SEAL Firsts

by Sharon Hamilton

  His eyes were getting used to the dark now. He glanced around and found a couple of dirty mattresses on the floor, some blankets drying on a clothesline, an ice chest, and a hospital gurney with the unmistakable body of Armando strapped to it, an IV inserted into his arm. Armando’s eyes were closed.

  “That Armando over there?” he asked his captors.

  Caesar nodded, studying him. “Your brother too. More recent war. Now I hope we can all be friends.”

  Hilber swore.

  “You proud of the fact that you kidnapped your own best friend?”

  The man didn’t move a muscle, but his mouth turned down in a sneer. He stared into Kyle’s eyes without moving back and forth. Thinking. “Thank you, amigo, for understanding our connection. But no, I’m not proud of it.”

  Caesar motioned to have Kyle walk over. “I do what I must to be valuable to the organization.” He placed his palm against his chest and bowed. “Please. You will confirm now that he is still alive. Everything you do next will ensure he stays that way.”

  Kyle looked at his Team buddy, sleeping soundly. But he noticed the left side of Armando’s mouth twitching, which was the sign he was looking for. That meant he was fully awake, listening, and uninjured enough to fight. Armando’s wrists were bound with zip ties, but Kyle saw Armando had already moved the flaps back and forth to break them with a sudden jerk.

  “Has he suffered injuries? How’d you get him to sleep?”

  “You saw it, Mr. SEAL man. We give him heroin.” Caesar glanced over Armando’s body. “He likes it now, man. Don’t you, little Paco?” Caesar jammed his fist into Armando’s thigh, but the SEAL didn’t move. Kyle saw Armando’s jaw tense, sending a flash to his temple, but the movement was so slight, he doubted anyone else saw it. But he sure as hell knew that grimace. He’d seen it before when Armando had caught a bullet in his back while he was bending over to pick Kyle up when Kyle had been wounded. Armando had got the wound looked at only after Kyle was safely in the arms of the medic.

  “And what makes you think I would help you with all this, whatever it is?” Kyle spoke quickly to hopefully keep from earning Armando another blow.

  “Come, my friend of my friend. We will talk like two generals.” Caesar motioned to two dirty leather recliners on the cold oily warehouse floor, one losing its stuffing.

  Kyle complied. He chose the chair facing Armando and noticed his buddy rolled his head slightly in his direction and smiled.

  “We want to procure some equipment. Guns and shit like that. Armor. All that crazy shit you guys get to use every day.”

  “So you can use them against innocents?” Kyle asked, meeting Caesar’s gaze head-on.

  “Nah, mostly against people who have made promises they haven’t kept. Officials that don’t play nice. Other organizations who want a piece of our action. Sticking their noses where they don’t fucking belong. We run a very efficient and profitable business here. It feeds people. Women and children too. It’s our Stimulus Package. We require your services.”

  “You’ve got my gun. I presume you unloaded something from Armando too. You don’t want a fight with our kind.”

  “On the contrary. I like your kind. I respect your kind.” Caesar gave a quick look to Hilber, who squinted in reply. Kyle could tell the men hated each other. And the only reason Hilber was behaving himself was because they were on Caesar’s turf. Not the other way around.

  Caesar leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “You see, I have two things you want. One perhaps more than the other. I’m not interested in just a couple of things here and there—I want to establish an enterprise that will make you and your friend, if he cooperates, very rich men. I want enough so that I feel protected. So my friends can do business in the manner to which they are accustomed.”

  “Selling drugs.”

  “I give my customers what they want.”

  “You steal their futures, their youth.”

  “They’re bored. They willingly give it up. Lotta sick people around these days, you know? We don’t bother anyone else unless they interfere, my friend. It reduces our overhead when we don’t have to pay so much for protection.” He nodded to Hilber, who crossed his chest with his folded arms.

  “And you think I will do this because you have Armando here.”

  Caesar stood up and motioned for Kyle to follow him.

  “I am going to ask much of you, I agree. This is a serious commitment you are going to have to make. But then, there is much at stake.” He walked over to the rose-colored blanket draped over a white nylon cord and pulled it back with his heavily inked fingers.

