Snow blanketed Virginia, a series of storms over the holidays leaving more than a foot on the ground. Paige trudged across the icy parking lot of the CIA’s training facility with her personnel officer, Fred Zimmer, walking beside her.
She wasn’t sure where personnel had originally planned to send her, but they had made a change after the incident in the counseling center. That change had resulted in a transfer out of the area and into completely unknown territory.
A sense of excitement and anticipation bubbled inside her. New people. A new home. A new future. She had been waiting so long to find one for herself, one where she could try something new.
This new position would be a complete change from what she had done before. From what she’d been told, the woman who ran the training course for undercover operatives was an experienced agent who was well respected and knew how to get results. She also worked with trainees who had been carefully screened and were psychologically stable.
Fred held open the door for her, and they passed through the building’s lobby and down a long hall. “Give me a minute to talk to Vanessa first,” he said, slowing his pace.
Paige nodded, wondering what he could possibly need to talk to Vanessa about without her in the room. After all, from everything she had been told, this was a standard transfer. Then again, she had thought it a little odd that Fred had insisted on escorting her to the new assignment, especially when it was so far from headquarters.
Paige stood awkwardly outside the door while Fred and the woman inside greeted each other.
Then Fred spoke. “I have something for you.”
“What’s this?” the woman asked.
“The file for your new assistant.”
The room fell silent except for the rustle of paper. Then the woman’s voice carried through the open doorway. “Absolutely not.”
A moment later the door closed with a quiet click. Paige strained to hear what was said but couldn’t make out the muffled voices. Only a minute or two passed before the door opened once more and Fred motioned for her to enter. She passed through the office door behind him and studied the woman across the room.
She was younger than Paige would have expected, maybe thirty, but she carried an air of authority. Smooth dark skin complemented her high cheekbones, and her inquisitive eyes sized Paige up without any sign of pretense.
“Paige Vickers, this is Vanessa Johnson, your new boss.”
“For the time being,” Vanessa said flatly before Paige could respond. “As my last four assistants can tell you, I’m not an easy person to work for.”
Paige saw Vanessa’s words for what they were, simple truth and a challenge. “I don’t expect any job to be easy, but if you’ll explain your expectations, I’ll save you the trouble of dealing with personnel anymore.”
Vanessa’s eyebrows lifted, and she spoke to Fred. “I think I like her already.”
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” he said with a note of triumph in his voice. “And, Vanessa, remember that Paige is Agency personnel, not military. Don’t call her in during the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency.”
“Fine.” As soon as he left, Vanessa said to Paige, “Which brings us to my first expectation. You need to have your phone with you and on at all times.”
“Even after hours?”
“Even after hours.” Vanessa motioned toward the door. “Because when Fred said I call people in during the middle of the night, he wasn’t kidding.”
* * *
“Kel, you’ve got to be kidding me. Brent takes leave for three days, and you pick now to tell me this?” Lieutenant Seth Johnson stared at the commanding officer of SEAL Team Eight, a man he had fought countless battles with, a man he considered a friend. A man who had clearly lost his mind. Seth’s Southern drawl was barely noticeable beneath his frustration. “The squad is working great together, and now you’re going to mess it up?”
Commander Kel Bennett stared back at him, clearly waiting for Seth to work through the shock of what he was asking. Changing up the Saint Squad was drastic, he knew, but he believed it was also necessary. The teams needed their new recruits to be ready for anything, and that wasn’t going to happen unless they trained with men who had already seen battle, men he could trust to train these new SEALs right.
“I’m not messing anything up. I’m just giving some of our new guys the chance to learn from the best.”
“Flattery’s not going to work.”
“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. And I don’t need your permission. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m in command. All I have to do is make this an order.”
“Then why don’t you make it an order when Brent gets back?” Seth asked, referring to the Saint Squad’s commanding officer, whom Seth was currently standing in for.
“Brent will find out about the change soon enough. I only found out we were getting new men a few days ago,” Kel said. “When I looked through the personnel files, I was impressed that two will fit exceptionally well with your squad. One of them is a Latter-day Saint, and the other was raised Catholic, but he has an aversion to drinking alcohol.”
“I can appreciate wanting to throw the Mormon boys together, but we really don’t need any new personnel. We’re doing fine on our own.”
“You have been doing fine on your own, but like it or not, the Saint Squad is expanding. You’ll have to deal with it.”
“Who are these guys, and when do they show up?” Seth asked, resigned.
Kel lifted a file from his desk and handed it to Seth. “The Latter-day Saint is still finishing his BUD/S training and won’t report for another six weeks. The other one, Damian Schmitt, will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?”
A knock sounded at Kel’s door.
“Come in,” Kel called out, and both men turned to see an enlisted man standing in the hallway.
“I guess he’s early.” Kel waved him in.
The man was at least seven or eight inches shorter than Seth, around five foot ten, and Seth guessed from his build and light hair that his family originated from somewhere in Scandinavia or Western Europe.
Seth continued to study the man as he came to attention. He carried himself well enough, and his gaze was direct, something he appreciated in a man. When Damian introduced himself, Seth was surprised to hear a noticeable Hispanic accent. It was subtle enough that he couldn’t quite place it, but there was no doubt this man had spent a significant amount of time south of the border.
