SEAL Camp

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Something had to change.

  She had to change.

  On impulse, she texted Colleen. Is that trained-by-a-Navy-SEAL class thing you were telling me about still open?

  Colleen’s husband was a man-mountain of a Navy SEAL chief named Bobby Taylor, and he’d told Colleen—who’d told Ash—about a week-long class at a place called SEAL World, run by a former SEAL chief named Duncan Something. Or maybe it was Something Duncan…? Anyway, his class combined Outward-Bound type activities with exercises designed to boost self-confidence. Participants—mostly corporate types—apparently gained self-respect and self-esteem through the physical challenges.

  Colleen didn’t text back—she called. “I’m looking it up right now,” she said, without any greeting. She’d been wanting Ashley to take this course ever since she’d first found out about it, years ago. “And yes, Dunk’s website says—whoa! He’s had a cancellation. He’s usually completely sold out, but there’re still a few slots open for a class that starts… oh, this Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Ash echoed. It was already Thursday. “Crap, that’s too soon.”

  “No, it’s not,” Colleen said. “It’s actually perfect. It gives us just enough time to get together, so you can fill me in on your cases—so I can handle anything that comes up while you’re away.” She raised her voice, calling to their boss, who always worked with her office door open. “Jess, you okay with Ashley taking off for a week, to take that Navy SEAL class thing I was telling you about? I’ll cover for her.”

  Ashley could hear Jess calling back, “Yes, absolutely!”

  “I’ll come over tonight,” Colleen told Ashley. “You’ll have time tomorrow to shop for any gear that you might need—but not enough time to second guess yourself and get scared.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I’m already terrified,” Ashley said. “I don’t know, Col. I had this flash of Maybe I need to do something, but now…”

  “Why are you whispering?” Colleen asked.

  “Um…”

  “Are you hiding in some bathroom again?” Her friend’s voice was not unkind. “Look around you. Take a moment and take a deep breath. Is this really where you want to be? I believe, completely, that you are so much stronger than you think. And I think this class is exactly what you need so that you can start believing that, too.”

  Ashley looked around, but didn’t dare take a deep breath. Colleen was right. She had to do this. And she was ready. Or at least as ready as she’d ever be. “Can you do me a huge favor?” she asked her friend. “And sign me up…? Right now…? On the website…? Use your credit card—I’ll pay you back.”

  “We’re past the date where you can cancel and get a refund,” Colleen warned her.

  “I know,” Ash said. She’d surfed the SEAL World website many times, wishing she were brave enough to take the plunge. “Do it. Now. Quickly, please, before I chicken out!”

  * * *

  Jim sat in his truck.

  He knew he had to turn the key, start the engine, drive out of the Navy base. He had to pick up something for dinner at the grocery store. He had to go home, ice his knees, cook his dinner, ice his knees, eat, and again ice his knees. Twenty minutes at a time.

  He had to rest.

  That was the doctor’s order—and it was a literal order because the doc was a captain, and outranked Jim. Get a coupla weeks of rest while the medical team reviews these latest MRIs and scans. At that point, we’ll take another look, and talk about your options.

  When the captain said that, he’d seen Jim’s face, and had both sighed and chuckled. Based in Coronado, the man saw a lot of injured SEALs, and he knew that, to them, rest was the nastiest of all of the four-letter words.

  It had been four years since Jim had taken any leave that wasn’t connected to rehabbing his injured knees—it was all right there in his record.

  So as the doc signed the necessary papers, he’d clarified. Take a real vacation. No running, no basketball, no jumping out of airplanes. Exercise in moderation, preferably in a swimming pool, with a daiquiri in your hand. Walking is okay—in moderation—to get from your room to the hotel lounge. Feet up when you can, and plenty of ice. Make use of the time off, Lieutenant. Visit family or friends.

  In other words, get the hell not just out of his office and off the base, but out of California, too.

  Jim knew not to push and ask exactly what options the doc thought the medical team might come up with. Best case would be more surgery, while the nightmare scenario would be horrific. Desk job A or desk job B. Oh, hey, maybe he could teach. Be a BUD/S classroom instructor. That would be fun…

  A tap on his window made him jump. Great, he was already losing his edge.