  Christy was tied to a chair. Her hair was tussled, eye makeup running down her cheeks, but other than that, she looked unharmed. She actually looked wonderful. Kyle couldn’t believe how good it felt to see her. Alive and breathing.

  Her eyes looked big and scared above the red bandana tied across her mouth a little too tight. Her eyes got even bigger when she saw Kyle.

  Caesar walked over to her. “I believe you know this woman in, shall we say, the carnal way?” He smiled and slipped his hand under the hem of her red top and fondled her breast. Christy closed her eyes and suffered in silence. She didn’t flinch. Kyle knew she wouldn’t show her fear or her humiliation.

  “May I speak with her?”

  “Sure, sure.” Caesar continued to fondle her, but motioned for Kyle to step closer.

  Kyle could have killed him right then and there. The foul-breathed cretin leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Are her thighs as creamy? She has the smoothest skin.” He brushed the fingers of his hand against her cheek, wiping the tears that had spilled down in rivulets, had dripped off her chin. Caesar touched the shiny droplets like they were diamonds. “Too perfect. Maybe I should take a bite, so you can remember me later when I let you fuck her and I get to watch.”

  Kyle’s hands made fists.

  “Watch it there, cowboy.” Hilber reminded him he was still at his back. And a gun was trained at his head.

  Kyle extended his hands to the side, watched Caesar nod at him, giving him the green light to speak to Christy. He knelt in front of her. He would do anything to protect her. When he put his hand on her knee, she jumped and opened her eyes. He gave her warm flesh a little squeeze, hoping it reassured her. She couldn’t hide the terror trembling inside her.

  “I’m sorry for this, Christy. I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe. Whatever they ask, I will do it. Please don’t worry. Just stay the course.”

  He thought about Mayfield’s suggestion: “Become the bait.” Yeah, he could do that.

  Christy’s face was still beautiful, despite the panic he read in her eyes and the dried tears that ran black down her cheeks. She needed him, clung to him, and, yes, wanted him. She’d been strong, holding out so as not to show emotion, but this touch on her knee opened the floodgates. Her lower lip quivered beneath the dirty bandana, but there was no sobbing.

  “May I?” Kyle asked his captor, holding up the palm with teeth marks, now healing, as if to touch her face in a tender caress.

  Caesar shrugged.

  Kyle quickly lunged, grabbed Caesar’s forearm, and from kneeling position, twisted it, and heard a loud crack as the two bones shattered. He jammed the broken bones up through the man’s elbow joint and heard the scream. It echoed for several seconds throughout the warehouse.

  Kyle felt the gun butt to his head the instant he saw Christy’s horrified expression, and then blackness.

  Fredo sat up. “Holy shit. He just brought hell down on all of them.”

  He explained what he’d heard to Cooper and Gunny. They had positioned themselves up the block so they could watch the back door with night-vision binoculars. The large warehouse/store complex was in a swale between two residential streets.

  “I’m calling Timmons,” Cooper said as he got out his cell. Gunny was on his phone as well.

  Fredo tried to make out muffled talking, but Kyle had apparently
landed face-down and the flag microphone was buried beneath his body, the Invisio slammed against the floor. One thing was for sure, whoever Caesar was, Fredo doubted the man would ever be the same. He could hear him screaming even without the microphone. It spooked several of the homeless guys leaning up against the wall and sleeping on the ground outside the compound.

  Fredo hoped Kyle had broken some body part that would permanently cripple the dude. From the screams, whatever Kyle had done, didn’t sound like this type of injury could go untreated for long. Caesar would have to go to a hospital, and soon. And that would mean one less bad guy. For now.

  A dark van with blackened windows pulled up, and five heavy-set ex-military types got out and entered the warehouse door.

  “Coop, Gunny. Get your asses over here,” Fredo said.

  He directed them to leave immediately. Neither wanted to. “Look, when they find the mike, they’re going to be all over here.”

  “I’m staying. Gunny, you go,” Cooper commanded.

  Gunny looked between the two SEALs. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’ve got some friends here, if there’s time. Text me if it gets…if you can.”

