A cold December gust slapped Navy Captain Micah Reid across the face as he followed the Caisson Platoon through Arlington National Cemetery. The hard metallic klomp of steel shoes on the black horses pulling the highly polished carriage with the flag-draped casket through the arch of leafless gray trees under a sky of bruised clouds epitomized the day.
The somber processional followed Petty Officer First Class Mark Schaefer to his final resting place.
The Navy had lost a good man.
The SEALs had lost a good man.
Micah had lost a good man on one of his many teams. As Commanding Officer of Naval Special Warfare Group Two, he oversaw more than seven thousand active duty and civilian men and women. He usually didn’t attend funerals unless they were for an officer or very senior enlisted in his chain of command.
Schaefer was an exception.
Micah had been in the Operations Center at the United States Special Operations Command Operational Center when “Ram”, the squad’s point man and breacher, had been killed. The small team had been ambushed. What was supposed to have been a clean meet-and-greet with a local asset had turned into a clusterfuck. The twenty-six-year-old, on the fast track through promotions, had entered the supposedly empty home designated by the CIA contact. Seconds later the building exploded.
Watching the op live via satellite brought back too many memories of Micah’s only failed mission. Eleven years ago, his coed joint task force team had been ordered to blow up a munitions dump in Syria. A charge had detonated early before his friend, Mason Sinclair, could get out. Army Special Forces had lost a good man that night. His teammate, and good friend, Elizabeth, had lost her new husband.
Thoughts of her, now pregnant and married to the director of the CIA’s covert Special Operations Group, reminded him that he was to have supper with her and Matthew Saint Clare in a few hours. He was going to need a stiff drink after this funeral.
Micah’s mind wandered to the similarities between the death of Mark Schaefer and his friend Mason. Both had been killed because of bad CIA intelligence. Both had been blown to smithereens in what should have been a simple operation. Both had been in SpecOps for years and knew the dangers.
Not for the first time, Micah wondered how he had been so lucky as to have survived over two dozen missions and to have lived such a dangerous life for forty-four years. Even as a child, he’d been a bit of a daredevil.
He hadn’t been nearly so lucky in love, whatever the hell that really was. He certainly didn’t know. He’d never been in love. Lust. Oh, yeah. At least a hundred times a year. Even more when he was younger. As a hotshot SEAL when he’d pinned on that single silver bar for lieutenant junior grade, he thought his dick ought to be bronzed for all the women he’d fucked.
He’d been making up for the four years at the United States Naval Academy where he’d concentrated more on his studies and physical fitness rather than his female classmates. There were a few girls, but none lasted beyond the second date. He didn’t have time for their silly notions of a relationship. He had a silent goal and knew that his brain and body had to be in top shape at graduation.
During his plebe summer, when asked which military occupational specialty he hoped for, he had proudly announced he wanted to become a SEAL. Big mistake. Everyone had ridden his ass that entire hot humid summer.
He had learned a valuable lesson, though, that would follow him the rest of his naval career…keep your mouth shut. Over the next four years, he never told another single person that he desired to become a SEAL. No. He was going to become a SEAL. His roommates had no idea. Neither did the three women he had dated during those days. No one knew until Service Selection Day near the end of his senior year when it was announced that he got his first choice, SEAL.
Graduation week Micah had stood in front of the altar of the famous Naval Academy Chapel as best man while both his roommates said I do, then as a groomsman for a dozen other friends who tied the knot. Willing bridesmaids had warmed his bed every night until he left for Coronado, California where he discovered base bunnies loved fucking SEALs.
He never had a long-term girlfriend. Over the years, a few women had moved in with him, always her idea, never at his request. Coming home to a hot meal and a hot woman was wonderful, but he’d come to the realization about ten years ago that he truly wasn’t comfortable around women. He never knew what to talk about with them, or what to do when he had that rare day off. Most of the women who followed him home didn’t share his interests. He loved history and read nonfiction constantly. They leafed through fashion magazines and celebrity rags.
