The Seal’s Baby

by Rogenna Brewer

  “Oh, Hannah, the things you say. I’m pretty sure I heard Fallon say, ‘shit’ today. How are we supposed to write that in her baby book?”

  “She’s only five months old, Mother. She says, buh-buh. And that’s for her bottle and her daddy.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not doing anything because I don’t even remember how—”

  “Then you’ll just have to let the captain take point on this one. Trust me, Mom, he may be a widower, but I’m pretty sure he remembers how that op goes down.”

  “Sammy sent me in for another piece of cake,” Loring announced his presence.

  Her mother blushed. “I’ll cut it.”

  Hannah snickered, but kept rinsing and loading the dishwasher. “How’s retired life treating you, Captain?” she asked to ease the tension in the room.

  But it did nothing to ease the ache she felt for McCaffrey a while later when they’d finally said goodnight to all their guests. Would she have to get out the signal flags and direct him to her bedroom, or did he already know there were no separate beds tonight?

  “You didn’t open my present,” he said as he closed the door one final time. Everyone had given her memorabilia of some kind. A framed picture of the admiral and her father. One with her father and Captain Loring. Her mother had given her his letter jacket from the University of Wisconsin, Oshkosh. Her sister had put together a scrapbook. Her crew and Mac’s squad had all brought little mementos that had to do with her own career.

  What more could she possibly need? “I thought this party was your present.”

  He handed her a file folder. “Freedom of information act. His file has been declassified for years. He died in a failed rescue attempt of POWs. The helicopter went down under enemy fire in the Mekong Delta. And he drowned while saving the life of the pilot—one Jon ‘JJ’ Loring, the only survivor of the crash. I suspect your mother already knows all that.”

  Hannah pressed the file to her breast.

  “Aren’t you going to read it?”

  “Later, maybe,” she said.

  “Here’s something else to read in your spare time.” He handed her a copy of the Odyssey. Inside it was a sealed letter. “When you’re ready,” he said.

  “Will you tell me what it says? The important parts anyway,” she said with a hitch in her voice.

  He tugged her toward him by the tail of the shirt that she wore over her tank top. The shirt slipped to reveal her shoulder and he kissed her there. “It says, I want to be there for all the birthdays and milestones, even when I’m not.” He pushed down the thin strap of her tank top and kissed her throat.

  “I want to keep you safe and at home.” He trailed kisses along her collarbone as he spoke. “But I won’t, because that’s not the woman you are. And I don’t think it’s even possible for me to love another woman. The one woman I want is a lot of things. Some of which are dangerous.” He stopped kissing her to look her in the eye. “I’ll be selfish and jealous and at times you’ll be glad that I’m not around. And when I am, I’ll be under foot.”

  Encouraged by her half smile, he continued. “I want to wake up with you every morning and make love to you every night, but I won’t be able to, so every sunset and sunrise I’ll be thinking of you—even when I shouldn’t.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I want to give you more children, but it’s okay if we decide that’s not practical, because when I hold you and Fallon, I have all I need and more than I deserve. Because of that, if my life should be cut short, I have no regrets, Hannah.”

  “Just remember, I have it in writing,” she teased.

  Then she kissed him. And she wasn’t teasing.

  NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE

  Coronado, California

  HANNAH ARRIVED at NAS North Island on Monday to find she’d been summoned to Admiral Bell’s office for an early-morning meeting. She entered the building at NAB with only minutes to spare.

  Which meant she didn’t have time to stop by Mike’s office first and collect on their bet—Peter had rung the morning bell at the New York Stock Exchange and shortly afterward announced his fuel-cell contract with the United States Navy, immediately sending Hall-Petrone stock skyrocketing. Mike had some crazy idea that she was part of the deal.

  While she was glad she’d had the foresight to negotiate those stock options into her contract two years ago, she hadn’t had time to sip mimosas with her mother and sister that morning. And the thrill of making money didn’t compare to the thrill of making love with Mike. Only his touch caused that over-the-moon feeling and of course sent her crashing back to earth.

