The Soul of a SEAL

by Anne Elizabeth

  As a hobby, Bennett had studied every bit of Intel he could uncover on the latest space vehicles. Being a private-plane pilot and doing test-pilot runs now and then didn’t hurt his résumé either. Bennett was pretty sure these factors had added to the reasons he’d been chosen. Quite frankly, though, he didn’t care about the why. He was psyched about the prospect of going into space, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Admiral, if I may inquire, why isn’t the United States Strategic Command (Stratcom) in charge of this project? Last year, they handpicked forty SEALs for their program and forty soldiers from other branches. I know, because I asked to be considered for the program.”

  The Admiral picked up his pen and tapped it briefly on the surface of the table. “I asked the selection committee to skip over you.” Ouster’s lips thinned. “I need you, Sheraton.”

  Bennett couldn’t keep the shock from registering on his face. The muscle in his jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth to regain control of his emotions. He’d been sabotaged, and now they wanted him.

  “I can see your frustration. Hear me out,” Ouster said. Holding his free hand in a fist, a “stop” command, the Admiral dropped the pen on the table and laced his fingers. “I know there’s limited duty for Captains. Sheraton, you’re one of those souls who easily can handle anything, especially assignments that require sacrifice and go beyond ordinary duty. The work you did on the Hydro Annex Op, where the plans for a new type of submersible plane had to be vetted for feasibility and then brought all the way to testing and implementation, proved that my decision was right. The stages you put the Hydro Annex through produced superior results. The maneuvering system for the Hydro—you reconstructed that tech, right? Brilliant! I couldn’t afford to let you go. There’s only a handful of SEALs like you. We’re balancing too many projects right now, and we needed your expertise right here. Now I need outside-the-box thinking. Everything is FUBAR on this space mission.”

  Bennett was flattered, but there was something the Admiral wasn’t sharing. It sat behind that steely gaze. “I reconstructed a few valves and motherboards, but it doesn’t make me an engineer,” Bennett said.

  “You think on your feet, Sheraton. You are one of a handful of senior guys who I can trust with this, and you’re my first choice to fix this mess. We have a communications array about to go down, a bunch more knocked out, and space garbage threatening the space station, as well as a new array that needs to be placed in orbit to protect us from an upcoming meteor shower.” His lips tightened. “We don’t have military vehicles available to us and the government has had to fish in the corporate pool to locate a shuttle capable of doing what we need and in the time frame we require. So, you’re walking into a situation that’s a mix of civilian and military.”

  “Understood.” Bennett gave the superior officer a brief nod. “What’s the other problem?”

  “You’re astute,” Admiral Ouster continued grimly. “This current mission…has some rather delicate problems, namely murder of our personnel and sabotage. We lost two SEALs, and we want you to investigate, but unfortunately that needs to be a secondary purpose, as there’s the pressing priority of the safety of the planet. The Secretary of the Navy has requested I send two SEALs to complete a mission that will take one of you into space. You see, SECNAV has invited six countries that are sending us their best to help fix the current issues and then help us launch, deploy, and reposition certain hardware. I cannot overstress the importance of this mission on both a national-security level, as well as a planetary one. You’ll be there to find information on the Warren Shuttle. This is a new space vehicle, so you will be expected to get up to speed quickly. There’s a lot at stake here.”

  Bennett pursed his lips. He considered his words carefully. “Who do you suspect are the hostiles?”

  Ouster’s hands scrubbed over his scalp. “Tough to tell. The groups at the Lester Facility are from many of our top rivals. If Joe Public knew we were collaborating on programming, software, technology such as lasers, etc., well, there would be hell to pay. The Russians and the Chinese are blaming extremist groups in the USA, while the Middle East coalition is blaming the United Kingdom and the rest of the Eastern bloc. The South American and African blocs are the only ones not fighting. Sheraton, there’s a lot on the line. Our technology is proprietary, and we have to play to our lowest common denominator of information. Everything from world peace to national economies is at stake. Worldwide, all nations have signed the Outer Space Treaty, which agrees on the peaceful use of space, and the Secure World Foundation is attempting to hold everyone to their word, but the latest threats have everyone on edge.”

  “And the threat is…” Bennett knew he should just open the file and read through it quickly. He had a photographic memory and could absorb data very quickly.

  “It’s twofold. The first threat is getting the mission in gear and the shuttle into space, and the second is the debris. I’m sure you’ll remember the articles about Donald Kessler and the associated Kessler Syndrome, which highlight the dangers of litter, a debris field, in low orbit around the Earth. Can you believe space junk could wipe out not only our early-detection systems, but also communication arrays, GPS systems, and do immeasurable damage to the Space Station and everything we have out there?” Admiral Ouster stretched his arms over his head and then placed his hands in his lap. He took a slow, deep breath. “You’re going to be independent of Command on this. You’ll need to act quickly and effectively, and you are being given full authority to do so.”

  It was a lot to take in. Space…and lasers too. Fascinating. “Who’s the other SEAL?”