Everything was fine as long as they were in bed. He would make sure she was satisfied before he took his own pleasure. The problem was when the woman was living in his apartment, or his house, he couldn’t tell her it was time for her to go. He certainly wasn’t going to leave. It was his home.
Several got upset when he left them sleeping and went into the living room to watch a ballgame or just read the latest historical biography. None of them ever understood that he needed space, quiet time alone, away from her unspoken demands for attention. And why was he a magnet for the clingy ones?
In retrospect, he was thankful they seldom lasted long. That was probably his fault. When he was sent out on a mission, he rarely remembered to call his female roommate-with-benefits and let her know he was leaving. He could never tell her where he was going or how long he would be gone. Operational security was sacred. He was all about the mission, always. He had to be. Lives depended on him.
But there was no way he could have saved either Mason Sinclair or Petty Officer First Class Mark Schaefer.
The caisson came to a stop at the orders of the platoon leader. The pallbearers lined each side and through the solemn ceremony that Micah had seen far too many times, Schaefer’s fellow SEALs slid the casket off the carriage. He knew those men were cold. They had opted not to wear the all-weather coat over the Navy blue crackerjack uniform so they would have easier access to their Trident.
Every SEAL attending the ceremony converged in two straight lines from the caisson to the gravesite. Micah stepped in last alongside Commander Evan Hubbard, Commanding Officer of Team Two, and across from Lieutenant Knox, Schaefer’s Platoon Officer in Charge. By the look on the young officer’s face, he’d been close to Schaefer. Unfortunately, Micah was very familiar with the younger man’s gut-wrenching pain.
The pallbearers stepped slowly through the sentinel of SEALs. Each pulled off his precious Trident pin and pressed it into the lid of the coffin before offering Petty Officer Schaefer a personal salute. Although Micah’s was the last in the line of shiny gold pins, the pallbearers would add theirs after folding of the flag, just before it was presented to his wife along with the bullet casings from the twenty-one-gun salute.
“The Schaefer family would like to thank all of you for attending,” the minister announced as soon as the benediction prayer was completed. “The family will have a private gathering at their home later this evening. May God be with you all and keep you safe.”
The chorus of “amen” was swept away on the frigid breeze.
Micah’s feet were chilly. He hated the shiny corfam shoes that were part of his dress blue uniform. Cold emanated from the earth and seeped through the leather soles and thin patent leather uppers. He was more a boots-on-the-ground comfortable camouflage officer than spit and polished office dweeb.
“Sir, are you staying in D.C. for the night or heading back to Virginia Beach?” Commander Evan Hubbard asked him in a low tone as they walked through the neatly trimmed grass back toward the paved road.
“I’m staying up here for the weekend with old friends.” He grimaced. “I’m taking a few days for house-hunting.”
“We’re all hoping you can help us out from your new desk at the Pentagon.” Evan scanned the crowd then lowered his voice even more. “It seems like we’re losing more men every day under these new directives.” He spat out the last word. “If this shit keeps up, next thing we know we’re going to have to send the bad guys a letter telling them what day and time we’ll be invading their base of operations then give them a call the day before to remind them. Fucking politicians sticking their nose into war. I especially hate the ones who have never served and have no real concept of what we are faced with every day.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.” Micah was thankful his feet were moving and warming up. “You know I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Mom.” Someone called from off to their right.
“Thanks for coming, Momma Barker.” A second man said over the first.
“Hey, Mom Barker, we really appreciate you coming.” Sailor number three spoke loudly.
All the deep voices and the sea of enlisted blue uniforms taking turns hugging an unseen woman caught the attention of both senior Navy officers. Lieutenant Knox caught up to them, then broadly smiled at the scrum of his platoon.
“Sirs, would you mind taking just a moment to come over and meet Mom Barker? She would be thrilled to meet you both.” The lieutenant gestured toward the woman just ahead and to the left. As though to explain, he continued, “She adopted the entire platoon when Mak became Bravo Squad Leader. We get a care package from her almost every week. That lady can bake.”
