Six

by Charles W. Sasser

  Caulder offered no resistance. He hung limp in the vice of Bear’s massive grip. A vein in his temple throbbed; his face turned purple.

  Buddha attempted to force himself between the two men. “Whoa! Whoa! Bear, let him go,” he recited in a soothing tone. “Let him go, Bear. Let him down. Hey, hey. Look at me, Bear. Look at me.”

  Graves blinked. His eyes focused again and he looked around.

  Ortiz continued in the same calming tone. “It’s not his fault, Bear. It’s not anyone’s fault. It just is.”

  Bear seemed to shake himself inside. He released Caulder and his arms dropped to his sides. Caulder kept a wary eye on the larger man as he began coughing to catch his breath.

  “We’re gonna fix it, Bear,” Buddha crooned, like talking a child down from a tantrum. “That’s what we do. We’re gonna bring him home.”

  Graves stalked out without a word and disappeared in the direction of the team room. Puzzled, Chase turned to Buckley.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  Chase had heard talk, but never the full story. Only that something had transpired one night in Kunar Province among Taggart, Bear, and Caulder. AARs—After Action Reports—said what happened—and that was the way it was going to be, officially.

  Buck suspected Ortiz might know what really occurred, that there had been some kind of cover-up. But Buddha wasn’t talking either.

  “We don’t get to know, do we, Buddha?” Buckley probed.

  “Get to know what?”

  “What really happened in Afghanistan. Why Rip got out so fast afterward.”

  Caulder massaged his throat. “Rip got out because he had personal problems,” he croaked through his bruised larynx. “His wife left him and cleaned out his bank account.”

  Buddha moved in on Buck, his demeanor brokering no compromise. “You got it? That’s what happened. That clear enough?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Virginia Beach

  The Annual Virginia Beach 15K was coming up in three weeks. Lena Graves was training for it. Breathing deep and regular, she completed her daily run, jogging the last hundred yards past almost-identical rows of houses that lined the wide street in Cedar Crest, the off-base subdivision where a number of married SEALs and other navy personnel lived. She whipped a kerchief from a loop of her running shorts and wiped perspiration from her brow as she approached the cul-de-sac where her husband’s pickup sat parked in the drive. She saw him with a hose watering a flowerbed of petunias and marigolds that extended along the front of the porch.

  His mind wandered through a thousand-yard stare that looked right across Lena. She was a woman hard to overlook too, what with her trim athletic figure, sun-browned limbs, and wisps of blondish hair escaping from around the edges of her Giants baseball cap. She paused on the lawn and watched him a moment, concern stamping a crinkle between her eyes.

  Water running from the neglected hose in Bear’s fist overflowed the flowerbed and pooled around his boots. Lena gently removed the hose from his hand and cut off the flow.

  “It’s about Rip, isn’t it?”

  Graves focused. After a moment, he nodded.

  “Jackie told me. You’ll be leaving soon?”

  “Looks like it. Don’t know when.”

  She rested a palm on his cheek. “Go inside and clean up. We’ll eat in half an hour.”

  Still distracted, his mind on Rip, he washed up and returned to the living room. He had really screwed the pooch in his unfortunate confrontation earlier with Alex Caulder. Taggart as team leader would never have lost his cool like that, not with a teammate.

  Lena was a neat, well-organized person whose living room displayed it. Everything had its place. He found the TV remote where it was supposed to be and powered up the TV. His eyes lingered a moment on the family photo next to the TV—Papa, Mama, and Baby Sarah made three—before Fox News Channel caught his attention with footage about the American hostages seized in Nigeria. It identified the three by name: Terry McAlwain; Nick Rogers; Richard Taggart. So far, Rip wasn’t being exposed as a former SEAL.

  Lena had prepared a roast for dinner with potatoes, onions, carrots, and gravy. It was his favorite meal, but he barely noticed as Lena and he settled together at the dining room table. He couldn’t let it go from his mind about Rip, although it was the last subject he wanted to discuss with his wife.

  “What were your splits?” he asked Lena to make conversation.

