Amy read over the communication report, her sense of uneasiness growing. After her squad had left, she had followed her normal routine and taken a nap during the time they would be traveling under radio silence. She then spent the next two hours in CIC, the Combat Information Center, waiting for her squad to check in.
The radio silence had prevented her from having any updates beyond following the aircraft on the ship’s instruments. She was surprised when she arrived in CIC and found that the helicopter’s transmitter had stopped working shortly before it had cleared Venezuelan airspace and dropped below radar.
The mission plan had called for the helicopter to evade detection by local military forces, but she hadn’t anticipated a malfunction in the signal that would normally allow the navy to track it. Her nerves had strained when the time of its expected return came and went without contact. The silence had continued for more than an hour longer than anticipated until the helicopter popped back up on the ship’s radar.
The pilot reported that he had successfully made the drop, but Brent hadn’t reported in. This fact rolled through her mind repeatedly. Based on the time the helicopter had returned, Brent should have messaged her over three hours ago. Even if they’d had to secure the area before radioing in, she should have heard from him by now.
Since they had discussed his following Saint Squad protocol, she knew he wouldn’t have sent the message back with the pilot. He would have sent it himself, along with an inserted code to verify it was really him or another member of the squad sending it.
So why had the pilot said everything had gone according to plan when clearly it hadn’t?
For an hour and a half after the helicopter’s return, Amy waited in CIC for some kind of signal, but it never came. She wasn’t one who was prone to cry foul unnecessarily, especially knowing many people in the military weren’t fond of the presence of civilian intelligence officers aboard ship. When her concerns continued to eat at her and she could no longer justify any reasons that the communication delay had taken so long, she sought out the ship’s executive officer.
“Commander Dunnan, I think we may have a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“The captain gave my squad permission for a sit rep after insertion, but I haven’t received one.”
“The pilot said everything went off without a hitch.”
“With all due respect, sir, you’ve worked with my squad before. If it had gone off without a hitch, we would have heard from them by now.”
The commander fell silent for a moment, processing the logic of her words. He turned to the duty roster and spoke to a seaman nearby. “Seaman, go track down Lieutenant Coswick and have him report to CIC.”
“Commander, I think he was the one who got sick. There was another pilot who replaced him.”
The commander amended his order. “Find out who the pilot was and get him up here.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Brent sat on a large rock and used his flashlight to study his mission map. It didn’t take long to confirm what he’d suspected—the map was useless. They had been dropped outside of the area the map covered.
He looked up when Quinn and Tristan entered the campsite.
“We have good news and bad news,” Tristan said.
“I’ll take the good news first,” Brent said. His men’s easy manner already told him what he most needed to know. They hadn’t found any discernable threats in the area.
“I caught breakfast.” Quinn held up a lifeless iguana by its tail.
“There’s also a fresh spring a half mile inland,” Tristan added.
“What’s the bad news?”
“We’re boxed in. There isn’t any sign of life out there, and it looks like we’re surrounded by steep cliffs,” Tristan said.
“We’ll be able to tell more when the sun comes up.”
“Who wants to take the first watch?” Brent asked, fully intending to follow procedure even if they didn’t anticipate any problems through what remained of the night.
“I’ll do it,” Quinn offered. He held the large iguana out to Jay. “Let me know when breakfast is ready. Then we can switch off.”
“Way to get out of cooking, Quinn. I thought you were supposed to be the barbecue king,” Brent said.
Quinn grinned. “I don’t see a grill.”
Jay took the offering and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know how to cook iguana.”
“If you do it right, it’s supposed to taste like chicken,” Seth told him.
“How about you come help me do it right.”
“Tell you what. I’ll go find you a nice stick to roast it on.”
While Quinn took up watch, the other men alternated between helping and heckling as Jay prepared their meal. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. Brent took an appreciative sniff, and his stomach grumbled. Then his whole body tensed when Tristan suddenly jumped up and drew his knife. Brent sprang up as well, searching for the threat, even as Tristan’s knife left his hand and went spinning through the air.
Across from him, Jay used his flashlight to illuminate the tree where the knife had landed. All of them relaxed as soon as they saw he had hit his target.
“A spider? Really, Tristan? I think it’s time you get over this fear of arachnids.”
“Take a closer look.” Tristan shuddered. “It’s huge!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Brent holstered his sidearm. “I thought you saw someone out there.”