  But it was Thomas King, the young lieutenant who’d taken command during the training op. His buddies Dave and Rio were with him, but they were standing back a bit.

  “We’re heading over to the bar, sir,” King said as Jim put his window down. “You up for a burger and a beer?” He smiled. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it transformed his usually stern visage and made him look more like the twenty-something kid that he was. “Rio’s buying.”

  As one of the many men of color in the SEAL Teams—and King’s skin tone was a very dark brown, which meant that to certain parts of white-bread America he was the quintessential image of a “big, scary” black man—Thomas King had earned his right to become both a SEAL and an officer. And yet he still got mistaken for an enlisted man, particularly when he was dressed in BDUs, thanks to ingrained assumptions and willful ignorance. On top of that insulting goatfuckery, Lieutenant King could return Stateside from a dangerous mission and get his ass shot and killed simply from walking down the street, or standing in his backyard, or shopping in a department store.

  So maybe it made sense that Thomas King was the only man who had the big enough balls to invite him to go out with them, particularly since Jim had been sitting here glowering at the world.

  Still, he knew that King and the other tadpoles didn’t really want his company. And he didn’t want theirs. He was at the end of his career, and they were right at the beginning—with all that hope and promise and excitement in front of them. “Thanks, but no,” Jim said. “I’m heading home.”

  King turned away, but then turned back. “You know Senior Chief Duncan, right, sir? Randy Duncan…? Dunk? Left the Teams about two years ago?”

  Of course Jim knew Dunk. Everyone knew Dunk—a salty old senior chief, who’d been with Team Two since forever. He was one of those lean, wiry guys who ran marathons for fun. Dunk had lost a leg in Afghanistan while literally saving a busload of nuns and orphans, and had since learned to walk and run with a prosthetic. He’d even had the chance to stay with the Teams, but chose instead to leave. Last Jim had heard, Dunk had hiked out to Machu Picchu with a long-time civilian friend.

  “Message received, Lieutenant,” Jim said. Unlike Dunk, he still had both legs, both firmly attached. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself.

  But King looked surprised and then dismayed. “Oh, no, sir,” he quickly said. “I haven’t gotten to the message, which is that Dunk started a boot camp for, well, corporate types who want a challenge.”

  “Yeah, I’d heard he was doing that,” Jim said.

  “Every session’s filled,” King told him, “Even if someone drops out, there’s always someone else ready to take their spot. He’s got a week-long class that starts on Saturday, and one of his regular instructors—Deak Lundlee, you know, Crocodile Lundlee…?”

  “I’m well acquainted with Croc,” Jim said.

  “Well, Croc’s gotta drop out because Sheila, his wife, got the flu and… Anyway, Dunk called me, to see if maybe I could talk Dave or maybe even Mike Lee into coming with Rio and me, to replace Croc, but…” He shook his head. “Mike’s out of the country and Dave can’t break free. But then I thought of you.”

  “Train a group of SEAL wannabes,” Jim said dryly. “Oh, joy.”

  “The money’s insane
,” King told him bluntly. “And it’s not awful. Like I said, it’s only a week and… well, it’s not exactly fun. But it’s fun-ish.”

  Jim looked at him. “Quite the ringing endorsement.”

  “Dunk’s great,” King said with a shrug. “And Lieutenant O’Donlon’s an instructor this session, too. Syd, his wife, is going on some kind of writing retreat, so…”

  Luke O’Donlon—known by his nickname Lucky—tended to be a walking party.

  “Why on earth do you spend your downtime teaching at Dunk’s camp?” Jim had to ask.

  King glanced over his shoulder to where Rio and Dave were both checking their phones for email and texts. He lowered his voice. “To be honest, sir, I’ve been avoiding this… well, girl. She’s way too young, so… it helps if I make myself scarce whenever I can.”

  That made sense.

  “Dunk’s camp is just outside of Sarasota, in Florida. West Coast—Gulf of Mexico. Can’t beat the location. This time of year, the weather’s perfect.”

  This time of year, the weather was pretty damn perfect in San Diego, too.