  “Seven-minute miles.”

  “Not bad.”

  She sounded unsure. “I’m just not feeling ready for this race.”

  “You’re gonna be great,” Graves encouraged her. “You’re good at everything you do.”

  Lena brightened with a thought. Only half-teasing, she said, “Why don’t you run it with me? I’d like seeing you in spandex.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  Lena took his hand while he said grace, his shortened version: “Bless this food to our use, and us to Thy service. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

  Lena lifted her head. “You know what I’m praying for?” she asked.

  Uh-oh. He saw in her eyes what was coming. They had been through this territory before. But, Lord, not again, not tonight. Graves attempted to head her off.

  “That bathroom door is sticking. I could re-hang it.”

  “Forget fixing the door. It’s been almost a year, Joe.”

  It seemed like it was always like this. He felt the lingering sadness in the room from their loss.

  “Those triathlons, working on my masters—Joe, it’s not enough.”

  She inhaled sadly and pushed on. “Remember how many kids you told me you wanted? Four, Joe. Four. Now, I’ll settle for one. I need a baby. So do you.”

  Graves was no longer hungry. He stared at his plate. She refused to be sidetracked, seemed determined to settle this before he deployed again.

  “And with how long it took us before …” she reminded him. She brightened, her mind made up. “Joe, I’m making an appointment—with a specialist.”

  “Those doctors,” he protested. “We can’t afford it.”

  She clasped his hand. “It’s not about the money.”

  “It will be,” he countered.

  They had had a baby girl. They lost her. He wouldn’t chance it again.

  “Joe, we have to move on. Sarah would want that for us. For you.”

  He turned his head away to hide his emotions. A lot of big, strong men of his caliber confronted danger face-on, shot it out with bad guys, parachuted behind enemy lines, swam with sharks … But they became sniveling cowards when it came to matters of the heart.

  “Look,” Lena suggested. “Go out to your workshop. Get out those plans for the crib you built for Sarah. It’s time to build a new one. Your hands, they’ll know. They’ll know it’s the right thing.”

  Her mind was made up.

  “And that appointment? I’m going to be there. It’d be nice if you were there too.”

  After dinner, a tense affair during which Bear picked at his food, he thought to placate her by at least making an effort in his garage woodshop. Besides, he wanted to be alone. He stared at plans he had designed in building Sarah’s crib back when Lena and he were so excited they couldn’t stop talking about their dreams for the expected new arrival. Those dreams had died with Sarah.

  He took a breath, put on his goggles, selected a length of walnut, placed it in his table lathe, and filled the garage with its grinding whir.

  He completed his second crib leg and was aiming down the length of it, checking for flaws, when Alex Caulder entered. He wore faded jeans, his Berkies, and a contrite expression.

  “Lena said you were out here,” he explained, then hesitated as though he wasn’t sure how he would be received.

  Graves said nothing. Caulder looked more uncomfortable than ever. Needing something to do with his hands, he picked up a wood chisel and tested its edge with his thumb. With it, he indicated the length of wood on Bear’s workt
able.

  “What’re you working on?”

  Graves concealed plans for the crib by turning the page facedown. “Separation gift for Buddha’s leaving,” he said.

  “That’s funny. Lena said you were going to start a new crib. That sounds like a good idea. You need to talk to her more. She—”

  Graves cut him off. “What’s on your mind?”

  Caulder stiffened and braced his arms on the edge of the table. He leaned toward Graves. “Look, Bear. I’m as mad about Rip as you are. So I’m not taking your shit personal.”

  “You should.”

  Caulder seemed miraculously to transform from the team’s unruly Bohemian brother with his Dennis the Menace cowlick to team sage. “Rip crossed the line,” he said. “He lost his self-control.”

  Graves dug in. He didn’t need Caulder’s bullshit tonight. “The only line I care about is the one between good and evil. And Rip was on the side of good.”

  Caulder shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve seen all you’ve seen and you still think things are that simple?”

  Bear refused to budge. “You betrayed your team chief. You might as well have gut-shot him.”

