by Robin Leaf
He closes the chart and looks me in the eye. A look of pity flashes on his face before he covers it quickly. I know what he’s going to say next. I’ve been expecting it.
“I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but unfortunately, Noah, without your spleen, you’re ineligible for deployment.”
I sigh. “I know.” And that means my SEAL career is over.
He smiles. “I’m glad you get it. Unfortunately, some people in high places who really want you back out there have been breathing down my neck.” He taps my knee once. “It seems they think you’re really good at what you do.”
Apparently, he hasn’t been briefed on how my major fuck up led to not only my injury, but two other injured team members, Jenkins and Turk. I’m told their injuries weren’t life threatening, but it could have been so much worse. Losing the career I wanted since I was a kid is the least of what I deserve.
I’ve been cleared by the Navy for any wrongdoing. They said what happened couldn’t have been anticipated or avoided. Still doesn’t change the fact that it’s my fault.
Turns out we were either given bad intel or De La Torre and his thugs were tipped off beforehand. No one was even on his compound where we were told kidnapped girls were being held for his sex-slave operation. Our team had already dismantled one of his lesser thug’s drug rings with a side business of illegal gun trafficking, so we were floating pretty high, with sights on taking down the entire cartel.
As soon as I landed, it felt wrong… off. I ignored my gut and jumped the gun, underestimated the situation, and was caught not paying full attention, too focused on getting close enough to have eyes on our target.
I activated that trip wire.
I don’t know how I got out of there alive. Or why.
But I did.
I’ve decided that I’m not going to see my departure from the SEALs as a crushing disappointment. I’m going to use it as an opportunity to take what I’ve learned here and do something useful with it.
I just don’t know what that is yet.
I sit through countless tests, pee multiple times in a cup, drink some nasty stuff, have about fifteen vials of blood drawn… for someone who lost two pints of blood less than four months ago, I would think they’d want to keep it inside me.
The med tech, Fuller, applies pressure to a cotton ball before pulling out the needle and places a band aid over the wound.
When I look at it, I laugh. “I guess you were out of Ariel band aids?”
“Cinderella’s dress matches your eyes.” He smiles. “My daughter told me these are better than the ‘ugly military ones.’ She knows when I lie about using them. She’s five, and I’m thinking about recruiting her for military interrogations. The girl is brutal.” He leans in and barely whispers, “When you leave, you are to report directly to Admiral James.”
I nod, wondering why there’s a need for secrecy.
“Well, tell her I agree, and I will wear it proudly.”
He points his finger at me. “Watch it. She’ll send you an invite to her next tea party.”
“No one does ‘pinkies up’ like me. Will I get to pick my own tiara?”
He blows out a laugh. “Fat chance. She makes me wear the ugly, cracked one.”
“Yeah, but you’re not me.” I stand. “You’re just her dad. No girl has ever resisted my charm.”
Well, except for one.
***
“I have a proposition for you, Reed,” the Admiral begins in a hushed tone. “It might help you make your decision.”
I reported to his office after my appointment, where we talked about my future with the Navy. The Admiral laid out my options: after my medical release, I can stay on, working in recruiting and running the PSTs, which he thought was a waste of my talents. Secondly, I could finish out the last two months of my contract on base and go on inactive reserve, or I could take a medical discharge right now and live as a civilian.
This discussion was hardly a reason for Smith to make it sound like a clandestine meeting.
Then, the Admiral asked me to dinner at his house, which was odd.
The man is older than my father would be by a handful of years and starting to show his age. His hair is greying above his ears, and his face took on that leathery quality one would expect from a man who has spent most of his life outside in the sun. I know not much about his history in the Navy, but I do know he spent his early years as a SEAL.
We stand outside over the grill, away from his wife and any possible prying ears.
“Before I tell you my proposal, I need to lay out some things that are to be kept between us. I have said this aloud to no other person, so if this gets out or comes back to me in any way, I’ll know you leaked it.”
I snap to attention, like I’ve been trained. “Absolutely, sir.”
He places his hand on my shoulder. “Son, I’m not acting as the Admiral here, so you don’t need to address me as ‘sir.’”
I relax and smile. “I meant it as a typical sign of respect, one I would afford my grandfather if he were still alive.”
He barks out a laugh and claps me on the shoulder. “You know I can still kick your ass, but I’ll let that slide.” As he turns to flip the meat, he continues. “I have a very strong suspicion that our intel on your last mission was correct. The target should have been there.” He looks me in the eye. “I think we were compromised.”
I step back. “You think we have a leak in the team?” I know all my team well. There’s no way any of them would jeopardize our country or the lives of our men that way. I would stake my life on it.
He turns to look at me and scratches the back of his neck. “That thought crossed my mind,” he sighs. “However, I think it goes deeper than that. The thing is it took time to get all the people off that island, and your team didn’t know about it until a few hours before the mission.”
Closing the grill, he turns to me. “I think someone higher up passed information on to the target.”
I must look confused because he moves closer.
“There is a small congressional committee who is aware of all of our military missions. I have a hunch someone on that committee is responsible for passing on the info about our locations.” He points the tongs at me. “This is not the first time it has happened.”