One glance at each other and a slight nod was all it took for Micah and Evan to change directions. On their approach, the blue uniforms parted, and Lieutenant Knox swept in.
After a brief hug, the lieutenant stepped back from the pretty woman in her mid-forties genuinely smiling as her gaze swept all the men in their twenties surrounding her. “Mom Barker, I’d like you to meet Commander Hubbard and Captain Reid. Sirs, I’d like you to meet one of the most supportive SEAL mothers, Berit Barker.”
Micah couldn’t place her, but he knew he’d met the tall woman with a distinct professional air once before. She’d probably attended one of the social functions the teams occasionally held. Her heart-shaped face surrounded by dark brown hair with its God-given silver strands was so familiar. When blue-gray eyes that matched the winter sky met his, he was sure they’d met.
“Nice to meet you, Commander Hubbard.” She shook Evan’s hand first since he was closer. “I’m sorry it was under such sad circumstances.” She sniffed and rolled in her lips as though biting back the tears. “I’m going to miss Ram.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Evan dropped his large left hand over both of theirs. “We’re all going to miss him.”
As her eyes tracked to Micah, they widened. The corners of her mouth quirked up. “Captain Reid, it’s nice to see you again.” She slid her right hand out from between Evans’ and extended it toward him.
At his obvious lack of recognition, Berit continued, “It seems like just yesterday we laid Senior Special Agent Gabriel Davis to rest.”
Click.
Berit Barker. They met briefly at Gabe’s memorial service. Micah still wasn’t sure how he felt about his former friend. She’d helped Marsha Davis with the arrangements for her estranged husband’s funeral. Micah figured she was the CIA version of the military’s Casualty Assistance Officer. Her boss, Joseph Lambert, had mentioned that she would be helping Marsha over the next year. Obviously, that didn’t happen.
Her gloved hand slid into his.
She stepped in closer and lowered her voice. “I was sorry to hear that Marsha was killed the next day. It’s my understanding that the Fairfax police believe she interrupted a home invasion and was shot by the armed robber. Have they caught the man yet?”
That was such a bull-shit story they had filed. All four members of the original Syrian mission believed it was much more than that. Someone had shot Marsha with Gabriel’s gun then staged the area to look like a suicide. With the help of Matthew, and a private detective they’d hired, they had finally convinced the police to change the cause of death to homicide.
At Berit’s expectant look, Micah bit back the derogatory retort he almost blurted. Instead, he managed to answer, “Her murder remains unsolved. They’re supposedly still looking for the man caught on video by several neighbors’ security systems, but I don’t think they’re looking very hard.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Berit seemed to be an unusual combination of casual and professional. He knew few female flag officers who maintained the same kind of bearing. “I’ve been working with Teagan Williams, I mean, Jackson, establishing education funds for Gabriel’s children through a foundation we have. I’m also handling the confusing payout of his life insurance due to the unusual circumstances.”
Visions of young Brann and little Anora playing in the sand at Topsail Island beach in their wedding clothes popped into his mind. His good friends, Logan and Teagan, had become husband and wife in an oceanside wedding in early September. Once again, Micah had been a groomsman in the small ceremony.
He grinned. “I don’t imagine insurance companies often see the godparents taking on the responsibility of raising two small orphans.” His grin grew into a smile. “Did you know they’re trying to adopt Anora and Brann?”
When Berit smiled her whole face lit up. It struck him that she was pretty in a way that only older women could be. There was also intelligence learned from life experiences—that couldn’t be hidden. “Teagan told me that. I’m so happy for all of them, but especially the children. Kids need parents.” Her gaze wandered over to the pallbearers before returning to meet his eyes. “The next time you see Teagan, please tell her I said hi.”
“She’s coming up tomorrow, along with Logan, and of course the children. She has to handle some of the probate issues.” Micah wasn’t sure why he was explaining all this to Berit.