  Caulder was just as intransigent. He met Bear’s hard gaze with one of his own. “I didn’t tell Rip anything he didn’t know himself. That’s why he left.”

  He paused.

  “And, Bear, if you ever lose it like he did, I’ll do the same to you.”

  “That’s where we’re different.”

  “That’s just one way.”

  He paused to let that soak in before he changed tack. “Bear, if Rip’s still alive, we’ll get him,” he said gently. “We got to work together, Bear, so we will. You got my back, I got yours. But …”

  He ran his thumb over the sharp edge of the wood chisel. “But you ever come at me again, you better finish the job.”

  Both men bristled, the confrontation escalating, becoming more dangerous. They faced off, Caulder with his chisel, Bear with the length of walnut. Things were going bad fast.

  Then, Caulder grinned unexpectedly and defused the crisis. “Want to go get a beer?”

  Graves refused to be appeased. He returned to work. “Can’t right now. I got to work on this.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Virginia Beach

  SEAL teams had a penchant for sticking together, even off-duty. Ricky Ortiz, restless, paced his living room floor at Cedar Crest. His house in the subdivision was within walking distance of the Graves’s. He dialed a number on his cell phone while he idly flipped through news channels searching for anything new on Rip.

  “It’s Buddha,” he said into the phone. “Any updates?”

  Caulder had none.

  “Yeah, I’m sitting tight,” Buddha said. “That’s all I’m doing.”

  Jackie entered the room with a baseball bat balanced on her shoulder. Ricky Jr. lagged along behind wearing a Little League uniform patterned after the Cardinals. It was game night.

  “Ricky, why are you still here?”

  Huh? Had he forgotten something?

  “You want to be part of things, right?” she scolded. “So? Anabel? Her dance class? You said you’d pick her up.”

  She clapped her hands sharply. “Move! Move! Move! You’re going to be late.”

  Was this what he could expect after he turned in his papers?

  He arrived at the New Stars Ballet School just as the class was about to wrap it up. Proud upscale moms dressed appropriately for their status filled the studio. Ortiz looked around; he was the only male present, probably the only male within ten miles of the place. A SEAL at the ballet! He felt about like a chicken at KFC.

  Pretty little students in tights, short ballet skirts, and those funny stub-nosed shoes pranced around the stage. Ricky spotted Anabel. His heart filled with pride and his entire attitude changed. His daughter was the absolute picture of grace and beauty—just like her mother. She spread her arms in an elegant curtsy to close the set. Moms burst into enthusiastic applause as they rushed forward to claim their daughters.

  “Perdoname … Perdoname … Perdoname …” Ricky murmured as he made his way to the front through all that giggling feminine flesh. He hugged his daughter, feeling more than a bit self-conscious in such an environment. He beamed at her nonetheless.

  “That was amazing,” he enthused. “Anabel, you’ve gotten so confident.”

  Anabel handed him her change-of-clothing bag. “You didn’t even see me. Where’s Mom?”

  “I thought I’d pick you up. Want to get some ice cream?”

  She gave him a reproving look. Where had he been all this time? “I’m lactose intolerant,” she reminded him. “I have been for a while.”

  “You’re what?”

  She saw his startled expression and softened. “It’s all right, Daddy. Come on. We’ll get sorbet.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Virginia Beach

  Life had to go on as normally as possible while the team waited on recall. Twenty-four hours after the Command briefing on Rip Taggart’s abduction in Africa, Ricky Ortiz prepared for his 0900 meeting with GSS, Global Structure Security. The outcome of the interview determined his future—and the future of his family. Jackie seemed confident that he already had the position; GSS could never find anyone more qualified to head its department of security services.

  Ricky was nervous nonetheless; the last time he was in this position was when he applied for SEAL Six. He couldn’t decide if he was on edge because he might not get the job—or because he would get it.

