Finn arrived at Jittery Abe’s just in time to stand at the end of the line next to a short, muscular kid in a red jersey. The kid nodded deferentially and took a step back, inviting Finn to get in line ahead of him.
“Oh, hey,” said Finn, waving the kid back into place and taking the spot behind him.
The kid shrugged and nodded his thanks.
Finn nodded at the kid’s jersey and lifted one eyebrow. “I-why ay-oh, why ay-ess, right?”
IYAOYAS: the ordie’s creed. If You Ain’t Ordnance, You Ain’t Shit.
The kid broke into a grin. “Copy that, Chief!”
“Just Finn,” said Finn.
“Finn.” The kid’s grin grew wider. “Like Huck Finn?”
“Something like that. What’s your name, airman?”
“Tom, Chief.”
Finn nodded. “Good to meet you, Tom Sawyer.”
And just like that, the two were best buds.
That’s one, he thought.
Finn had clocked this kid the day before, on the flight deck during FOD walk. Round face, stub of a nose, narrow thick eyebrows that lent him a thoughtful look. He was young, and not just in years, but he had solid character and it was clear that the guys he worked with trusted him. No doubt because he had a trusting nature himself. Finn would have bet money that this kid had a girl back home, and that by the time he got back his heart would be broken. But he’d get through it. Those who were gifted with a trusting nature, Finn had observed, had a certain naïve resilience.
A few minutes of small talk later Tom had his order and it was Finn’s turn. He ordered a small coffee, black. Gave Tom Sawyer a two-finger salute and headed the other direction. Took the coffee with him down a passageway, hooked a left, tossed the coffee in the trash, untouched. Leaned against the bulkhead and checked his watch.
His first day on board Finn had drawn curious stares as he made his way around the decks. Today, as he walked the passageways in his desert tan flight suit, hardly anyone noticed. He’d become part of the fabric. It was always this way. Strange as his physical appearance was, he could blend in, then disappear. He was, after all, a sniper; he knew how to stalk.
After waiting three minutes he circled back around and got in line at Jittery Abe’s again, this time stepping in right behind the master-at-arms he’d seen the day before at the portside CIWS mount, the one with the high gravelly voice.
The MA turned his head, noticed the SEAL insignia on his chest. Nodded.
Finn nodded back. Smiled.
Emboldened by the smile, the MA said, “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
Finn said, “You mean, a second question?”
The man’s face went blank for a moment, then relaxed in a chuckle. “Ha. You got a point there. Yeah, a second question.”
Now at the front of the line, the MA placed his order and turned back to Finn after paying with his Navy Cash card. Everything on board a navy ship ran on Navy Cash. That and cans of Monster, which were hoarded and traded like prison-yard cigarette packs.
“What exactly is a SEAL doing here? I mean, no platoon, no squad, just one SEAL?”
Finn opened his mouth, paused a second, then said softly, “That’s classified.” He leaned an inch closer and dropped his voice even further. “If I told you, I’d have to…” He glanced left, then right, then back at the MA. “Well, you know. Coffee, black,” that last said to the barista.
The man chuckled again. “Copy that.” He stuck out his hand and got a brief shake from Finn. “Mason. Frank Mason.” He jerked a thumb at the MA standing next to him. “This here’s Dewitt.”
“Let me guess,” said Finn, then tipped his head toward Frank’s silent partner. “First name Ernest?”
Frank did the blank face again for a full three seconds, then barked a laugh. “Ha! Frank and Ernest. You’re funny!”
Finn shrugged, then nodded in Dewitt’s direction. “Hey. He’s Dewitt.”
Frank paused—then laughed out loud again, a high wheezy laugh. “Ha! That’s good. That’s really good.”
Finn glanced at his watch. “Uh-oh. Gotta bounce. Later, gents.” He stepped out of the line and started walking away.
“Hey,” Frank called over. “What about your coffee?”
“You guys have it. I’ll get one later.”
That’s two.
Three, with Schofield.
Tom the ordie, Frank in security, Schofield the ATO officer. They were the first three nodes in his fledgling onboard HUMINT network. Human intelligence. His own personal grapevine and early warning system. Finn did this everywhere he went, and it worked every time. He’d done it in urban Iraq and backwater villages in Afghanistan. It had worked in Libya, Syria, Somalia, Yemen—
Yemen, mostly. Though in Mukalla, not so much.
No, it hadn’t worked too well there, had it.
A whole settlement wiped out. Three dozen Yemeni locals slaughtered. On their watch. His and Kennedy’s.
Hence the disgrace.
And no one could tell him how it happened.