Cruisin' for a SEAL

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Yes. My mother said the same of him, often. Mark, I think she thought the same of herself.”

  “So you see, she let her heart do the calling. She probably defied all the advice of her elders, and lived her life with her heart. She knew some day she’d see him again. That you’d have a relationship with him, too.”

  “Yes, I believe that.”

  Mark saw the woman in the red costume, now changed into jeans and yellow cruise ship T-shirt, quietly enter the room from a door opposite where she had exited. At first he wasn’t sure, but the sultry look on her face as she turned in his direction to get a quick peek before she huddled in with the tourist crowd several tables over was unmistakable.

  Sophia

  It made for an interesting conversation with Sanouk, as the young Thai knew Mark had been distracted by something, someone. He waited patiently for answers to his questions, sometimes having to wait for Mark to even realize he’d asked something. Mark searched the crowd at her table. Most of the time she hid her face from him.

  They finished lunch and everyone was herded out according to their bus numbers. Mark was going to try to jump ship to hers, but couldn’t find it, or her.

  Kyle was beginning to catch on to what was happening.

  “Mark, I told you that was never going to work.”

  “What?”

  “The forgetting the night of great casual sex. You know, that one.”

  Kyle was right. Mark figured he had that hound dog look that probably gave him away.

  “I didn’t know she’d be here, Kyle.”

  “I’m guessing that you didn’t know she could dance like that, either.”

  “Has nothing to do with it.”

  “Um hum.” Kyle replied. “Look, Mark. Don’t go chasing rainbows. If she doesn’t want to be found, let her go, man.”

  “After that little dance back there?”

  “She’s making you pay. Big time.”

  “No, she wants to be followed. She wants to be caught. I intend to give her what she wants.”

  “Roger that, Mark. I’m glad one of you will get satisfied, then.”

  Busses headed in separate directions as the various tours splintered off. Mark figured she’d gone with an Italian-speaking group. Their tour guide told them they had a few minutes before their bus would arrive, so their group decided to wait at a coffee house instead of getting lost in the innards of the souk again. Mark was relieved the guys wouldn’t have to try to restrain their girls.

  He left their group to use the head. In a dark corner on the way, he saw an older couple kissing. He recognized the woman as the dark-haired lady with a cabin on their floor around the corner. The man she was with also looked familiar. When he returned to his group, the couple was gone.

  He walked in on a conversation Kyle was having with the other Team guys. Christy and the girls were going over their purchases.

  “See that building over there?” He pointed to a two-story coffee house with a balcony restaurant on the upper floor. A series of colorful lanterns and lights hung from the filigreed metal frame holding up shade tarps in green and blue. “That place blew up about two years ago. Terrorist bomb, right in the middle of the day.”

  “No shit?” Cooper asked. “The whole place?”

  “Well, nearly. About thirty people dead. Mostly native Moroccans, but it was and still is a place tourists hang out at. No one tells them this. They just keep coming back.”

  “How’d you find out?” Tyler asked.

  “Moshe. Kind of warned me where to go and what not to do.” Kyle leaned back and examined the ceiling of their the old stucco veranda. “This one is owned by the local Police Chief, and is probably the safest place on the square.”

  It was a subtle reminder to Mark that nowhere was safe. And that a part of him always felt deployed.

  Chapter 9

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  THEIR BUS WAS the last to arrive at the gangway. The Team always rode in back, so they were the last to say farewell to Mohammed, their guide. The rotund man in his beige robe was short with them, but eyed the women with a special sparkle, especially lingering on Mia. Fredo’s protective arm over her shoulder didn’t allow their eyes to meet. The grin on the guide’s face looked devious.

  Mark noticed a group of new crew members embarking at the second gangway, burdened with multiple bags with instruments, flags and costumes that overflowed like stuffing on a well-done turkey.

