Second Chance SEAL: The Girl He Left Behind (Sunset SEALs Book 2)

by Sharon Hamilton

  While the coffee was brewing, she retrieved her silk robe and secured the tie around her waist. She checked the time, and she was okay if she only took five minutes to say good morning to the ocean.

  The air was chilly, and a white mist swirled between the houses nestled on the beach and the surf. All the sunrise watchers were gone this morning, giving her the beach all to herself.

  Miss you already, he’d written.

  Only if you’re coming back home, she’d whispered last night.

  The warm coffee tasted delightful. She sighed and watched a young family walking on the hardened sand, searching for shells and objects of interest. She pretended that she’d had ten years to teach her daughter how to throw rocks at the ocean, how to stick her finger down a hole in the sand and pull out a sand crab, how to dance in her nightgown by the light of the moon.

  What am I doing?

  She emptied the mug, dashing into the house and under the spray of the shower after tearing off her robe. In five minutes, she was fully dressed. She put last night’s dinner dishes in the sink and added water. She grabbed an apple and took off in search of a bagel and her school.

  Kaitlyn’s sub came over to her during morning break. “Do you know if she is home yet?” the young teacher asked.

  “I think they’ll be gone for the full week. They’re in the Caribbean.”

  “Do you have the name of the place they are staying or a phone number?” the student-teacher asked.

  “No. She never gave it to me. I think her mother might know. The office would have her number. Why?”

  “That’s just it. The hospital called. They asked me to try to get a message to Kaitlyn that her mother was admitted. I got the impression it wasn’t a very good sign.”

  Martel had expected this, but not so soon. She hoped Phyllis would last at least until Kaitlyn and Greg came back.

  “Let me have it. I’ll see what I can do. Did you try her cell number?”

  “Several times. I’ve left three messages already.”

  Martel figured they were on some day trip or tour and Kaitlyn wouldn’t or couldn’t answer it. She took the message and walked to a school ground bench and dialed the number.

  “Duncan Center,” the pert voice on the other end of the phone said.

  “Yes. I’m a friend of Kaitlyn Carrington, who is on her honeymoon. I understand her mother has been admitted. Phyllis Carrington?”

  “She was brought in this morning. You say you are a best friend or cousin of Mrs. Carrington’s?

  “Yes, ma’am. I was her daughter’s maid of honor. Is Phyllis going to be okay?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give non-family members much in the way of information without a doctor’s order.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Everyone on her floor is hospice. You have to be suited up to see her, but we can arrange that by the time you get here. Can you come today?”

  “I’m a teacher, and I can perhaps get off early, say three o’clock?”

  “I’ll ask her doctor. When will Kaitlyn be home?”

  “She’s gone for the week. As I said they’re in the Caribbean, on their honeymoon.”

  “Oh dear. See if you can reach her, and I’ll do the same. I’m going to need to locate Mrs. Carrington’s Health Care Power of Attorney. Her doctor doesn’t seem to have it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Health saving instructions. That sort of thing.”

  “So she’s not expected to live long, then, I take it.”

  “Again, I wish I could help. We have the HIPAA rules…”

  “I get it. We’ve been trying, but unless I hear, I’ll be by the hospital around three. Phyllis knows me. I’m not asking to insert myself where I wouldn’t be wanted.”

  “I’ll try to make it happen. See you later this afternoon.”

  Martel informed the district office what was going on and asked to leave early, citing she had a film the class could watch for the last hour of school if someone from admin could monitor them. She’d already given out the assignments for the day.

  They granted her request and asked to be kept informed.

  She considered calling Damon but wanted to see Phyllis first. She also hoped Renny might have Greg’s cell phone number, since she didn’t know anyone else from their circle of friends she could call.

  Adrenaline kept her going. The excitement of her new relationship mixed with the feeling of loss while he was away on deployment and now Phyllis. Everything in her life was in flux. The huge emotional swings would take its toll when she finally had a minute to herself. The quiet, peaceful beach was calling her.