  “Fredo will protect me,” Coop said, throwing an arm around Fredo’s neck. Gunny was given the keys and left.

  “Shh!” Fredo whispered, throwing off Cooper’s arm and scowling. “Something’s happening.” Coop pulled down his goggles and watched.

  Fredo heard muffled scraping noises through the little microphone. He guessed it was from dragging Kyle’s body across the floor. He thought he heard a faint, “left,” from Kyle, but wasn’t sure. That would mean that he was alive, and so was everyone else.

  Fredo and Coop watched the five goons load a groggy, half-dead Armando into the back of the van. A second black SUV pulled up and two more characters got out and ran inside the compound. Next came Deputy Hilber. He stood out like a white worm with his khaki uniform that almost glowed in the night-vision goggles. He held the girl by the hair. She had her hands tied in front of her and was walking on tiptoes in ridiculous high heels that seemed way out of place. She was trying to wrench her head around to look at something. Fredo saw Kyle being dragged under both arms toward the other van.

  Hilber pushed the girl into the SUV and came back to Kyle and bent over. Fredo listened as the microphone on the American flag was plucked from Kyle’s shirt. Hilber scanned the surrounding buildings and streets, briefly hesitating over their position. He dropped the mike and Fredo heard the crackle, followed by silence as Hilber ground the thing into the asphalt.

  “Flag Audio’s gone.”

  Coop nodded, watching the same thing. “His Invisio still working?”

  “Yessir, for now.”

  “But knowing you, there’s another backup.”

  “Fuckin’ A. We can track him.”

  The men loaded Kyle in the second van as Hilber barked orders to two men, who took off running as if it were a marathon. The vans left. The two men were headed right toward their location. Fredo recognized how quickly they tackled the incline, their speed most likely a result of years of military training.

  “I’m itching for a burger,” Fredo whispered while watching the ex-military types disappear into the neighborhood below. He presumed they were making their way up the hill and would be there within minutes. “Wonder if they got a decent place here, or if it’s all tofu and grilled veggies.”

  Coop shrugged, then stowed his goggles, lifted the collar up on his jacket, and replaced his black cap with a Giants baseball cap he’d lifted from their ride. “I don’t care, as long as you’re paying.”

  To the average citizen, they would look like an ordinary pair of Joes on their way home from a late night shift. They ducked into the shadows along a back alleyway and disappeared.

  Gunny returned an hour later, as he’d promised, to the now-deserted spot and texted Fredo and Cooper, who were eating tacos at a canteen truck nearby. Fredo gave Gunny the address and five minutes later the Tahoe pulled up. It was filled with overweight, silver-haired guys who all looked just like Gunny.

  “Whoa, we having a family gathering here?” Fredo barked. “Sure you got room for a little Mexican?”

  Gunny introduced them to his friends, who were mostly retired police and firemen. Men he’d served with in Korea and Viet Nam. It wasn’t lost on Fredo that these guys were looking for one last good fight. He could tell they missed the hunt.

  He shook his head. “Hate involving innocents,” he whispered to Coop, who just shrugged.

  Coop leaned toward him and, out of earshot of the big guys in the front seats and said, “They’re far from innocent. They heeded the call when you were in diapers, amigo.”

  Ain’t that a fact? Fredo still didn’t like it.

  Chapter 36

  Mayfield decided it was his turn to call the meeting with Timmons. He’d heard nothing from Kyle or Christy, though he’d placed a call to her. There also had been no answer at the house on Stanyan Street, which worried him too. Hilber wasn’t available, and the office said he’d taken a couple days leave.

  Sure he was. In the middle of a quadruple homicide?

  Maybe he’d waited too long, he thought. Things had started coming unraveled and he was getting more and more uncomfortable with circumstances by the hour.

  “This isn’t an official meet and greet,” he said to Timmons, on the phone.

  “So then that means shots at Jimmy’s.”

  Mayfield looked at his watch. Christ, it was nearly ten. Way too late for a meeting, but never the right time for shots.

  “Can you be there in a half hour?” Mayfield asked.

