Accidental SEAL (SEAL Brotherhood #1) (33 page)

And grey smoke was coming from the rear. Kyle’s blood pressure raised.

They quickly parked their rented Tahoe on the street. The three team guys quietly checked their surroundings as they donned their backpacks. Kyle slung a bag with some additional firepower over his shoulder and checked the deep turquoise sky. Clear as a bell. There was a distant siren, but it could be going somewhere else. No one in the neighborhood stirred. There was little traffic.

Gunny stayed in the Tahoe as lookout, while Kyle, Cooper and Fredo quickly climbed the front steps to the Victorian. Kyle silently dropped his bag on the porch. Everyone unholstered their side arms. On Kyle’s mark, all three breached the open doorway, fanning out in three directions. Cooper went right, Fredo left. Kyle went straight back to the source of the fire in the back.

A few moments later, they gathered back in the kitchen. Someone had left meat in a pan, and it had burned until the pan itself was red-hot. The back door was open, so most the smoke had gone out that way. It made an excellent calling card. Kyle had shut off the gas to the expensive commercial range. He didn’t want to alert anyone still in the house to their presence, so didn’t turn on the fan.

Next they mounted the stairs without a sound, Kyle leading the way. They heard labored breathing and shallow coughing. And then came a faint cry, “Help.”

They were in the master bedroom. There were two bodies on the bed. An older man had been shot in the chest, and was having trouble breathing. Kyle thought it might have been a direct hit near his heart, but noticed the blood had pooled left and the gunshot was luckily on the right. The frail woman next to him looked like she could be his mother. She was clearly dead. Her shocked expression was permanently etched on her face. The back of her head was wet and soppy with dark blood. They’d punched her in the nose before they’d killed her. A trickle of blood ran down the side of her mouth, onto the flowered bedspread.

“Didn’t even tie her up,” Fredo said, and then he swore. “She was no threat to anybody.” Kyle knew it made Fredo sick to his stomach to see the elderly, especially women, abused. Kyle pointed down the hall, asking for Fredo to check out the rest of the floor.

Stripping away the man’s shirt, Coop applied an occlusive dressing to the wound with chest seals.

“Come on buddy, don’t give out on me now.” Coop coaxed him to stay conscious. The man’s large eyes stared back, gasping for breath. The SEAL medic dug for his blow out kit, and then applied needle decompression to the right of the man’s sternum, which relieved the man’s breathing almost immediately. A hissing sound came from the 14-gauge needle. Coop re-checked the man’s blood pressure.

“Coop?” Kyle asked. He needed a quick assessment.

“Pretty bad, but if he gets to the hospital, he’ll be okay. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now, given some relief so his lungs don’t collapse, but this is only temporary. He’s bleeding on the inside and he’s in a lot of pain, and weak. Don’t think the bullet hit any other organ but the lung. We need an EMT. Can’t risk moving him with this chest tube.”

Fredo had returned. “All clear. You want me to call it in?” he asked.

Kyle gave a nod and Fredo dashed from the room.

“Don’t touch anything except the phone, Fredo,” Kyle said to his back. He looked down at their patient. His chest rose and fell, the tube hissing with each breath. “Can he talk?”

“Not sure. We can try.” Cooper moved the man’s head from side to side. “Hey, buddy, help is on the way. You gotta try staying awake. Can you do that for me?

The man nodded his head. Sweat covered his forehead, but his color was coming back.

“Who did this to you?” Kyle asked.

The man’s eyes opened half way. He scanned the two faces in front of him and then focused on Kyle. “You’re Christy’s SEAL, aren’t you?”

Kyle winced. God, he wished he was. “Where is she?” he asked.

“They took her.”

“They?”

“Three guys. One was in uniform.”

“Military?”

“No, khaki.” He coughed and spit blood.

“Shit,” Cooper said. He shook his head, looking at Kyle. “No more talking.”

“They left you a note…” The man was fighting for every word. He raised a bloody finger and pointed to the bureau. His arm collapsed back onto the bed.

Fredo returned. “They’re on their way. Someone else had already reported the smoke.”

“She…” The man was struggling to say something to Kyle.