“While you’re up, will you grab my knife for me?” Tristan asked, holding his ground.
“I’m pretty sure the spider is dead. It’s not going to hurt you.”
“Yeah, but you’re closer,” Tristan said with a weak grin.
Quinn stepped out of the shadows from where he had been standing watch. It didn’t take him long to figure out what had caused the commotion. He shook his head and crossed to where Tristan’s knife had speared a ridiculously large spider’s abdomen.
He grabbed the handle, pulled it free, and wiped the blade on his pants before handing it over to his brother-in-law. “Looks like it’s your turn to stand watch.”
“Thanks,” Tristan said, clearly referring to the return of his weapon.
When he moved to take a watch position, Brent called after him. “Hey, Tristan. We only want you to wake us if you find something deadly out there. Spiders don’t qualify.”
“I’ll make sure I remember that if I see a venomous one crawling on your face.”
“If that happens, do me a favor and don’t use your knife.”
* * *
Paige sat at the kitchen and laced up her shoes with a sense of uneasiness. What had she been thinking? Agreeing to go on a 5:00-a.m. run with Damian had seemed logical enough when they had talked on the phone yesterday. She went running most mornings anyway. Then she had remembered what he did for a living. How in the world was she going to keep up with a Navy SEAL?
The knock on the door startled her, and she glanced out the window to see Damian standing on the doorstep. She opened the door. “I didn’t hear you pull up.”
“I ran over here.”
“You ran here so we could go running together?”
“You said last night you normally run three or four miles. It made sense to add a few on either end.”
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. “Are all Navy SEALs so dedicated?”
He stiffened. “Can’t say I know the answer to that. I haven’t met very many.”
“I’m sorry. I know work must be tough to talk about right now.”
“It’s okay. It’s hard not to think about it, especially not knowing what I’m supposed to do with my squad out of town.”
Paige fell into step with him as he started out at an easy jog through the darkness. “Do you know anything about what you’re doing today?”
“I just know I’m supposed to report to Commander Bennett’s office at oh eight hundred.”
“Who’s Commander Bennett?”
“He’s the commander of SEAL Team Eight.” They turned the corner and headed toward the bay. He glanced over at her. “Is this pace okay for you?”
“It’s fine, thanks.” Paige didn’t doubt he normally ran much faster when he was by himself, but she appreciated having someone by her side as they traversed the unfamiliar streets. When they turned a corner to reveal the dark water of the bay stretched out in front of them, she renewed that sentiment in her mind.
Lights from nearby buildings shimmered off the water, but the beach area in front of them was eerily quiet. Water lapped quietly along the shore, and in the distance, she heard the rumble of an engine.
Damian must have heard it too because he slowed his pace for several steps and then held up a hand, signaling her to stop.
The rumble grew in intensity until Paige saw the lights of a helicopter, the craft’s silhouette just visible in the first fingers of daylight.
It hovered over the open water, and Paige thought she saw several splashes below. After the fourth splash, she realized what was happening. “Are those people jumping out of the helicopter?”
“Yep.”
“Why would someone want to jump out of a helicopter into freezing cold water?”
“Training. You’d be safe to bet they’re SEALs,” Damian said, his voice oddly devoid of emotion.
“This is the kind of stuff you do for training? Jump out of perfectly good aircraft?”
“Pretty much.”
“Sounds crazy to me.”
“Oh, it is,” Damian agreed without hesitation.
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because we never know what kind of situation we’ll find ourselves in.” Damian motioned toward the water. “We practice making night drops with full gear to be sure we can do it right when it really matters.”
“You mean when you’re dropping in behind enemy lines somewhere.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.” Damian kept his eyes on the men now making their way to shore. “Believe it or not, most missions for Navy SEALs are below the radar. They go in, get whatever information they need, and they get out, ideally without anyone ever knowing they were there.”
Paige noticed his use of the word they instead of we, and she understood the thoughts behind it. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re one of them. This one mission doesn’t change that.”
Damian shifted his attention to her now, an odd expression on his face. “Do you always do that?”
“What?”
“Read people’s minds?”
“Sorry. It’s an annoying habit of mine.”
“You have an uncanny way of seeing right to the heart of things.” He glanced out at the water again and then turned back the way they’d come. “Ready to head back?”
“Sure.”