  The medical center was a private clinic with lush grounds, resembling more of a country club than a hospital. But as she drove past the tall palm trees, the sparkling water and the bird sanctuary, she was struck with what a beautiful place it would be to just pass away into the sunset.

  If there had to be a place, that is.

  A large hearse was pulling around the back side of the single-story campus, and she shivered. All of a sudden, the idyllic setting began to feel more like a scary movie where awful things happened behind a backdrop used to disguise their real purpose. She was driving through the valley of the shadow of death, just like the Bible said.

  She parked, yet something inside her wanted to run. Was she ready for this? Martel felt guilty, disgusted with herself. This was the least she could do for her best friend, to the kind and gentle woman she’d shared secrets with.

  Be brave.

  She was directed down the wide hall to the right. A nurse was waiting with a disposable gown, gloves, and a headpiece-type contraption with a clear plastic visor covering her face.

  Dammit, another veil!

  The attendant slipped blue gathered paper slippers over her shoes and opened the door, taking her arm and bringing her into the dark room.

  The entire wall over Phyllis’s bed was jammed with electronic devices that beeped, flashed colors of red, yellow, and green. There were tubes everywhere. One connected her to an oxygen mask with straps adhering over her ears. She had an I.V., as well as a much larger tube extending out the bottom of the bed from under her sheets.

  Phyllis looked so tiny compared to all the equipment, like she was an eight-year-old who’d just had her tonsils out. Her wig was removed, showing her shiny bald head. But her color was good, and she seemed to be breathing comfortably. She wore bright red lipstick, which nearly made her laugh. It had been applied slightly askew.

  The nurse nodded to her.

  Martel took her hand and called out. “Phyllis? I’m afraid you probably think you don’t know me, but it’s Martel. I came to see you as soon as I heard.”

  Phyllis opened her eyes and started to laugh, then coughed. The nurse was right there, adjusting a machine and repositioning her facemask that had gotten dislodged.

  Kaitlyn’s mom smiled. Her eyes still had that will to live, that fire and fearless courage Martel wasn’t sure she herself had.

  “Look at us two, would you?” Phyllis growled. She tried to sit up, and the nurse stopped her. She motioned with her finger on her other hand for Martel to lean in closer. Phyllis’ right hand clutched Martel’s and wouldn’t let go.

  The nurse slid a chair to the back of Martel’s knees, and she sat, leaning over.

  With their faces not more than two feet apart, Phyllis still insisted on leaning forward when she said, “Let’s just rip out all this stuff and go get an ice cream and run on the beach, okay? Would you please break me out, honey?”

  The nurse was giggling.

  Phyllis pointed a bony finger at her. “You think that’s funny? You never know, it might be just the cure I need.”

  “Maybe an imaginary beach and imaginary ice cream,” the kind nurse softly purred in return.

  Phyllis dismissed her with the brush of her hand. “Not the same thing. Not the same thing at all!”

  “How do you feel?” Martel asked her and then regre
tted it when she saw Phyllis’ expression.

  “Like the turkey at Thanksgiving. I’ve been stuffed with crap, stitched up, basted, and herbed, and I have a butt plug I didn’t ask for,” she said as she glared at the nurse. “I mean, when I was a much younger woman, I might have tried one, but it makes me itch.”

  Martel put her hand up to her mouth to stifle the laughter that was exploding her chest.

  “I can’t believe you. Your sense of humor is out of this world.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And that’s right where I’m going, too.”

  “Phyllis, don’t say that.”

  “Should I say, ‘Have a nice day?’ perhaps?”

  Martel shook her head at the nurse. No doubt they’d been seeing a lot of this behavior.

  “Only one way to go, and that’s fighting. It makes no sense to me to spend your last moments on earth being miserable, crying your eyes out. Besides, these people don’t even know me. They see it every day.”

  Martel recalled the sight of the hearse driving around the backside of the hospital.