  He wanted to get married right away, but she wanted to stay in a holding pattern for now. If this was love, his heart, at least, wasn’t going anywhere.

  She was, however, surprised to find him in the admiral’s office. Both men stood when she entered and exchanged covert glances, but when she tried to make eye contact with Mike, he wouldn’t.

  Or couldn’t.

  “Lieutenant Commander Stanton come in, please. Have a seat,” the admiral said in a brisk professional manner. “Let me get straight to the point. Commander McCaffrey has just officially informed me that he’s the father of your baby. Congratulations to the both of you. I understand you plan to marry?”

  “Maybe,” she said, without committing.

  McCaffrey’s mouth became a thin line.

  “Mac feels, strongly, that the two of you should not be in combat situations together.”

  “Really? Because this is the first I’m hearing about it. Is Mac not capable of speaking for himself?” She directed her question and accompanying glare at McCaffrey.

  “I knew you’d react this way.”

  “Then why didn’t you give me the courtesy of having this conversation in private?”

  “Hannah.” It was the first time the admiral had called her by her first name. “I’m afraid this is my fault.” He circled the desk and perched on a corner. “No one is trying to make this decision for you. Mike just came to me to discuss options. I’m the one who pulled you in here.”

  Hannah clasped her hands in her lap to retain some semblance of control. “And my options are—what? Resign my commission?”

  “A reassignment might better serve the needs of the Navy. Hall-Petrone has requested you liaise with his company on several occasions. You could essentially serve out your active duty in your civilian job.”

  “Move back to Colorado?” Now that McCaffrey wasn’t running, was he pushing her away?

  “I spoke with Petrone,” McCaffrey broke in. “He’s willing to consider moving production of the fuel cell to North Island.”

  So he wasn’t pushing her away, just trying to set her on a shelf like a china doll, afraid she’d get broken in a sandbox full of boys and their toys. He’d said he’d want to keep her safe at home, but wouldn’t because it wasn’t possible for him to love another woman. Ha!

  “It’s the difference between combat ready and combat support, Han,” McCaffrey said. “It’s just the way it is. No one here is saying you’re not an asset.”

  No one was saying it. But they were saying she was expendable. Here. At home. No one needed her. A wry smile touched her lip. No one needed her except Peter and Hall-Petrone. But this was her choice. The admiral had said so himself. “And if I don’t find either of those choices acceptable?”

  An exasperated sigh escaped McCaffrey. He pushed to his feet. With folded arms, he started pacing a hole into the admiral’s Oriental rug. “Just say you’ll stand down from joint missions. No one’s asking you not to fly or even command.

  “No? Putting restrictions on my command and flight is asking an awful lot. My country called. I answered.” Hannah stood, as well, so everyone in the room wasn’t towering over her. “I agreed to take command of HCS-9 for two years and that’s what I’m going to do. No restrictions,” she said to McCaffrey’s back.

  He turned to square off with her.

  She turned to Admiral Bell. “Correct me if I’m wrong,
Admiral, but the Navy actually encourages family members to serve together, including husbands and wives who aren’t otherwise in the same chain of command. True?”

  “True.” The admiral looked at McCaffrey. “I’m going to need an answer now because I have the next assignment for you two. His name is Sebastian,” the admiral passed her the folder with photos of the dead Tango she’d shot, paper clipped to the front. “Sebastian Kahn, half Filipino, half Arab bastard son of Mullah Kahn, head of al-Ayman.” The admiral emphasized the words by slapping his file and tossing it to the table. “I need you both back in the P.I. ASAP.”

  Hannah glared at Mac. “My choice is to do the job I was called to do. If we’re through, Admiral, I need to ready my men.”

  Admiral Bell nodded. Hannah left his office with McCaffrey hot on her heels.

  “Don’t I have some say in this?” he demanded, ushering her by the elbow into his office and closing the door.

  “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions. My brain. My uterus—” She gave him a visual anatomy lesson. “Which one scares the hell out of you more?”