“Don’t. Don’t talk right now. The paramedics are on their way. Save your energy,” Coop said tenderly as he brushed back the graying hair from his forehead and checked the man’s eyes.

“She loves you.” He wouldn’t stop staring at Kyle. “Please. You must save her.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here. Nothing more we can do for him,” Cooper said. He punched Kyle in the arm, which brought the SEAL back to reality. The man’s body had gone limp again.

On the way out, Kyle picked up the envelope with his name written on it in Christy’s handwriting. He looked at the man on the bed and said a little prayer for him.

A small explosion downstairs in the kitchen caught them all off guard.

This was not a good sign.

“Must’ve set a timed IED.” Fredo said from behind as they were jumping down the stairs. Kyle was worried more timed devices were set. Was this a trap?

Gunny had the Tahoe running as the trio slid down along the stair railing, avoiding the stairs themselves. Sirens were coming from the bottom of the hill. They could see the red lights flashing. The big behemoth fire truck had to come up slow, honking and almost coming to a complete stop at each intersection along the way. Luckily, there were lots of intersections, even though the signs made cross traffic stop before proceeding across Stanyan. It gave Kyle and the crew barely enough time to get in the SUV.

Gunny stepped on the gas and almost killed the engine. Everyone else slid down in their seats, ducking under the lid of their caps, and waited. At last, the sputtering truck, romanced by the steady stream of filthy diatribes from Gunny, lumbered up one block. Gunny turned, but continued to swear at the vehicle, telling it that it lacked a soul, that its newness was its flaw. He extolled the virtues of his old but reliable truck back home.

“No special gas. Turns over every time. It’ll be running circles around you while you’re on your way to the junkyard.”

They were headed down toward the bay, and then followed the meandering side street around a neighborhood dog park and then back down to 19
^th
Avenue.

When Kyle was sure they weren’t being followed, he sat up and others took his cue, doing the same.

“You gonna open that love letter, Kyle?” Fredo wanted to know.

Kyle’s palm smoothed over the script on the outside of the cream-colored vellum. He would have put it to his nose, if he’d been alone.

His tongue flicked at his upper right lip as he carefully slit the letter open with his utility knife. He felt like he was violating her, so did it carefully. The quiet purr of the three-fifty V8 engine was the only noise Kyle heard. He didn’t even hear his own breath as he unfolded the stiff paper.

Kyle,

I’m writing this at the request of the Scorpion Kings. Caesar asks, commander to commander, that you meet him, or he says he will do things to me that will make it impossible to identify my body, except through DNA. (His words).

He’s left you a note in a Taco Bell bag in a garbage can at the corner of 19
^th
Avenue and Kearney, just outside Starbuck’s.

You’ll be watched, so come alone and no one will get hurt.

Christy—

He was holding evidence in his hands. Evidence he was bad for all the women in his life. Evidence that yet another person was going to pay the price for his lack of judgment. Because he couldn’t get a grip on himself and just stay the hell away. He’d known getting involved with Christy was a mistake from the beginning. And now, because of his lack of control, his animal need, others were suffering. It was the heaviest burden he’d ever had to bear.

He vowed when all of this was done, he’d stay as far away from Christy as he possibly could. Maybe he’d request one of the east coast teams. Yeah. But then he’d be leaving Fredo and Cooper. He could do it. And maybe they could go together. But he had to get away from her.

He imagined how she was feeling right now. Scared to death. And his involvement with her had caused all this. He folded the letter without saying anything and tapped it against his other palm, looking out the windshield at pedestrians in the crosswalk as the vehicle stopped at a red light. It was an unusually warm San Francisco night.

They were sitting ducks, he thought. They had the all firepower in the world, but were not able to use it. Even though there was always collateral damage, it was different here. These people he watched didn’t sign on for this. The gangly kids and couples and seniors walking their dogs this night were the ones he was supposed to be fighting to protect.

The truck lurched forward, Kyle almost hitting his head against the windshield. When he turned to look at Gunny, he saw a pair of red, rheumy eyes staring back at him.

“You gonna leave me here holding my dick, or are we gonna go get these guys?”

“Keep your hands on the steering wheel, Gunny,” Fredo shouted. “That ain’t nothin’ I wanna see in my lifetime.”