  “I’m just saying that you could get rest and make some cash,” King continued. “Dunk’s still got the scooters he used when he first got out of the hospital, and he still gets around in a golf cart—I know he’s got more than one. Plus, he’s a great guy and you’d be helping him out. He told me he’s gonna have to cancel the session if he can’t replace Crocodile. So I’m begging you, too—I have the next few weeks free, and I cannot stay here in town.”

  Jim sighed. “My grumpy ass presence is gonna cancel out O’Donlon’s blinding golden glee. You know that right?”

  King smiled. “Believe me, I’m plenty good with fun-ish. I need distance—and the cash isn’t gonna hurt. Is it okay with you if I text Dunk with your number?”

  “He’s already got it,” Jim said. He knew Dunk well. “But yeah. Have him call me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” King said as he backed away, fast. “You won’t regret this.”

  “I already do,” Jim grumbled, but Thomas King and his buddies were already gone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ashley’s brother Clark was standing near the baggage claim at the Sarasota airport.

  No, strike that. It was Ashley’s brother Clark and his friend Kenneth. They were both in Sarasota.

  Today, Clark’s hair was Spike-from-Buffy-the-Vampire-Slayer white. Complete with dark roots. Since his blue-hair phase, he’d gone purple, then green—that didn’t last because it completely didn’t work with his pale skin tone and gray eyes—and even Little Orphan Annie red. Without the curls, thank goodness.

  And despite Clark’s dyed-haired rebellion against their too-strict, too-conservative father, he was here. To… what? Ashley wasn’t sure.

  “If you’ve come to talk me out of this,” she started as she approached him.

  But Clark’s surprise at seeing her was genuine. Surprise that turned to immediate dismay. “Ah, fuh—”

  She stopped him. “Let me guess. Dad signed you and Kenneth up for a cool week-long program at a camp just south of Sarasota, run by a former Navy SEAL. Without telling you that his real intention was for you to babysit me while I took the same course. God, I knew I shouldn’t’ve mentioned it to him…” She looked at Kenneth. “Hey, Kenneth.”

  “Nice to see you, Ashley.” Kenneth, tall and pale and skinny, with reddish hair and brown eyes hidden behind the slightly smudged lenses of stylishly black-framed glasses, hailed from the UK and was terminally polite.

  “No, it’s not,” Ash said. “Neither you, nor Clark, nor I think that this is even remotely nice.”

  “Yes, of course that’s true,” Kenneth agreed. “But… You are looking… lovely.”

  “She looks like crap,” her brother countered. “You sleeping?”

  “Not much, not lately,” Ashley informed him crisply. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into just… not showing up? For the camp thing? Maybe go somewhere else for spring break…?”

  But she could see in Clark’s eyes that he actually wanted to do it. It made sense. They both needed help in the backbone-growing department.

  “Never mind. It’s okay,” she continued. “Just promise you won’t actually report back to Dad.”

  “Look at it this way,” Kenneth spoke up, attempting to bright-side things. “In order to keep tabs on you, he might’ve hired some total stranger, and you would never have known…” His voice trailed off as he realized that Ashley and Clark’s father had done exactly that in the past. Her ex, Brad, had been an employee of their father’s—promised a partnership in the firm if he could convince Ashley to marry him.

  “Sorry,” Kenneth muttered, because, yes, that was still humiliating on every level.

  “This was supposed to be my birthday present,” Clark told Ashley. “I mean, I thought it was. I mean, I know I shouldn’t’ve, because… Dad, right? Nothing comes for free.”

  “You know what?” Ashley interrupted him, looking from Clark to Kenneth and back. “This is going to be fun. We are going to have fun. Fuck Dad.”

  “Dude!” Clark laughed his surprise. Ashley did not drop F-bombs often.

  “You’ll report back to him,” Ash continued as the luggage carousel lurched to life, “and by you, I mean, I’ll borrow your phone, and text him for you. I can’t wait until he finds out about my torrid affair with Kenneth.”

  Clark laughed as Kenneth choked. “What?”

  “I know you’re young,” Ashley said, “but it was meant to be.” As Kenneth continued to cough, she patted him on the back as she laughed. “Relax, I’m just kidding, you’re practically my brother. Although you have to admit, Dad would be appalled.”

  * * *

  The hot blonde traveling with her own private two-man boy band laughed, and again caught Jim’s eye.

