Night with a Seal (Hot SEALs #1) (7 page)

Frowning, Jon asked, “How did you know?”

“I overheard Darci on the phone with Ali. I asked her what was going on and she told me.”

What the hell
?

“Wait, what?” Unless Ali was some super spy who’d planted a bug on him, or a crazy stalker who’d followed him, it was impossible he and Rick were talking about the same thing. “What are you talking about?”

“You had sex with Ali and then left like your hair was on fire.”

And this was why even with as much as he liked it, he usually didn’t have sex—all the crap that went along with it. “Is that what Ali said?”

“No, I don’t think she used those exact words.” Rick was hedging, like he’d supplied his own words and not Ali’s. That made Jon feel moderately better.

“Then what were her exact words?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to her. All I know is that Darci called Ali not long after you two left here, and she said you’d already left, which in my mind didn’t leave a whole lot of time in the middle.”

Jon shook his head as he began to wonder how much this story had changed as it passed from Ali, to Darci, to Rick and now to him.

“Listen, not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t rush out.” Jon just hadn’t stayed around for very long after. As it turns out, it was a good thing he hadn’t. He’d just gotten home when he’d gotten called in.

As he neared the gate and the sign reading
No Handheld Cell Phones
came into view, he said, “Hang on, Rick. I have to put the phone down.”

He rolled down his window and slowed to a stop, flashing his ID to the guard.

The guard greeted him, and then waved him through. When Jon had rolled the window back up and hit the button to put the cell on speakerphone, he heard only silence.

“Rick? You still there or did I lose you?”

After a second’s hesitation, Rick said, “I’m here. You’re on base.”

No use lying about it. “Yeah, I am.”

Another pause told Jon that Rick knew why. The most likely reason for the command to pull Jon in at this hour, just days before deployment, was because the unit was leaving earlier than scheduled.

“All right.” Rick drew in a breath before he continued. “You got a message you want me to deliver?”

“No. Rick, Ali and I talked. We’re good. She agreed with me on everything. It’s crazy to keep in touch. It is what it is.”

“Okay. I’ll stay out of your business.” Rick agreed, but beneath his words Jon heard the sadness.

The unit had been on missions and trainings since Rick had left, but this would be their first extended deployment without him. No doubt he was waxing nostalgic, maybe even wishing that he were shipping out with his old teammates.

“You? Stay out of my business? Doubtful.” Jon made a joke to try and lighten the heavy mood.

“Yeah, well, deal with it.” There was a pause before Rick added, “Stay safe, brother.”

“That’s the plan. I’ll touch base with you when I can.”

“I’d appreciate that. Night.”

“Night.” Jon disconnected. As he pulled into a parking space, he tried to wrestle his mind back to where it needed to be. Not on Ali or Rick, but rather on all he’d have to do.

There’d be no sleep for the weary tonight.

CHAPTER 7

They didn’t speak. There was no need. Countless hours of training and hundreds of missions with these same men meant they worked together like a well-oiled machine.

Nothing more than shadows on the cold moonless night, the team moved into place without a sound. They were ready for this. They had rehearsed almost this exact close-quarters battle scenario in the kill house countless times stateside. They’d reviewed it verbally a dozen times this week alone, so that now muscle memory and conscious thought melded seamlessly.

One nod from Zane, a green ghost through the tubes of the night vision goggles, told Jon all he needed to know. They were ready to move.

Zane took point and headed for the point of entry first. Jon followed closely behind him, his breath forming condensation in the December air.

They kept to the sides of the doorway in case the occupants had gotten wise to this little surprise visit and decided to spray the door with automatic gunfire in hopes of hitting whoever was standing on the other side.

Crouched low, Zane reached up with one gloved hand and tried the knob.

It seemed crazy, but more times than not the doors of their targets were unlocked, providing the team an open path and the element of surprise.

During Jon’s first mission as a SEAL, they’d patrolled in at night, silently on foot, right up to a suspected insurgent hideout in Afghanistan. He’d waltzed through the unlocked front door and right up to the sleeping fighters.

Even though he had been only renting an apartment at the time, Jon had installed a deadbolt on his front door and a lock on his bedroom the day after returning home to the States.

Not that he was planning on someone sneaking in and shooting him in the night just miles from his base in Virginia, but shit happened. If word got out about what he did for a living, some radical faction could decide to make an example of him or retaliate for one of the many missions he’d been on over the years. As far as terrorists went, the decapitated head of a Navy SEAL was the most coveted trophy of all.

Call him chicken, but Jon would be damned if anyone would be able to accuse him of not learning from other people’s stupid mistakes, so he locked down his home tight and slept more soundly for it each night.

Zane glanced at Jon and shook his head. Unfortunately, tonight’s target had learned the same lesson. This particular door was locked. It looked to be a thick one too with a heavy metal handle.

Jon motioned to the sledgehammer sticking out of the pack on his back. They could knock the handle off the door and burst in. Zane shook his head once and pointed to a breaching charge, the long strip of adhesive explosive they both carried in the front of their vests.

Their sneak attack would be exposed either way they chose, but at least blowing the door was a more sure method. He’d run across doorknobs heavy enough to bounce the sledge right off without having any impact on the mechanism.

