh.” He rolled onto his back
. “Sit on my feet while I do a few sit-ups, will you?”
Chas slid off the bed and knelt on both of his feet while grabbing Gunner’s ankles. Gunner commenced doing sit-ups. “I’d have gone to college if there was money for it.”
“What would you have studied?”
“History, maybe.”
“And done what with a history degree?”
“Teach college. Get people to think about links between the past and present. Challenge students to learn the lessons of our forbearers.”
Chas laughed. “I have trouble imagining you sitting in some book-filled office, wearing a cardigan sweater, with a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of your nose. I can see myself as that professor someday, but not you.”
Gunner grinned up at him without stopping.
“How many sit-ups are your planning to do?” Chas finally asked.
“As many as it takes to tire me out.”
“I can think of better ways to tire yourself out.”
Gunner stopped at the top of a sit-up to stare at Chas. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“You’ll have to take a shower before I show you.”
He jumped up, dumping Chas unceremoniously on his side. “Done. I’ll be out of the shower in five minutes.”
SPENCER LISTENED impatiently as the international call took its sweet time clicking through the satellite to Japan. The woman who answered his call in Japanese switched seamlessly into English as soon as he asked in English to speak with Mr. Tanaka.
“Mr. Tanaka is a very busy man, sir. I can connect you to one of his personal assistants who may be able to help you.”
“Fine. Transfer me to the one who’s handling the kidnapping of his daughter.”
“Are you a journalist, sir?” the woman demanded coldly.
“No. I’m an American security contractor, and I have some information about his daughter that he’ll want to hear. My name is Spencer Newman.”
“One moment, sir.”
No surprise, he heard the clicks of recording devices and additional listeners coming onto the line. Were they Japanese government types, or was Tanaka relying on his own private security team? Spencer would bet Tanaka had gone private. Men like him tended to want total control of what happened around them. Now to earn the guy’s trust.
“Mr. Newman, you said your name was?” a man said at the other end of the line.
“Yes. Spencer Newman. You’ll know you have the right person in your frantic internet search when you don’t find squat about me. I’m a retired US Navy SEAL and maintain an extremely low profile.”
“Uhh, thank you, Mr. Newman.” The guy sounded surprised.
“I have an associate who has recently come into possession of a young child. My partner and I were taken from Langley to the Japanese Embassy yesterday and informed there that the child might be the missing Tanaka baby. Rather than continue to deal with middlemen and government flunkies, I thought it would be faster to speak directly with Mr. Tanaka.”
“One moment, please.”
Hah. He was right. Tanaka himself hadn’t been put on the line immediately. One moment turned into more like three minutes, and Spencer could readily envision the frantic briefing Tanaka’s security men were giving him about how to handle this phone call.
A British-accented voice that spoke fluent English came on the line. “Hello, Mr. Newman. This is Kenji Tanaka.”
“Thank you for taking my call. I’m hoping to cut through all the layers of bureaucracy and move along this process as quickly as possible for the sake of the child involved.”
“Continue,” Tanaka said cautiously.
Spencer sighed. “Let’s cut the crap, shall we? I’m not one of the kidnappers and I don’t want a ransom. I’ll give your guys my social security number if they want to run a full background check on me, and I’m only concerned about getting a little girl back safely to her family. Assuming you are her family, of course.”
That caused a long silence, and undoubtedly another frantic conference.
“Who are you?” Tanaka finally demanded.
“As I told your previous guy, I’m a retired US Navy SEAL. I’m in the process of starting up a private security firm, and an associate of mine has come into possession of a little girl about eighteen months old and of Asian heritage under rather violent circumstances.”
“Is she all right? Is she hurt?” Tanaka blurted.
For the first time, Spencer relaxed. There was the frantic father he’d been waiting to catch a glimpse of.
“She’s fine. I’m hoping you can send me certain information that will help me verify her identity. Because of the circumstances in which my associate came into possession of her, I have reason to be cautious before I hand her over to anyone. It’s nothing personal. I’m merely committed to the child’s safety first and foremost.”
“Fair enough,” Tanaka said. “Kamiko’s safety is my first priority as well.”
“Ahh. Is that her name? We’ve been calling her Poppy.”
“What information do you need from me?” Tanaka asked.
“Photographs. And please forgive me for asking delicate questions, but is she biologically your child?”