Seth glanced at Kel, not sure what he was supposed to do now. There was a reason he was content to remain second in command of the squad. He didn’t like to deal with the headaches and politics that came with being in charge.
Kel completed the introductions by motioning to Seth. “This is Lieutenant Seth Johnson. He’ll be serving as your CO until Lieutenant Commander Miller returns from leave next week. I believe you have weapons training in an hour, so I suggest you settle in and then report to the firing range at ten hundred.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Damian said and then disappeared back the way he had come.
As soon as he left the room, Seth turned to Kel once more and renewed his plea. “Seriously, Kel. Why the Saint Squad?”
“Because you’re the best.”
“I already told you, flattery isn’t going to work.”
Kel waved toward the door. “You’d better round up the rest of your men for weapons training.”
When Seth started to leave, Kel added, “And, Seth, do me a favor and don’t let Damian shoot anyone.”
Seth held both hands out in surrender. “I’ll do what I can.”
* * *
Damian stood at the edge of the shooting range, a gun in his hand. The rest of his new squad wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes, and he took this rare quiet moment to enjoy the view. In the forefront, functional buildings and snow-covered fields dominated the landscape. He had already seen the community of base housing, the airfield, and the various aircraft that utilized it.
He couldn’t see the ocean from here, but the scent of salt and sea carried on the light breeze. He had dropped his gear at the temporary housing he’d been assigned, but he hoped he could find an apartment within running distance of the water.
He loved the ocean in a way few men understood. His entire life had been spent within minutes of the water, first in Venezuela and then in Houston. Not that he and his brothers had ever known what it was like to live in the high-rise condos or the beautiful homes along those coastlines. His family had always been on the outskirts of the community, using bicycles or their father’s ancient pickup truck to bridge the distance between home and the beach.
A Humvee pulled up, and Damian recognized the big black man who climbed out of the driver’s seat as the lieutenant he had met in the commander’s office. The dark-haired man who climbed out of the seat behind Lieutenant Johnson was nearly as tall but lankier in build and a bit younger than the others.
The two men on the other side looked at him with differing expressions. The taller of the two had sandy hair, just a shade or two darker than his own, and he studied him with a look that crossed between simple curiosity and acceptance. As he followed the lieutenant toward Damian, his gait was long and easy.
The final member of the group stood around six feet tall, and his skepticism was obvious in his dark eyes and rigid posture.
Damian holstered his weapon and came to attention. He watched the men approach, flanking out in a V formation as though preparing to go to battle. They looked so connected, so unified. He wondered briefly if these men considered him the enemy.
He had been excited to get this assignment and have the opportunity to work with a squad that was so well respected, yet, now that the moment was here, he wondered if he would ever be accepted. Would he ever be good enough to be one of them? And if so, would these men ever open their ranks to let him in?
“At ease,” Lieutenant Johnson said with a trace of impatience. “Damian Schmitt, meet the rest of the squad.” He pointed to the serious one first. “This is Quinn Lambert. Next to him is Tristan Crowther.”
Quinn offered a cursory nod, while Tristan stepped forward and offered a hand. Texas sounded in his words. “Good to meet you.”
“You too.”
“And the tall guy over there is Jay Wellman.”
Jay also stepped forward and shook Damian’s hand. “Welcome to the squad.” His eyes lit with humor when he added, “It’ll be nice not to be the new guy.”
“How long have you been with this unit?” Damian asked, eager to find someone who could help him navigate these unfamiliar dynamics.
“Two years.”
“Two years?” Damian repeated.
“You can get acquainted later. Everyone gather round. Whose turn is it to pray?” Seth asked.
Of all the things Damian had expected to come out of his commanding officer’s mouth, “Whose turn is it to pray?” was definitely not on the list. Apparently, Seth noticed his confusion. “We use every tool available in our jobs. That includes asking for the Lord’s guidance. You never know when it will come in handy.”
“I’ll say it,” Tristan offered.
Everyone folded their arms, and Damian followed suit. Tristan’s prayer was short and simple, asking for the Lord to watch over and protect them and to give them the inspiration necessary to perform to the best of their abilities.
As soon as the prayer ended, Seth resumed business as usual. “Go line up. It’s time for some target practice.” Seth motioned Damian to the shooting station on the end. “Start with your sidearm, and then we’ll shift to assault rifles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t have to ‘sir’ me. Call me Seth.”
“Yes, sir,” Damian said automatically. He quickly corrected himself. “Yes, Seth.”
Seth waited for Damian to settle in and start shooting. Damian felt like he was going through evaluations all over again. After several rounds, Seth said, “Not bad. Go ahead and work on assault rifles. I’ll be at the next station over.”
Damian cleaned his sidearm and holstered it. He took a moment to look down the line at the rest of the squad before switching weapons. He had thought this would be like shooting practice at BUD/S, but he found it odd to no longer have an instructor standing by watching everyone’s performance.
When he glanced out at the target Seth had just started shooting at, he felt a new sense of admiration. The man definitely knew how to abuse a target.
Determined to maintain a comparable level of competency, he picked up his rifle and fell in line.