  One of the members, carrying a large black duty bag similar to what the Team used, had some stringed instrument and several silver swords extending out two feet from the zippered opening. Mark could tell the bag was heavy. On the guy’s other shoulder was slung two stubby drums tied together. But what seemed odd was that he wore a set of full lace-up combat boots. Mark had a hard time imagining a dancer or a musician wearing that kind of gear.

  The entertainment troupe disappeared into the bowels of the lower decks just as the Team made their way in. They placed their bags on the metal detector and had their cruise card scanned and verified by the security agents. Kyle chatted with a couple of Moshe’s detail, but Moshe was absent.

  At zero deck passengers stood in line for the elevators up, but the troupe Mark had noticed earlier turned right and filed down the narrow halls of the crew quarters, past the medical station. The black duty bag was sitting in the hallway and the booted man hitched it up to his shoulder and followed his friends down the hall.

  At the last minute, Mark saw the man turn around and eye him carefully, then reverse direction to follow his group.

  Mark looked for Moshe and didn’t find the security officer at the crew gate, either. Two dark-skinned Indian security agents were assisting the rest of the dancers and crew on board, scanning bags.

  Mark’s group headed down the narrow rows of cabin doors to the back of the ship on their deck. A cleaning cart was midway down the corridor. Several of the cabin doors were propped open and empty of passengers. The Filipino cabin steward had knocked on a door and then opened it. Inside was the dark lady Mark had seen in the coffee house in Marrakesh, half dressed and being kissed by a man in a single-striped ship’s officer’s jacket. That’s when Mark realized the plain-clothed man in the marketplace had been the same man, and was apparently one of the ship’s junior officers.

  He looked away before the couple could notice that he saw them. The cabin steward was flustered and making apologies, and they heard the door slam after he retreated back to his cart.

  Mark approached Kyle, who hadn’t noticed the cabin drama. “You see that?” he asked his LPO.

  “What, man?”

  “I just saw a couple in one of the cabins. Officer cavorting with one of the passengers? That sound right to you?”

  “I think it happens, my friend. You’re about to go find that lovely Italian lass, and I’m guessing she’ll let you do pretty much anything you want with her,” Kyle answered.

  Mark blushed. “An officer, Kyle. I know for a fact that’s not kosher.”

  “I’ll have to ask Moshe about it, then. He’s joining us for dinner.”

  In the hallway outside their cabin doors, Kyle gave directions. “At eighteen-thirty we meet up at the ninth floor Club Romanza. Moshe has a special table for dinner. Dress up. You’ve got a little more than an hour, okay, ladies and gents?” Kyle surveyed his Team and their wives. He inspected Fredo standing beside Mia outside her door. Jasmine was next to Christy. “Everyone shows up. Everyone,” he said as he nodded meaningfully at Fredo.

  Had he not met Sophia, Mark would have been only too pleased to let Jasmine shower and dress in their cabin, since it was obvious Fredo and Mia had made some plans for the next few minutes. He didn’t think Sanouk would mind, either. The girl was lean and attractive, with light brown hair and bright blue eyes. She’d have been just Mark’s type. Perhaps that’s what Christy had in mind when she invited her. He decided to extend the offer.

  “You need a place to wash up, Jasmine? Sanouk and I would be happy to oblig
e.”

  Rory and Tyler got within earshot. “You can use our shower, too,” Rory said with a blush.

  Jasmine’s cheeks got pink as she smiled and looked down at pink toes that matched her rose-colored flip-flops. Mark liked shy girls, normally. Jasmine had not made a secret that she found him attractive, either.

  Christy inserted herself. “Down, boys. She’s good, Mark, Rory. Thanks for asking. We got it worked out. But that was very sweet of you.” She followed up her words with a gentle kiss to Mark’s cheek and a wink in Rory’s direction.

  Kyle rolled his eyes and followed Christy and Jasmine into his cabin just as the engines sprang to life and the announcement came over the loudspeaker that the ship was leaving port.

  MARK WORE HIS shades instinctively, but upon exiting the cabin, found none of his Teammates had done so, so he went back and left them on the dresser. Everyone but Kyle and Christy made their way single file down the long corridor, passing closed cabin doors, including the one with the mysterious dark lady and the officer. The cleaning cart was gone.