Gunny ignored the insult and kept his gaze on Kyle. “Any day now. What’d they want?”

“I’m supposed to go pick up a note in a garbage can on 19
^th
Avenue.” Kyle turned to Fredo and Cooper. “By the Starbuck’s.”

Cooper had his gloved hand outstretched. Kyle gave him the note.

Fredo was whistling from the back seat. “No way you’re going alone.”

“Have to.”

“No fuckin’ way, Kyle,” Fredo insisted. “I’ll set you up with a wire. You’ll read their note out loud and we’ll be a block away, hearing every word.”

“First I call Timmons,” Kyle said.

Kyle was surprised to find Timmons in the office this late. He knew some brass were in the office with him, because his chief addressed him as Adele and said he was sorry their date was cancelled. “That’s real sad about your mom, honey. Hope your family can be of some comfort to you. Be safe, okay? We can reschedule for next week.”

“You got big timers there?” Kyle asked.

“Don’t worry about me, honey. You just go be with your family in this time of crisis and I’ll call you later.”

Timmons hung up.

Kyle let the team know about the call. It was the closest to a green light he was going to get from the US Navy.

Fredo had Kyle fitted with a small Invisio earpiece with a microphone so they could talk back and forth. The thing was so small, he didn’t like to use it on missions because occasionally they’d get lodged into his ear too far and hurt like a son of a gun pulling them out. They also made him a bit hard of hearing, and he had to be careful not to talk too loud when under cover. But in this case, this small earpiece was way safer.

Fredo had fashioned portable mikes mounted behind cheap, American flag pins he’d bought at a souvenir store on Coronado. He pinned one to Kyle’s chest on the right side so Kyle’s heartbeat wouldn’t interfere with the reception. They were that good.

“This one is bait. They find it and think they’ve got the device, you feel me?” Fredo said.

Kyle nodded.

Fredo had gotten written up for pinning one of Carlisle’s flunkies. The whole team listened and recorded the young MA banging a pro for fifty bucks. CDs of the incident earned Fredo enough to pay for all the equipment. But he got a letter in his file. The young MA got himself transferred to a ship, he’d been so hounded by team guys.

“How many of these did you make?” Kyle asked as he tapped on the flag.

Coop jumped violently out of his seat, hitting his head on the roof of the truck. He pulled off his headset. “Shit, shit, shit. That thing is strong.”

Fredo frowned and looked back at Coop as if to tell him to grow up, but didn’t. He focused back on Kyle.

“If you need to, you put this thing in under your collar, or your breast pocket if you don’t have time.”

They dropped Kyle off at the corner, and he took a taxi the rest of the way to the Starbuck’s. He’d instructed the boys to stay several blocks behind, turn right before Kearney and park within view of the garbage can. Kyle asked the cab to wait, figuring he’d need transportation.

He fished through wrappers and wet semi-empty coffee cups. He found the bag down about a foot into the trash and pulled it out, earning him a scowl from an older, nearly hairless Chinese barber who watched him through the plate glass window of his shop.

When he opened the bag, he found another note, but this time it was written on a yellow Post-It.

“Keep the bag for prints,” he heard in his earpiece.

“Go to the rear entrance of the Shoe Barn at 16
^th
and Harrison.” He turned the note over. “Nothing else.”

Kyle gave the directions to the driver, a portly black man, who chewed on a toothpick. He folded and stuffed the Taco Bell bag into his backpack.

They arrived at the Shoe Barn, but the huge building, taking up a full city block, was boarded up. Half its windows were broken and replaced with plywood. However, some gaping holes remained. From the row of street people sitting out front with shopping carts filled with belongings and sleeping bags, Kyle realized this place was probably a makeshift hotel of sorts.

Was Christy held in this grimy warehouse with the drunks and filth?

Kyle instructed the driver to go around to the backside of the large building, where they found rollup garage doors spray-painted with gang graffiti and one metal exterior door.

“Look man, I don’t want no trouble. This is a dangerous neighborhood,” the cabbie said.

“No trouble. I’m supposed to meet someone here. But they might have left another note. Gotta be sure I don’t need another ride.”