“That’s…” I trail off because the thought sickens me.
“Yes. It’s treason. And it’s not something I can investigate without informing the same committee of my suspicions. Then, it’ll be incredibly hard to prove.”
He turns back to the grill to man the steaks while I allow what he said to sink in.
“Sir, I’m not sure I understand how I can help.”
He motions to the plate off to the side of the grill. I pick it up to hold while he puts the meat on it.
“You have innate abilities and instincts that are incredibly rare, which makes you one of the best I’ve seen come through this program.” He smiles, and it looks a little like pity. “That’s why I’m sad to see you go.” He lays another steak on the plate. “I really want this to be investigated, but the Navy can be nowhere near it.”
“Because of the national security issues, would this be something the CIA –”
He starts shaking his head before I finish. “It’s still a government agency, which is risky.” After plating the last steak, he closes the grill. “Plus, there’s no evidence… just my hunch. However, if I had a civilian on the inside, one with a particular skill set, who could acquire enough evidence to force an investigation –”
“Then you could keep this off the radar.”
He snaps the tongs together. “Yes, and you can do things without needing to wade through military red tape.”
“When do you need information?”
He shrugged. “I have no set time table, which means you set the pace. You’ll have time to establish a good foundation of trust. And you will only report to me when you acquire irrefutable evidence.”
He takes the p
late from me and moves to open his sliding glass door.
“Sir, how would you get me on the inside?”
He motions for me to enter the house before him.
“Through the target’s son.”
“His son, sir?”
“Yes. He’s in college, and the fact that his father employs a bodyguard for him is what tipped me off that this person might be the one who is our leak.” He turns to shut the door.
It does seem shady that an elected official would need to keep his kid guarded.
“His current bodyguard, Rusty Townsend, has two prior convictions on drug charges. It’ll be easy to get him fired.” He walks past me. “That’ll be where you step in.”
I weigh all my options again during dinner. Mrs. James is the sweetest woman and an exceptionally good apple pie baker. I can’t eat as much as I’d like since I don’t exactly know how my freshly-healed liver will react to all the rich foods I’m eating, so I eat slowly and enjoy the talk of their oldest daughter’s wedding and the younger one’s plans after her graduation from college.
She points to the bandage on my arm. “I see Fuller did your blood draw,” she smiles.
“Yes, ma’am. Blamed the princess band aids on his daughter. Said she’d know if he didn’t.”
“Little Carleigh is in my kindergarten class, so I believe it.” She stands, scooping her plate and mine off the table. “That girl could get Mata Hari to tell the truth.”
She leaves to make a pot of coffee to go with the pie, and I lean across the table.
“Sir, I’m in.”
***
My medical release from the Navy is made official on September 9, 2001. Two days later, well, the absolute worst tragedy I’ll probably ever witness occurs.
I feel so impotent for days watching everything unfold, knowing that I will not be defending my country as I should be. I sit on my mother’s couch unable to tear myself away from the TV, unsure if I want to cry or hit something.
In fact, for two weeks, I watch it, and the repeats, trying to discover things everyone else missed. Mom tries to get me to do something, anything else, to no avail.
It’s when she employs my sister that I finally turn off the TV. Actually, Charlene turns it off and unplugs it. She even hides the remote from me.
“C’mon, Noah,” she says, kicking my leg. “Even if you were still in, you couldn’t fix this. So get up.”
I run my hands down my face and grunt. “Why?”
“You’ve been back for two weeks and haven’t even made an attempt to see Fionn yet.” She lowers her face to mine. “The dude lost his wife and unborn child in a wreck six months ago. You haven’t seen him since the funeral.” She stands tall and holds her hand out to me. “You know, he almost lost you, too. I think both of you could use each other right now.” After pulling me up, she bumps her hip into me. “Plus, I know your car missed you terribly. Don’t you wanna drive her?”
Leave it to my sister to redirect my focus and remind me what should be important to me.
Family. Always family. And family isn’t always blood.
Seven
2002
“Es caldo de pollo,” Graciela announces, passing a bag to me, entering the apartment I now share with my new assignment: Jason Heywood.
From the smell, it’s not just chicken soup. She included some fresh tortillas and cookies, ones she sent to me in care packages over the years. And even though I wasn’t raised on them, they always felt like home.
Javier follows closely, shrugging his shoulders. “She insisted.”
I smile before shutting the door. No one can argue with Graciela, not successfully anyway. She has a way of getting what she wants. I think Javi just gives in to her now simply to save his time and energy.
She turns to me and asks in Spanish, “Where is this boy you are saving?”
“I’m not saving him, Graciela. I’m protecting him,” I reply, also in Spanish.
While I was in the Navy, I learned the language. I’m not completely fluent, but since most of the missions from our SEAL team took place in South and Central America, the need to learn it was important.