  “I’m sending Jonah Melo. With his engineering background and the work he did over at NASA a few years back, he’ll be an asset. I have his file…”

  Bennett waved it off. “I know him. Didn’t he just get married?” Sending that particular SEAL seemed unusual as newly married sailors were often distracted. His Sea Daddy, Gich, called it the “moonstruck effect”—the first time a mate saw his honey’s hind end, he was so blinded that he couldn’t get enough of it until the shine wore off. That was usually sometime around the birth of their first baby or a year or so after back-to-back deployments.

  “Melo assures me that his being married isn’t a problem.”

  “Understood.” Bennett noticed a notation at the bottom of one of the pages. “Admiral, I acknowledge that the investigation into the death of the SEALs is secondary, given the circumstances, but what happened to the men who died? What about NCIS?”

  Ouster sighed heavily. He shook his head, pain filling his features. “Our men…”

  Bennett glanced down. He didn’t like the look of the report on the next page of the file. It showed pictures and brief descriptions of the events surrounding the fatalities. There was a lot of information missing, such as primary interviews, and there was no mention of any personal effects, weapons, and phones. The holes were evident and screaming Investigate me.

  “I’m responsible for their deaths.” Ouster leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. His gaze was steady. “I handpicked those young men, both engineers. I hate to think they were…perhaps too inexperienced for the job or, what’s most likely, that someone got the drop on them. Within two weeks of arriving, they were dead. We don’t know all the details. An investigation with NCIS is on hold until the launch is complete. Sheraton, I need someone capable and seasoned enough to handle this, and that’s you. You’ll go through accelerated training, testing, and then launch. As a SEAL, you’re already seasoned in many of the areas, so I’m sure you’ll fly through the requirements. If you find additional data on the reason these men died, contact me—or better yet, handle it. Do I have the right man? Will you accept the mission?”

  “Aye, aye, Admiral. Here I am.” He could read the subtext. Bennett would do his best to keep things on the down low as much as possible. “Is Melo up to speed?”

  “As much as you
are, though he’s probably already at the Lester Facility. He answered my call on the first ring.”

  Bennett smiled briefly. It was a sign of respect to rib each other in the military. “Well, we can’t all be wallflowers, Admiral.”

  “Your contact, and I mean your point person, is Dr. Kimberly Warren.” The Admiral cleared his throat. “I believe you were in one of the classes that did some training there. Not all of them did.”

  “Yes, I did training there. Test flying and impact studies,” said Bennett. “I look forward to seeing what’s on the docket for me now.”

  “Good stuff. Ah, to be young again.” Nodding his head briefly, Ouster smiled. He held out his hand for the file. “Have a good trip. Keep in mind Melo’s going to give you a run for your money. He has stars on the brain, and he’s going to test your mettle.”

  “I would expect nothing less.” Bennett handed over the documents and stood. “When do I leave?”

  “Tonight. Now. Is that a problem?” No one ever denied a request from Ouster. Bennett wasn’t going to be the first either.

  “I’ll muster and be on the road within the hour.”

  The Admiral gave him a curt nod and headed back to his desk. “Sheraton, use Alpha Protocol on this. My eyes and ears only.”

  “Understood, Admiral.” Bennett’s eyes tracked the portly man. He wasn’t a SEAL, yet he could send any Special Operator anywhere, even to space, on a second’s notice. He wondered how this man had made it to where he was today—not that Bennett envied him. Everyone had a different path in life. To be an admiral, it would be a tough row to hoe, but he couldn’t stop himself from mulling the role and its responsibilities over in his mind.

  “That will be all.” Admiral Ouster seated himself behind his desk. He inserted the folder back into the stack, then picked up the whole pile and turned aside.

  Bennett didn’t see where that pile had gone as he pulled yet another door closed, but he had to assume it was to some kind of safe or vault. Brass didn’t go old-school, using paperwork, unless it was off the books. There were usually only a few copies, and burn bags were not far away.

  Bennet thanked God his memory was sharp. If he had been out drinking with his Teammates, he would have been well screwed. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. At forty, Bennett knew what he loved, and that was being a SEAL. He’d go the full thirty years before he retired, if he could. This was his life—serving his country—and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

  He nodded at the guards before he made his way downstairs. Did people ever wonder what else was in this building? There was no way it held only one office. Sometimes it was better not to look too closely. There were things it was impossible to “un-know,” and knowing things you weren’t asked to be a part of was a swift way to get the boot out of the Navy.

  Commitment. A lot was implied when you signed on the dotted line with the military forces. Duty wasn’t just a job; it was a dedication to responsibility, a way of life that consumed everything else until it was one’s entire world, and that was fine by him…for now.

  Bennett shrugged. He made his way past the Discovery Bridge and down the Strand to his condo in the Coronado Cays. He didn’t have time to indulge in idle thinking. Right now, he had a mission to prep for. Getting a move on was at the top of his list. Packing a bag was second. Beating out Melo, well, that was going to take some work.