  Waiting in the foyer by the elevators, they could hear a small combo playing one deck below. They could also feel the rumble of the engines as they headed out to sea. If they got to Deck 9 quickly enough, they might be able to see the receding lights of Casablanca harbor.

  The private dining room only had a few tables. Like the rest of the ship, it was swirling with bright colors from Murano glass fixtures in amber and deep red. They were accentuated with strips of green and blue bubble lights that outlined the copper and chrome detail around the windows, ceilings and mirrored columns throughout the room. A large wait staff scurried around the tables, attending to the seated diners as well as working behind the long bar.

  While they waited for Kyle and Christy, they were seated at a long oval table in the middle of the room and offered their choice of drinks. Mark scanned the sunset and could see the pilot boat pull away, back towards the shore. He surveyed his group. The good-looking men and radiant ladies could have been preparing for an advertising photo shoot. Tyler sat next to Jasmine, who demurely wore a black sequined sheath dress that showed off her substantial curves. Rory sat on her other side, his red hair flaming toward the ceiling with too much hair gel. Mia was glowing in red, of course, sitting next to Fredo, who almost looked uncomfortable in a dark suit jacket and button-down shirt.

  Armando and Gina were locked in a private conversation, as was common these days, interspersed with nibbling kisses and private whispers. Jones was quite the fancy dresser with a white sport coat that matched his bright, white smile, putting them all to shame. Sanouk wore a starched dress shirt, but had not brought a jacket. The boy’s shiny dark hair was held back in a ponytail like Armando wore sometimes.

  Kyle and Christy entered the room like royalty. She wore a large amber and coral necklace they’d bought in town. The large chunks of golden brown stones accented in deep red beads hung precariously low on her chest, drawing attention to her nice cleavage. Mark was sure most the Team guys were trying not to stare, out of respect for Kyle, but it was damned hard. She wore a batik dress in the same hues of orange and yellow, with a colorful wrap that covered her shoulders but left her chest exposed. She was regal, and striking as a Team Leader’s wife should be.

  Moshe arrived just as they were seated. A junior officer of the ship, Teseo Dominichello, followed him. Mark was impressed that they rated such an important visitors, especially since they were pulling away from shore.

  After the Americans were introduced, Moshe introduced Teseo to the group.

  “My friend, here, also served in the Italian Special Forces, COMSUBIN, and was named after the great Teseo Tesei.”

  Mark had read about the elite frogman teams from Italy who actually pre-dated the SEALs. His Team had trained with them on several occasions during joint operations focusing on the North African arena. They were just as tough as the SEALs, although not as well funded. Their centuries-long history of navigating the waters of the Mediterranean was a source of pride and was unequaled by any other fighting force in the area.

  If Mark’s memory served him, the original Teseo had been a high-value target the Allies had tried to capture during World War II and he died evading them.

  “He was a hell of a frogman. We use some of his inventions today,” Kyle added.

  “The human torpedo,” Mark added.

  “You related?” Rory asked. Mark had wanted to ask the same question.

  “No, sorry to say. But I think my maternal grandmother was secretly in love with the man.”

  That brought some chuckles from the table.

  “He was from our village. I think all the women in town loved him.”

  Mark asked the next question. “So, how do you go from being in the COMs to working on a cruise ship?”

  Teseo and Moshe shared a glance.

  “Divorce makes strange bedfellows of us all,” Moshe said sadly.

  “My wife was unhappy with the lifestyle afforded by my disability pension,” Teseo began. “Moshe here helped get me a job with the line, and I thought my Carmella would enjoy cruising with me.” He looked down at his mineral water, then took a sip and crunched down on some ice. “I was wrong.”

  Nobody had to explain the obvious. Being married to a dedicated warrior didn’t do much to pay the bills, and there were long gaps in their family life that sometimes were filled with extracurricular activities, on both sides, husbands and wives. It was a hard life, and only the dedicated couples, and they were in the minority, were lucky enough to keep a marriage alive.