  “I’m here now.”

  He could hear the crowd in the background. It was Sunday, so it would be tamer than usual. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Take your time, man. I’m expecting a call from Fredo and the team at any time. I assume that’s who you’re gonna want to talk about.”

  “Yup.”

  “You coming alone?” Timmons asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll wiggle out of my friends.”

  “I appreciate that.” The last thing Mayfield wanted was a public viewing. Here he was conspiring with the Navy against one of his own. But that was what he was about to do.

  Or he’d be on his way to no retirement at that little fishing village in Mexico, where he’d live until the ammo gave out. Forget about the pension.

  The patio outside Jimmy’s was warm, but a blazing fire pit at the center threw off a pleasant glow and heat that felt real good. Mayfield couldn’t get the cold chill off the back of his neck that persisted in spite of the fire and the warm night air. Timmons was watching him from a table in the dark corner. The guy was so still, Mayfield almost walked right past him.

  Cars slowly tooled past. An elderly couple in matching workout clothes walked their little white dog. The dog obviously thought he was leading.

  Maybe he was, Mayfield thought. Not sure why it tickled him, but it did.

  He sat in front of Timmons and in an instant was met by a young nubile thing with a low-cut white cotton smock shirt over an impossibly short skirt. She kneeled in front of him and he couldn’t help but take a quick glance. Just a quick one. She had a wonderful rack. He murmured a forgiveness prayer to Maria.

  “Sir? You want a beer, or something else?”

  The something else came to mind, and Timmons grinned, picking up his drift somehow.

  “Diet Coke.”

  “Coming right up.” She rose and he had to follow those tanned long legs to the bar.

  “How long’s it been, Mayfield?”

  Mayfield checked out his unmanicured fingernails, wiggled his fingers, which moved the little heart tattoo with “Maria” written in the center, emblazoned on his forearm, and answered, “I had a Coke for lunch.”

  Timmons was well on his way to being indecent in public. He tossed back another shot and winced like it was mouthwash, the kind that burned all the way
down to your butt. He peered over at Mayfield in what looked like a challenge. He could see the officer wasn’t having a good day.

  And that probably meant Mayfield’s day was shit too. But what the hell. He leaned in and asked, “I got a dead guy burnt to a crisp in a cabin we haven’t been able to ID yet and two dead ex-deputies in the Palos Vega forest, and a dead personal trainer at one of our most exclusive condo complexes.” He looked right and left, then behind him, then whispered and leaned further across the table. “Something’s seriously out of whack. Everyone around this Lansdowne character is dying. And violently. Only a matter of time before one of your Team guys gets it too.”

  “You’ve got more to think about.”

  “Excuse me?” Mayfield knew he wasn’t going to like the explanation.

  “You’ve also—well, not you, but San Francisco—has a dead shopkeeper and a celebrity billionaire shot in the chest, almost dead. And a dirty cop. Name’s Hilber.”

  Timmons stopped. Then it hit Mayfield. Hilber had gone too far and now the Navy was getting a whiff of his stink. But this caper was long beyond anyone’s control now. Least of all his.

  “Just thought you ought to know,” Timmons added helpfully. Mayfield could see why the man was on the drunker side of conscious.

  “And now I’m missing two of mine,” Timmons added, holding up his fingers in the V sign.

  Mayfield could see his retirement package going through a paper shredder. Shoot, at this rate, he’d have to hitchhike to San Felipe, carrying everything he owned on his back. This was a cluster fuck extraordinaire.

  “I shouldn’t have trusted your SEALs.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, I understand you told Kyle to be the bait?”

  The man was right. It was partially his fault too. “And so that’s what’s happened?”

  “Yup. They’ve got Kyle. As far as I know, everyone’s alive. Point is, we can’t really go in there. We know where they are, but we have to let the locals do it.”

  “I can ask for a certain amount of cooperation from several departments, but that’s only going to go so far. Pretty soon, they’re going to link everything to Lansdowne, make him out as the one running the operation. And, as the man-hours keep ratcheting up in this time of economic crisis, they’ll just come in blasting and sort it out later. You get my meaning?”