“What’s the difference?” She turns to me. “Here,” she barks, taking the bag from my hands. “Where’s your kitchen? I’ll go put this up for you.” Following the direction I point, she heads to our small kitchen. “Are you hungry now, or do you want me to just put it in the refrigerator for you so you can eat it later? You be sure to empty it in a pot and heat it on the stove. The microwave ruins the flavor.”
She starts to speak too quickly for me to understand all the words flying out of her mouth.
I love this woman like a second mother, which is funny since this is officially the tenth time I’ve ever seen her. She feels indebted to me ever since I took a bunch of those shirts over there for Mateo. I guess she feels that one act freed them to be able to go in public places without fear Matty would strip at inappropriate times.
“Javier,” I whisper, switching to English, “What is she saying?”
“I dunno. I wasn’t listening. I was glad you learned Spanish so I didn’t have to pay attention to her all the time.”
I laugh because I know it’s a lie. That man is so devoted to his wife, as she is to him. I hope to have something like what they have together.
Someday.
In the future.
Definitely not now.
Especially when I’m guarding a kid whose dad has possible ties to an international crime lord.
And I have a job to do.
Bring down Senator Jack Heywood.
When I met the man four months ago, my inner alarms went haywire. There was no doubt in my mind that the man was into shady shit. Despite his squeaky-clean image based on family values and Christian morals combined with his good looks, the man has the ability to lie with sincerity. He told fifteen of them in the five minutes we spent together, the biggest was that I was hired to keep his boy in check.
Rusty was fired when Jason ended up in the hospital after not taking his medication for months. While it is true that I have to keep an eye on Jason’s medication habits, the kid keeps himself in check these days, so my job is pretty easy. I can focus on the task the Admiral gave me.
Unfortunately, Jason hates his father, so getting close to the senator through his son is not on the table. I just have to use his hatred to create an avenue where Jason might help me bring his father down, and I’ll finesse it to make Jason think it was his idea.
Graciela emerges from the kitchen and walks toward us, looking around with a critical eye. “This place is very clean for two young men to be living here.” It wouldn’t surprise me if she pulled out white gloves and start running her fingers along the tops of our shelves and doorways.
She wrinkles her nose. “Does that mean one of you has a girlfriend?”
“No,” I say. “Jason is a bit of a… clean freak.”
“Oh my God, I need to meet this boy,” Graciela gushes, looking around me to see if she can spot Jason in the living room.
As if he was summoned, Jason walks through the door, gym bag already sliding off of his shoulders. Our complex offers yoga classes on Sundays. Normally I’d join him, but when Graciela and Javier called, he assured me that he’d be fine flying solo today.
He looks surprised to see all of us standing in the living room.
Graciela rushes him and grabs his shoulders, pulls him down so she can kiss him on the cheek, all the while speaking in the rapid-fire Spanish she’s known for.
Jason just looks like a deer in the headlights, looking back to me and then to Graciela, who is still touching him while talking and gesturing wildly.
Javier jumps in to help. “She says you’re too skinny, but you are very pretty. She appreciates your ability to get Noah to keep this place so clean –”
“She did not say that,” I scoff.
He smiles. “True, but she appreciates how clean this place is, and she says you will make some lucky girl a
good husband. She hopes that you are studying to be something that will attract a nice girl.” He swallows and cuts his eyes to me quickly. “And then she said she would like you to meet our daughter.”
An irrational wave of jealousy tries to wash over me, but I laugh to cover it.
“If she didn’t go for me, Graciela, she would never go for Jason.”
“I certainly didn’t raise her to be such a –” she stops herself and looks to Javier. “Well, I never taught her not to like anyone.”
Jason still looks dumbfounded.
“Jase, this is Graciela and Javier. You met their son, Ricky, when he helped me move in.”
He straightens his features, realizing he’s probably being rude.
“Mucho gusto,” he offers to Graciela in horrible Spanish, and turns to Javier to shake his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
I’ve watched Jason over the last few months and learned that although he is a pretty good looking guy, his ruthless politeness is sometimes overshadowed by his borderline-spaz-level social awkwardness. It’s one of the things I’ve vowed to help him overcome.
His little health scare put the fear of God into him, rightfully so. He went a little wild there for a while. My mission is to coax him out of his shell slowly.
I watch him interact with Graciela and how he seems almost afraid of her. There’s a strong suspicion that he’s never been fussed over or mothered. It makes me feel for the guy.
She pulls him into the kitchen and sits him down at the table. Ten minutes later, he has a bowl of hot caldo and tortillas in front of him, and she delights in watching him eat. She moons over him when he tells her that it’s delicious.
She prepared me a bowl, too, but I try not to get jealous about how Graciela’s attentions are focused on Jason like they are usually focused on me.
“You boys aren’t eating enough,” she tells me. “Look at him. He’s gonna float away, and you aren’t as healthy as you were a couple of years ago.”
I smile. “I’m still not a hundred percent after my injury, Graciela.”
“Well, with Cristiana and Ricky out of the house, and Mateo and Rafael getting older, I don’t have enough people to take care of.” She smiles at Jason and pats him on the shoulder, and he smiles back at her. “So now, every Sunday, I’ll bring you dinner, and you’ll at least have one good meal a week.”