  “Wanting to keep you out of harm’s way does not make me some kind of Neanderthal.”

  “Well, you sure have those fight-or-flight instincts down. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you drag me around by the hair.”

  “Those are real bullets flying around out there. Think of our daughter.”

  “I am thinking of my daughter. I think of my daughter every damn day. We’re talking about me, Mike. We’re talking about you. Your need to control a situation makes you pretty damn good at your job and lousy in relationships. You can’t control me. And you certainly can’t go around whispering sweet nothings in one ear and orders in the other. Here’s your chain of command—” she raised her hand about shoulder level “—and here’s mine.” She brought her other hand up to the same level. “We are equals. We are peers. The only difference is one of us wears a skirt sometimes. You don’t get to bring an admiral into the situation to try and manipulate me. You would never do that with one of your male cohorts. Check their wallets. At least half of them are carrying pictures of their babies.”

  “Are you through yet?”

  Her tirade had died, but not her anger. “No, I’m not. This thing between us isn’t going to work, Mike. You know it and I know it. But you know what really pisses me off? For two minutes I actually believed in those sweet nothings!”

  Both their pagers went off before he could reply.

  NAVAL AIR STATION NORTH ISLAND

  Coronado, California

  THE FIRST AND SECOND waves moved out on time. The third wave developed minor mechanical malfunctions that kept Hannah and McCaffrey pacing the tarmac. SOP required the task force deploy as a unit in case the Team was needed en route. At this point one-third of their unit would be lucky to get there, while two-thirds would be sitting on their hands in the P.I.

  Or as McCaffrey put it, “getting all the good action.”

  “What exactly is the problem?” Hannah asked the pilot of the C-5 that was holding them up.

  “We’ve developed a pretty bad hydraulic fuel leak. Busted hose.” He wiped his fuel-covered hands on a rag.

  “And let me guess, you don’t have any hose on-board? Because of another very recent fuel leak.”

  The pilot got defensive on his crew’s behalf. “Look, my guys have a spotless maintenance record. We called over to supply. You’ll just have to sit tight until they get here.”

  “Not necessarily,” Hannah interjected. “Brady,” she called the SEAL corpsman over. “Let me see what you have in your medic’s kit.” She found a piece of tubing about the size she was looking for.

  “The pilot of the last C-5 I flew on with a similar problem showed me this trick. If you don’t mind flying wheels down?”

  The pilot took the hint. “If you can stop the leak, I’ll fly her.” Which was saying a lot about the man’s character and the importance of their mission. A C-5 was a flying warehouse.

  Hannah crawled into the wheel well with her crew chief. After being sprayed by hydraulic fluid, they managed to stop the fuel leak. The pilot inspected their repair job and ordered everyone back off the plane while he started up her engines.

  Brady passed out sleeping pills for the long flight while the pilot assured himself there were not going to be any fireballs from the spray of fuel.

  Hannah refused the sleeping pills. McCaffrey took them. His body, his choice. She knew he ran on adrenaline and testosterone from the minute his pager beeped.

  “See you on the flip side,” he said as she got ready to board the C-5 and he headed off in the direction of the waiting C-130s. Intel had reported a cargo ship headed toward al-Ayman’s island base camp, possibly to off-load munitions.

  “Mac!” Itch came running toward them at full speed and handed McCaffrey the box. “You’ve got a call on the SATCOM. It’s the admiral. Urgent.”

  “McCaffrey.” He listened for a moment. “Copy.”

  He waved his men over. “Listen up,” he shouted above the engine noise. “A cruise ship has been hijacked out of Taiwan. We’re being rerouted to Guam, then the USS Enterprise in the South China Sea. I’ll brief you on the plane! Commander, you’re going to want to come with me,” he said.

  Grown men were shoving fingers down their throats like bulimic schoolgirls to get rid of the sleeping pills.

  McCaffrey bent over and when he straightened to wipe his mouth, only the flicker in his jaw gave away the fact that his parents were on a cruise ship that had pulled into Taiwan that day.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  But he let her question pass without comment.