  Patience, perseverance, courage, and fortitude were values his father had instilled in him from birth. Thus far they had served him well, and for this challenge, they would again. A SEAL never quit. With that thought blazing through his brain, he broke into a run, adrenaline pumping through his system as if it would never ease up.

  * * *

  Dr. Kimberly Warren lay on her back on the flat roof of the Lester Facility, located due east of San Diego and north of the Mexican border. Its location wasn’t on any publicly accessible map. It was a covert place with high-security clearance and enough guards to rival Area 51 or the Pentagon. Only certain private contractors were allowed access, though the military was often in and out, doing training and testing.

  There were four airstrips, with the only camouflage-painted runways in the region. Night-time running lights could be accessed only from within the facility and were used for approved planes only. Enormous amounts of red tape dwelled here.

  Honestly, it was sort of a miracle she had ended up here. Her buddy Ouster had arranged it, recommended that she be first in line to have her creation, the Warren Shuttle, developed and built at the facility.

  Staring up at the night sky, she fantasized about soaring among the planets in her own shuttle, discovering new galaxies or perhaps just seeing the places she had dreamed of up close and personal. Moon, what mysteries do you hold? Sun, if I studied you more thoroughly, could I harness your power better?

  The sound of Kimberly’s voice broke the eerie night’s silence. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” The nursery rhyme her mother had taught her still bounced around in her head. What would she wish for? Success. The fulfillment of her lifelong dreams and ambitions. Oh, how she wanted those wishes to come true.

  Sirius, a brilliantly shining star, blinked at her, and she knew that it would take over three thousand one hundred forty days for the light to reach her here on Earth. If she were out there among the stars, out by Sirius…what would life hold? Would she be happy? Would the shuttle mission have been a success? Would she still be alone?

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she sighed and lowered her gaze back to Earth. Traveling in space was the sole aim she’d had since she was a little girl, and it had brought her to this moment, when a vehicle of her design was housed in the hanger right below her. Had she ever imagined she would get this far when she’d conceived the idea?

  The obstinate side of her personality screamed yes, and the more reserved side said maybe. Regardless of the internal war that ate away her confidence at times, she had done it.

  The shuttle would travel to space, perform a number of tasks, and return intact and ready for use again. Hopefully, in a few short weeks, they would be launching it. The big question was…who was going to pilot it?

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. She’d thought she would be the one taking the shuttle into space. With a bum ticker that was unfortunately inoperable, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She swiped at the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks and stood. Pacing the considerable length of the Lester Facility—ten football fields—would take her a long time. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. Being up here was the only way to get away from the people inside this building. All of them wanted something from her, and she didn’t have any answers for them at the moment.

  Lifting her head back to the heavens, she thought about Clarence Leonard “Kelly” Johnson, the Lockheed genius whose designs had been so far ahead of their time. He inspired her. She’d gotten her pilot’s license at age twelve and fallen head over heels in love with the Lockheed Model 10 Electra. Kelly’s creation of the H tail and experiments with the wind tunnel had motivated her so much that she’d drawn her first plane design that summer. And, when she was working on her graduate degree, she’d been granted access to those actual plane designs, and she’d remember that intense excitement forever.

  Now, with so many roadblocks ahead of her, she was losing hope that her greatest dream was not achievable. “Have I wasted my whole life?” she said. “Am I a fool to reach for the stars?”

  Her words fell flat. There was no one to answer her.

  A computerized voice sounded from her pocket. “Kimberly, warning. Kess is heading for the roof.”

  A chill raced up her spine. Kimberly ran in the opposite direction of the two roof access doors and headed for the side of the building. Lowering herself over the edge, she jumped down onto the large garbage bin and scrambled to the
ground.

  She ran around the building and let herself in through the front door of the Lester Facility. Pausing in the white room to be decontaminated, she slipped through another side door and ran down the hall toward her suite of rooms.

  A shadow fell across her face. She stopped abruptly, her heart thudding her chest.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” asked Kess, the man in charge of the shuttle project and the person she’d sold her soul to when she accepted his money to aid in the building of her dream.

  “My—my office,” she stammered. Her mouth went dry as he loomed over her.

  “I think we should have a few words first.” The veiled threat was there, in Kess’s stance. He started to reach for her, to grab her arm and stop her from leaving.

  The look she gave him was icy and full of determination. With that glance she communicated she’d have his ass in a sling if he so much as touched her.

  Kess dropped his arm. His voice pattern slowed. “Another time. Perhaps.”

  She didn’t answer. The statement didn’t require her acknowledgment.

  “You will need to work closely with me.” He appeared to regain his usual arrogance and leaned toward her as if nothing had happened. “I hear we are going to have a few more pilots vying for our shuttle launch. While I’m pleased the government is on board with our project, I don’t feel we need anyone else to, uh, get in the line of fire.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Is that a threat?” As far as she was concerned, she would never choose to be alone with him. For a woman who liked to get along with her coworkers, this was an instance where she didn’t give a crap if this jerk knew she didn’t like him. She knew instinctively that malice—or, at the very least, indifference—would keep this guy away.