With any luck, the inhabitants would be so disoriented from the blast it would buy the team a few precious seconds and they would retain the upper hand.

Still crouched low, Zane adhered the explosive strip to the door.

“Going explosive.” Zane’s low voice came over the COMM, funneled directly into Jon’s right ear. The communication went to the rest of the squad as well—one posted as guard making sure no one snuck up on the unit, and two more covering the back of the house.

Jon rolled to the side along the wall to shield his face from any flying shrapnel as Zane did the same on the other side. The flash and boom was their signal to go, and both men moved at once.

Zane kicked in the door. No longer held shut by the mangled hardware, it opened wide with not much resistance. He went toward the left and swept his weapon in an arc. Jon, close behind, moved toward the right, mirroring Zane’s movements.

As he cleared into the room, Jon heard the sound of suppressed fire outside. The bad guys didn’t generally bother with suppressors on their weapons, which meant his guys were shooting. Jon had his own task to complete before he could wonder about what was happening behind the dwelling.

The main room right inside the door of the house appeared empty. At least, empty of people. He couldn’t say the same about the crap crowding the tight space. It looked like a television episode of
Hoarders
. Besides the stove, table and multiple chairs that filled the room, there were stacks upon stacks of shit. Boxes. Prayer rugs. Garbage.

Busting into a room and not knowing what was inside was bad enough, but not being able to see more than fifty percent of the space because of all the junk made it so much worse. Jon had to physically check behind piles before he felt confident enough to believe the front room was clear.

With a glance in Jon’s direction, Zane moved to the closed door in the back wall, the only other door in the room.

It had to lead to a bedroom, and between the gunfire out back and them blowing the front door, whoever was inside that room had to know they were there.

Jon dipped his head to indicate he was ready. As point man, Zane stood off to the side of the doorframe and reached for the knob. It turned in his hand. He shoved the door wide and began shouting to the occupants in Pashto with a few English words thrown in.

Two men sat on the floor on bedrolls, legs crossed, hands behind their heads. They knew, because word had spread like wildfire, that if the Americans didn’t see a weapon in a suspect’s hand or within reach, they couldn’t shoot. The most Jon’s team could do was detain the men. Even known insurgents—fighters who they knew had killed Americans—could only be held for a short time for questioning if they didn’t have a weapon.

The team would search the house and, if they found anything, bring the men in. They’d be questioned and then released within days, most likely to be picked up again next month after they’d had plenty of time to transport more weapons, gather more followers, shoot at more peacekeepers. Then, orders would come down for another raid. Another opportunity for Jon’s squad to put their lives on the line for what amounted to nothing.

And so the grueling cycle would repeat.

Being part of historic events like taking out Osama Bin Laden was rare. Not every mission could be sexy and Jon was fine with that, but it was hard to stay motivated when the results of their missions were so clearly ineffective.

Years ago when Jon had signed up for this life knowing all the sacrifices he’d be making, things had been different. When faced with an apparent threat, they could eliminate that threat without fear of disciplinary action. Slowly, Washington D.C. politics and the media’s opinion had trumped everything else, including his safety, causing changes in training, procedure and for Jon, the very essence of the job.

There was an old guy who hung around at the bar back home. He’d been a New York City cop for years until, after putting in his twenty, he’d retired and moved south. A few drinks and all the guy could do was bitch. Complain about how he’d arrest a criminal only to see him out on the same street corner a week later, until finally he started to not give a shit. Eventually, he hadn’t even bothered arresting them. Instead he took to waving at them as he sat in the squad car and drank his coffee.

During this deployment—Jon’s first rotation in the region since more changes had been implemented to further good relations with the locals as the Joint Forces moved toward turning control of the country over to the Afghan government and military—Jon knew exactly how that old cop had felt—ineffective.

“Two males of fighting age. No visible weapons,” Jon reported what he and Zane had found into the COMM for the rest of the team. He remembered hearing the shots outside and asked, “What have you got?”

 
“Single male fighting age, armed with an AK and grenades.” The report came back in Grant’s voice. “He must have been on guard duty. He was taking a leak when he spotted us moving in. Swung his weapon at us. We engaged.”

And neutralized the threat so they had one less to worry about. Jon nodded. “Copy. Securing detainees now.”

“Copy. Beginning search of the property,” Grant responded.

After finding only two unarmed men in the house, Jon suspected that the chances of any significant cache of weapons being nearby would be slim. The arms and explosives would likely be hidden farther away. If they found them in the short time allotted for the unit to stay safely on site and search, they would photograph the evidence and then blow it up to make sure it didn’t stay operational to be used to kill again. They were still allowed to do that—at least until the headquarters staff got the bright idea they should start toting the shit back down the mountain while wearing sixty pounds of gear. God preserve them all from the head shed’s
good ideas
.

After securing the two men with zip cuffs, Zane turned toward Jon. “This was supposed to be a stronghold and they’ve got one guard outside and these two inside, unarmed and sleeping. Where are all the weapons? Where are the supposed recruits being trained?”

Jon had no doubt they’d find some weapons, eventually, after they’d searched through the crap inside the dwelling, but Zane was right. Something was off. The promised payload didn’t seem to be there.