  Feelings had no place on this op.

  “COUGH IT UP,” Doc said to Nouri.

  “It’s not coming,” the ensign whined, still trying to force up his sleeping pill.

  Mike gathered the rest of his men and Hannah together in the hull of the C-130 for briefing. The noise of the engines and the cold took some getting used to, but at least it kept him awake. At this point he was mainlining caffeine.

  “Here’s what we know so far.” He took out his earplugs for clarity. “The point of origin on the Australian cruise liner, King Neptune, was Hong Kong. The Neptune pulled into Taiwan at about 0900 their time. Eighty odd international passengers and crew, including at least ten Americans, and we’re waiting on an official count for that, remained on-board because of a case of food poisoning or flu—”

  “Flu?” Brady asked. “Could we be dealing with the possibility of biological or chemical weapons?”

  “That’s a strong possibility,” Mike answered. “Or intentional poisoning. The hijackers, who originally boarded as wait staff, made their move around noon, catching everyone who’d made it out of their cabins and to the galley, by surprise. They then ordered the captain out to sea. According to our last SitRep the ship was moving south in and out of territorial waters.

  “There are only six hijackers on board, so we can assume there may be some passengers still in their rooms. During the initial confusion the captain was able to send out a distress call. But all communication has since ceased.”

  He sensed Hannah holding her breath. She and Itch were the only ones who knew how very personal this was. He drew comfort just from her being there. Even if he couldn’t show it.

  “We can assume they’re headed to the open waters of the Pacific where they’ll be harder to track. If they maintain radio silence we could lose them. A couple of our destroyers and a submarine are trying to intercept before that happens, but their job is to dog tail from the horizon. Our job is to plan and execute a ship takedown. We’re it. Bravo Squad and Calypso’s three Seahawks. The rest of the task force is to continue on course. I want scenarios. I want schematics. Itch?”

  “I’m working on getting us that blueprint, Mac.” He continued to hold the open line. SATCOM received pictures via PIRATE technology.

  “I want someone on the phone to my sister.
She knows this ship’s itinerary and possibly has a brochure.” He tossed Ajax his picture phone. “It’s number five on the speed dial. Get her to send pictures and we’ll bootleg to the SATCOM to print them out.”

  While his men went about following his orders, Mike got up from his squat to stretch. Hannah took a sip from a paper cup and handed it to him.

  “Here. It’s hot and it’s black.” She stirred creamer and sugar in her own cup. “They could have gotten off in Taiwan.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the possibility.

  Nouri had fallen asleep in his seat. Doc had taken out his permanent marker and drawn a curly handle-bar mustache on the ensign’s face. The guys were adding glasses, devil horns and a goatee.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Mike ordered, taking the marker. He knew they were just relieving tension. But he wanted to maintain a level of professionalism above reproach on this mission. He gave Nouri a shake but couldn’t rouse him. “Let Sleeping Beauty rest. We’re going to need him later.” Like the marker, the tag Sleeping Beauty wouldn’t wear off for a while. “Itch, you’d better radio ahead to the Enterprise, see if they have a Marine detachment on board with any snipers. Just in case.”

  “Mac,” Ajax said, “your sister came through. We at least have an itinerary and a crude idea of what the ship looks like from the brochure. The ship’s capacity is 1778, with a crew of seven hundred. Eleven decks. Signal, sun, boat, upper, quarter, and one through seven. She said your parents are on the sun deck in stateroom number 8183.”

  His men stopped to absorb this bit of info.

  Mike took the marker and wrote the number across the palm of his hand.

  USS ENTERPRISE CVN

  65 Somewhere in the South China Sea

  THE SEAHAWKS WERE TO TOUCH DOWN, refuel, recharge and take off again shortly after midnight. Meanwhile, Mike was in constant contact with the admiral and the rest of his task force.

  “Mac.” Itch handed him the SATCOM on the way to the flight deck. “It’s the Secretary of the Navy and the Secretary of Defense.”