  “I miss them all,” Teseo said before anyone would have the audacity to ask if he had children.

  “I’m beginning to think I’ll stay perpetually single,” Grady added.

  “You still dive, Teseo?” Kyle asked.

  “Absolutely. I bring my rebreather everywhere.”

  “Seriously?” Cooper asked. “You don’t happen to have another set?”

  “I have three. I sometimes accompany dive teams that need to do inspections. Never miss a chance to use my gear.”

  “So are all your officers Italian, then?” Kyle asked.

  “All but one. Maksym Tereschenko, from Ukraine,” said Teseo.

  “He the tall guy with the pencil moustache?” Mark asked.

  “That would be him. A full two meters tall and then some.”

  “Russian,” Jones muttered.

  “Not quite,” Teseo said. “One of our Ukrainian brothers, a ship’s captain without a Navy,” he added, “We have a few of them also in the engine room. Very skilled workmen, second to Italians, of course.” He shrugged and several of the SEALs laughed.

  The kissing scene Mark had seen on shore, and then the quick view of Maksym in the cabin with the mysterious lady, troubled Mark.

  “So you are allowed to brings wives along on cruises?” Mark asked.

  “Occasionally.” Teseo moved around in his chair uncomfortably as the waitress took their wine orders. He continued when they had privacy. “We are not allowed to spend time with our families if they come, except occasionally at dinner, or on shore when we have a few hours here or there. It is forbidden to spend time in the passenger’s cabin, so you see, it is no, as you say, ‘picnic.’”

  Mark had to ask. His radar was springing to life. “Is this Ukrainian guy married?”

  Moshe leaned forward, accepted a glass of red wine from the steward and cleared his throat until the waitress left. “My understanding is that his wife and family left with a Russian diplomat last year. So I guess that would make him a single man, but not by choice, I don’t think.”

  Mark was starting to feel like this was the wrong time to pursue the topic any further.

  The dinner was delicious, a preplanned meal of prime rib and lobster. The meal lasted nearly two hours, but before they could finish, Moshe and Teseo were summoned to the bridge.

  Mark thought he’d discuss his active imagination with Kyle in the morning. His LPO had been studying
him carefully all throughout dinner and knew there was something brewing. It was his job to know these things. If Mark didn’t come to him first, Kyle would dig it out of him with a spoon.

  Chapter 10

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  SOPHIA RUSHED THROUGH her dinner with a hand towel pinned behind her neck, protecting the skimpy red dress she wore for her upcoming dance instruction session with her Brazilian dance partner, Roberto. She stood during the four minutes it took to wolf down several forkfuls of salad and some pasta.

  Roberto came up behind her, giving her a smooth caress over her bare shoulders, ending with a wet kiss at the base of her neck.

  “You smell divine,” he whispered. His hands slid down her hips—hips that would experience a lot more of his hands during their dance routine. But privately, in the staff dining room, while she was eating, and in front of the Filipino wait staff and the Indian security staff, where they were crowded in like crabs in a bucket, his fingers on her flesh were a little creepy. That and the fact that his palms lingered just a little too long at her sides and his thumbs extended a little too far toward the juncture of her legs.

  She wondered how Matheus would take to Roberto’s constant need to touch her. The man never wasted an opportunity to show affection, going beyond his natural Brazilian personality, which had confused her at first. In time, she recognized the signs of a wolf waiting for her to have a weak moment.

  And that just wasn’t going to happen, tonight or any night. At least this was something that hadn’t changed since her fling with Mark. In fact, it had everything to do with her own self-respect and not the way her insides ached for the handsome American.

  Sophia hitched her shoulders, made her back go limp and inched out of Roberto’s reach without acknowledging him. She made a mental note not to wear that perfume again, in case it was something the Brazilian particularly liked. “Meet you on Deck 5,” she called over her shoulder as she escaped.