  She was pretty, if you were into angels or fairy princesses—with her blond hair cut strikingly short, her pale blue eyes, and her porcelain doll complexion. She was dressed down in jeans and a blue T-shirt, running shoes on her feet—but her clothes looked new and slightly uncomfortable.

  As Jim watched, her teenaged companions wrestled a giant purple suitcase off of Sarasota Airport’s baggage claim conveyor belt, along with a smaller red-plaid one. The fairy princess already had a wheeled carry-on bag, so the two boys manhandled her larger ones as she pointed toward the restrooms and they all moved off in that direction.

  It was then that Dunk came in from the sliding doors that led to the parking lot. The former SEAL chief was looking healthy and relaxed—his salt-and-pepper hair was longer than he’d ever worn it in the Teams, curling around his ears. His face was tanned and he kept his wraparound shades on. He wore a SEAL Team Two T-shirt over cargo shorts—one leg sinewy with a flip-flop on his foot, the other carbon fiber with a running blade at the end.

  He spotted Jim and grinned as he shouted across the terminal. “Yo, asshole, how ya doing?”

  Jim laughed as he went to shake the man’s hand. “Asshole? That’s nice, considering I’m here to save you.”

  “I know, and thank you.” Dunk pulled him in for a hug disguised as a chest bump. “I’m just celebrating my freedom as a civilian. I’ve said sir enough for a lifetime, so I’m playing with all possible alternatives.”

  Jim laughed again. “You look good.”

  “You, my friend, look like shit on a stick. Knees hurting bad, huh?”

  “I’ll live.”

  Dunk got serious. “That doesn’t cut it, man. You can’t just live with the hand you’re dealt, you gotta live well.” But then he grinned again. “You know, leaving the Teams doesn’t have to mean that your best days are over. That’s just a myth.”

  Jim felt his hackles rise. “Yeah, well, I’m not ready to leave the Teams yet. This is just a break while the doctors figure out which operation will fix my shit for good.”

  Dunk gave him a measured look. “We all leave, eventually. One way or another. I’m just saying it doesn’t have to suck. I
finally did some of that traveling I’d always wanted to do. Paris, Berlin, London—you know, with time to look around and visit an art museum or two. Iceland rocked. Fjords of Norway—via cruise ship while I was still in the chair, and then again, camping. Saw the midnight sun and then the Northern Lights. Oh, and fuhhhking Easter Island! That was crazy.”

  Jim nodded. “And Machu Picchu. I saw the pics you posted on the Team message board.”

  “Like I said, I’m living well. I know you can’t quite let yourself believe it, but it’s been pretty great. And the camp’s been fun. And lucrative. Everyone and their little brother wants to pretend to be a SEAL. Glad young Thomas talked you into joining our merry band.”

  “Yeah,” Jim said. “I’m not sure I’m glad yet. I’ll let you know. Oh, message from O’Donlon. He’s on the same flight as Thomas and Rio—into Tampa, arriving tonight. He’s going to rent a car, so no need to pick them up.”

  “Thanks,” Dunk said. “That’s good to know. I’m going to text him, see if he can’t also shuttle a pair of campers who are prolly coming in on that same flight. And speaking of campers, I’m picking up the first arrivals right now. Three of ’em…”

  Jim realized that Dunk had been holding a clipboard beneath one arm. It had a sign taped on the back saying SEAL World. Dunk now held it up in front of him, and Jim stepped back a bit so as not to block it.

  It would be interesting to see the kind of guys who would sign up for this type of boot camp session and…

  Holy shit, the princess and her boy band had come out of the bathrooms, pointed straight at Dunk, and were now heading directly toward them.

  Jim turned and looked behind them, but no, there was no car rental counter back there—just the terminal wall. They were definitely heading for Dunk and his sign.

  The princess faltered slightly as she met Jim’s disbelieving eyes. Her own were wide and such a light shade of blue that they were practically crystal gray. She was almost ridiculously, strikingly beautiful—but if she’d appeared in a line-up of potential SEAL World campers, she’d be the dead-last person Jim would pick as someone willing to spend money on anything other than a trip to the mall. With the boy-band coming in just above her.