  Still in her long nightie, Anabel planted herself cross-legged in the middle of her parents’ bed while she texted a girlfriend and tried not to laugh at her mother attempting to button her dad’s shirt collar. Not often did a SEAL—soon to be former SEAL—dress up for an occasion. The last time Ricky put on the dog was for Anabel’s quinceñeara. He gagged and gurgled, comically pretending Jackie was choking him. She finally gave up and pulled up the knot of his tie.

  “Leave it unbuttoned,” she directed. “The tie covers it.”

  Anabel giggled. “Too much Taco Bell.”

  Rick pointed a finger. “We’ll see how much you laugh when I pawn your iPhone to pay your tuition.”

  The doorbell rang, startling Anabel so that she jumped.

  “I’ll get it,” R.J. called out from the living room where he was watching cartoons.

  Ortiz drew on his suit jacket and found it snug underneath the arms. Anabel giggled again. He ignored her and started to button his jacket until he caught Jackie about to laugh too. He decided to leave the coat open.

  “Now, remember to ask about the tuition plan,” Jackie reminded him. “Does it cover both Anabel and Ricky Junior?”

  “You told me already five times.”

  She corrected him. “No. At least six.”

  She patted him on the head, as she might have done R.J. At that moment, Bear Graves lumbered into the bedroom with wiry little R.J. He smiled a greeting at Jackie. Her face tightened. She knew this man too well. He didn’t give up easily.

  “This a bad time?” Graves asked, sensing the tension.

  Jackie gave her husband that look. “Is it, Ricky? A bad time?”

  She was determined that nothing stand between the family and Ricky’s accepting the new job at GSS. It meant a normal life with dinner on time, Daddy’s being available for Junior’s Little League games, and, most of all, no more long absences while her husband went chasing terrorists and leaving the children to grow up without their father. That was no way for a family to live, never knowing when Daddy left if he would return alive or not.

  Ortiz eyed Bear; he knew why he was here. He looked back at his wife, torn between the two.

  “This’ll just take a moment,” Graves apologized to Jackie.

  Ricky chanced another long look at Jackie. It’ll be all right. He led Bear out onto the privacy of the back deck where morning sunlight speckled them through the branches of the great live oak.


  “That necklace I made for Anabel, she like it?” Bear began awkwardly, hesitating to get to the point that brought him here, even though Buddha surely already knew.

  “Won’t take it off,” Buddha said just as awkwardly. “I picked her up from dance class—” His voice trailed off, leaving an opening.

  Bear wedged into it. “Hey, I gotta ask you. You sign your separation papers yet?”

  “I was about to …”

  Bear looked him over. Buddha was all decked out in a suit and tie—and it wasn’t for another day at the Kill House. Graves determined he might as well go for it.

  “Buddha, we can’t get Rip if you’re not there with us. The new guy Chase, he’s not ready. And, uh …” He forced a laugh. “And I don’t know if I can stand Caulder’s bullshit without you.”

  Ortiz took a long minute responding. Inside, Jackie watched them through the deck windows, sober-faced and afraid of the choice her husband might be compelled to make. It was either her and the family, or the brotherhood. Ricky always said she was the better part of him. The next few minutes determined if that was so or not.

  “Bear, I don’t have a choice,” Ortiz said. “The deposit for Anabel’s school is due next month. I’ve got to take this job.”

  “Look, I know this is a tough call for you,” Bear conceded. “But one more time. That’s all I’m asking. One more time.”

  Ricky looked at Jackie watching through the window. He couldn’t turn down Bear, but Jackie was his wife, for God’s sake. Bear nodded, as though to himself. He turned and walked off the deck and around the side of the house to his truck.

  Ricky Ortiz took a deep, bolstering breath and made sure his tie knot covered his unbuttoned shirt collar before he entered the interview room at GSS. A man of about fifty sat behind a mahogany desk. He was dressed in a gray suit and a gray tie with gray hair and a gray indoor face. Ortiz shuddered involuntarily. Was this him in fifteen years or so?

  The gray man flapped a hand toward a chair arranged directly in front of his desk, in the prisoner interrogation position. A flat-screen TV turned low droned on from a mount on the wall to one side. The interviewer wasted no time in getting down to business.