  “Well, now that I’m here, what can I get you?”

  “How about a young man, like your SEAL friend? I never got one of those. I didn’t even know they existed, or else Kaitlyn might not have had the father she did have for all those years!”

  Martel was laughing so hard she couldn’t see out of the visor. Tiny teardrops obscured what her own eyes didn’t.

  “Maybe I could find you a retired admiral, Phyllis,” she finally managed to get out.

  “An admiral! Now wouldn’t that raise eyebrows at the Club? Find me a bald one, and we could cross-dress.”

  “Now I know why Kaitlyn is so normal. You did a good job, Phyllis. She was lucky to have you. I can only imagine what growing up in your household would be like.”

  Phyllis swished in the air. “It was easy. She was a good kid.”

  “You were happy,” Martel said through her tears.

  Martel sighed. She was watching someone leave this earth she would have really liked to get to know. It was so unfair. She rubbed her fingers over the older woman’s and then patted her hand.

  Phyllis gripped her hand tightly, attempting to lean forward again, and whispered, “Go find your daughter. Tell her yourself what you did for her. She deserves to hear it from you.”

  Chapter 11

  The base at Coronado was a beehive of activity. Renny and Damon arrived just in time to grab their pre-packed duffle bag, stored in the Team 3 building, jump on the transport plane, and takeoff not more than a half an hour after they landed.

  “Shit, Renny. Looks like I’m destined to never be able to keep my word.”

  “She’s gonna understand, Damon. You call her as soon as we hit the island.”

  Everything about the operation was ass-backwards. There was no preflight meeting. There was no explanation of duties. It was just hurry up and get your butt on the plane and the rest would be explained later.

  Damon and Renny pointed out to each other the lack of newbies on this trip. There were only going to be fourteen this time, and most of them had been in for ten years or more. Not only that, nobody was injured or recently injured during the past twelve months.

  Kyle was going to meet them over at Cape Verde. He was already there working out some evacuation plans with one of the carrier groups in the area. At least, that’s what their state department liaison told them.

  The rest of the story Damon suspected was just being made up. Nobody really knew what was going on.

  They stopped over for a refuel in Maine before taking the final leg across the Atlantic to Cape Verde. A ship was going to bring them closer to the African coast, if that was required, and Damon suspected it would be a halo jump in the pitch black of night or a landing with their inflatables. Either way, it would involve a night landing… on the dark continent of Africa. He’d looked over some of the information about Cape Verde, sure that he had traveled here in the past. He discovered he’d been to one of the other islands.

  Landing at the short strip was a harrowing experience. The local contractor brought in the big transport like he was piloting a dust cropper, except the behemoth didn’t maneuver anything like a glider or smaller twin engine. They started their approach by clipping a palm tree, toppling it on top of a water truck that immediately exploded, and sending water everywhere. He hoped that wasn’t their drinking supply.

  Crossing his fingers, Damon heard the squeal and saw the white smoke of the tires skidding nearly the whole distance of the strip. They almost took out an old naval barracks. The transport literally was within two feet of kissing the concrete bunker.

  Damon was grateful they had any landing gear left.

  After a quick tire change, the big green transport took off again, abandoning them on the dusty hot tarmac. There was no one else in sight.

  Damon had read this was the airfield European and US Forces had used to support operations in Morocco and elsewhere, sometimes dropping off humanitarian aid or equipment when hotspots flared. More than one African leader, having lost a recent election, found this to be a point of no return, as he was jetting off to Paris, or London, or the Caribbean, never to be heard from again.

  Other than a few rusted planes and piles of parts, nothing looked like it was fly-worthy. Certainly no sign of jet fuel. It was the perfect place to drop the Team and would not attract attention. In fact, this was the part of the island nobody wanted to live on. Rainfall was practically nonexistent. The population liked to live somewhere green or closer to the industrialized port city of Mindelo, where they were told all the jobs were.