“Yes. She is. Are you thinking of asking me for a DNA sample, perchance?” Tanaka responded.
“That would be positive proof and satisfy me.”
“How would you like to collect this sample so you know it’s from me?”
Drago waved, and Spencer muted his phone. Drago murmured, “I know a guy at the Tokyo CIA station. I’ll have him run over to Tanaka’s office and swab his cheek. He can courier the sample back to the US so there’s a positive chain of custody.”
Spencer unmuted his phone. “We can arrange for an associate of ours to come swab your cheek. Will you be at your office through the day today?” It was morning in Tokyo now.
“I will.”
“He will use my name and that of my partner, Drago Thorpe, to identify himself. And he’s likely to be fairly disgusted at being sent on such an errand.”
Tanaka made a brief sound of humor. “I’ll make myself available to him when he arrives.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Tanaka.”
“Is there anything else I can do to help you, Mr. Newman?”
Since it sounded like a fragile trust might have been established, Spencer risked asking, “Do you have any idea who kidnapped her and what they want from you?”
“Initially, we believed a local rival of my father’s might have taken her. Her nanny and bodyguard were assaulted and knocked unconscious, and when they woke up, Kamiko had been taken from her stroller. But then I received a ransom demand several days ago that originated in the New York City area.”
“Do you know if your family has any dealings with a group known as the Oshiro gang?” Spencer asked boldly.
Drago lurched beside him, looking startled that Spencer had shown that particular card.
“I have nothing to do with my father’s… business dealings. I’m merely an architect.”
“Indeed? Is it possible that a rival of your father’s… in business… might target your daughter as a way of getting at your father?”
Tanaka answered soberly, “It is.”
Spencer heard voices speaking in rapid Japanese behind Tanaka—no doubt his security team telling him to shut the hell up. “Did the person or persons demanding the ransom provide any proof of life and proof of custody?”
“They sent pictures of Kamiko sitting beside an American newspaper dated five days ago.”
“How much did they ask for?”
“Fifty million dollars US. I told them it would take me a week or more to get that much of my assets moved into liquid cash. I expect to hear from them the day after tomorrow.”
“It goes without saying, don’t hand over the money until we know if the child in my associate’s custody is Kamiko. If you need to stall them, demand fresh proof of possession and of the child’s health first.”
Tanaka made a noncommittal noise. Spencer got it. If his kid were being held hostage, he might go ahead and hand over the cash just in case the bad guys had her.
Spencer said gently, “You’ve been extremely helpful, sir. And thank you for trusting me. I sincerely hope Poppy turns out to be your daughter and that we can return her safely to you very soon. I do have to warn you, however, that there are people attempting to take her away from my associate. Since you trusted me, I will tell you that we do not know if the Oshiro gang or someone else is pursuing her. We hope to learn that shortly. We’ve set a trap to capture one of them and question him or her.”
“But you will keep Kamiko safe at all costs, yes?” Tanaka blurted. “I’ll pay—”
Spencer cut him off. “I don’t want your money, Mr. Tanaka. And I assure you, she’s not anywhere near the trap. She’s absolutely safe, I promise.”
“Thank you, Mr. Newman. I will be happy to fly over as many of my father’s men as you might need to deal… discreetly… with these criminals.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Mr. Tanaka. For the moment, I can probably operate best on my own turf, using my own people. But if we should need assistance, I will definitely call you.”
“Would you be willing to give me your personal cell phone number, Mr. Newman?”
“Of course.”
They traded cell phone numbers, and Tanaka ended with, “Please call me, day or night, if I can be of any assistance.”
“Same, Mr. Tanaka. Call me any time. And before you ask, yes, I will keep you informed of any new developments.”
“You had better be who you say you are, Mr. Newman. If you are playing me, I promise you will regret it for the rest of your extremely short life.”
Spencer laughed. “Never fear. I’m the real deal.”
AFTER HE went through the motions of dressing the doll that Charles Favian had brought them and tucking her into the playpen, Chas hustled around the motel room, checking that the doors were locked and the blinds were closed, turning down the bed, and turning off all the lights. He turned on the TV low enough not to be distracting but loud enough to provide a little background noise. Motels like this notoriously had paper-thin walls, and he planned on Gunner making some noise in the near future.