  A convoy of black suburbans scampered across the tarmac like spiders on parade. Of course, their LPO, Kyle Lansdowne, was driving the first vehicle. He hopped out, sweat having soaked under his arms and nearly reaching his waist. He barely greeted them, pointing to the other vehicles. The elite squad loaded their gear and crossed in the opposite direction from where they’d arrived, through a chain-link fence that had been partially torn down.

  The road was nonexistent. For a time, they traveled down the gully of a winter stream, passing a dead cow on its parched banks. The cow’s belly was bloated, and its legs reached for the sky. There were small houses nearby, put together with corrugated metal and rusty wire, but the area now appeared abandoned.

  They turned around a former school, covered with graffiti Damon couldn’t recognize. Parts of an old chapel still stood in the center of the complex, indicating perhaps it had been a mission school at one time. Its walls were blown up in places all the way to the foundation plates. Rubble littered the former schoolyard, making passage difficult and slow. Several large rocks bounced up and hit their undercarriage.

  Kyle didn’t take the time to stop and check for damage.

  They started to climb, doing switchbacks up the steep terrain, and as they did so had a view of the harbor, filled with commercial fishing boats, small dinghies, and three or four military-style former gunboats. None of it looked familiar.

  After another ten minutes, they had traveled halfway up the hillside to the Blue Marlin Hotel, a huge white square structure that reminded Damon of a concrete factory. Balconies had been attached to the outside of the building. Holes had been blasted in the walls, to accommodate windows. Around the edges, local craftsmen had wedged small rocks, cementing them to hold everything together.

  The Blue Marlin was a poster child for building a huge eyesore out of completely recycled material. It had no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

  As if reading his mind, Kyle turned off the engine and spoke for the first time. “Have no fear. It has a pool”

  Inside, the lobby was cool. Deep royal blue neon light strips encircled the downstairs, also defining the front of a huge bar made out of black granite. Above the lighted glass shelves containing hundreds of bottles of liquor, hung a large mirror, the edges of which were painted in Parisian Metro-style letters, complete with colorful pre-Victorian pictures of well-endowed ladies in various
degrees of undress.

  The concrete floor had been polished to perfection. It looked like they were standing on a black glass lake.

  Somebody whistled as the team huddled in the center of the room. Damon looked up to find railings and balconies installed on the inside as well, a series of metal cat walks crisscrossing back-and-forth between the floors. He guessed it had been some kind of factory converted to hotel or night club use. He also suspected it had something to do with the drug trade.

  “Sit down and take a load off, gents.” Kyle barked.

  They dropped their bags at their feet. Some men sat on them. Damon and Renny stretched out on the deliciously cool floor.

  “We don’t have to worry about our footprint here, since anybody who has the technology to pick up a signal would be off the coast. That would be military or pirates. And, in this part of the world, we’re talking the same thing, unless they are U.S. assets. We had a drug and human trafficking operation here that we have just discovered, and it’s staggering how much money flows through this little shit hole.”

  He continued. “What you see here is an old brothel converted from a UNESCO water treatment plant facility.”

  Kyle paused to let that sink in.

  A water treatment facility on the side of a hill?

  “You will notice the one thing missing here, of course, is water. But the World Bank gave them a few billion, so this is what they got for their investment in the country’s economic development.”

  “Some of you have been to the Canaries and you’ve been to Cape Verde before, perhaps. In case you didn’t know it, they speak Portuguese and a kind of creole pigeon-English-Portuguese dialect, and when they don’t wanna listen to you, they’ll make it real obvious. Don’t worry about it. You won’t understand a word if they don’t want you to.”

  The group chuckled. Damon always liked how colorful Kyle could be when he was describing a new location.

  “And don’t let this place fool you. It’s the site of a lot of pain and misery, not to mention bloodshed. Most of the people who died here were young girls. This is going to shock you because it sure fucking shocked me when I heard it. Last year, before they shut this place down, it was estimated they were trafficking more than four thousand girls annually.”