“Commander Hubbard, sir, permission to hug my mom.” The anxious SEAL saluted Evan.
“Permission granted.” His friend of several years, and SEAL Team Two’s Commanding Officer, smiled as the heavily bearded man in his mid-twenties threw his arms around Berit Barker and lifted her off the ground. She lost one of her black low-heeled pumps but didn’t seem to care. The joy on her face said everything. She loved this young man.
“The petty officer we just buried was on Mak’s team,” Evan said in a low voice meant for only Micah. “He should still be in the hospital in Germany, but he and two of the less-injured men, insisted on accompanying the body back. They may be able to ship back the others next week.”
When the young sailor finally set his mother back on the ground, Evan called to him. “Mak, have you ever met Captain Reid?”
“No, sir.” He performed a perfect about-face and strode the three paces to face Micah. He came to attention and snapped a salute. “Petty Officer First Class Makensey Barker, sir.”
Micah returned the salute and the man in his mid-twenties lowered his right hand. If he hadn’t been carefully watching, he would have missed the slight wince. “What are your injuries?”
He heard Berit’s gasp but didn’t take his eyes off the man in front of him.
“Two broken ribs, flying debris grazed my right shoulder, and I’m still thirty-five percent deaf in both ears.” He squared his shoulders imperceptibly. “Nothing major. I’m good to go, sir.”
Micah nodded once. Those injuries were all to be expected given the explosion he had watched via satellite. He was confident that Evan would keep the squad stateside for at least six weeks while the men recuperated. Christmas stateside was a possibility in between training exercises. Slots would have to be filled with FNGs straight out of BUD/s. Deciding where the Fucking New Guys would best fit in was no longer Micah’s job. He trusted Evan to rebuild Mak’s squad. In a matter of weeks personnel issues at Naval Special Warfare Group Two would no longer be his concern. He had orders to the Pentagon.
“No, you’re not good to go anywhere except to the hospital.” Berit’s declaration kept Micah’s brain from wandering into his future. She spun around and got into his face. “You are going to order my son, and the rest of his squad, to report tomorrow morning to Walter Reed Medical Center where they will undergo extensive testing to determine the precise extent of their injuries. None of them are fit for duty until their bones are completely healed.”
Petty Officer Barker looked ready to panic while Evan was visibly fighting to withhold a snicker.
“Sir, permission to remove my mother. And please forgive her. She’s used to ordering people around over at Langley.” His shoulders raised a fraction of an inch. “She’s kind of a big deal over there.”
“Permission denied.” Micah had never seen a woman defend a SEAL. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the mothering instinct displayed before in his life. He was both impressed and amused.
Micah’s mother had died when he was five and his father never remarried, so he had never seen a mother in action. It had always been just the two of them in the house on the shores of Lake Erie.
There were only two hundred seventy-two people who could give him orders and all except the President of the United States wore stars on their shoulders. Yet, this woman had just given him a direct order.
Through his peripheral vision, Micah could see all the eyes of the young sailors staring at him. He held her gaze. “Thank you, Ms. Barker, for your suggestion.” He purposely emphasized the last word. “I’m sure Commander Hubbard will take it under consideration…next week.”
He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over all the young faces in Navy dress blue uniforms around him. He understood their emotions and knew they needed a break. “Gentlemen, since tomorrow is Friday, and I believe we have all been through enough today, liberty is granted until oh eight hundred Monday.”
“Ten hut,” Mak called out.
Everyone wearing a uniform came to attention, even Micah.
“Sir, on behalf of the men, I would like to thank you.” Mak raised his hand in salute and all the SEALs followed.
“Sir, thank you, sir,” they said in unison.
Micah and Evan saluted back. “Enjoy your weekend, and for Christ’s sake, stay out of trouble. SEALs have been getting enough bad press lately. Dismissed.”
Cheers resounded as fists pumped into the air.
“I’ll meet you all back at Mom’s house.” Mak’s voice carried as they all but ran to their cars.
“It looks as though I need to stop by the grocery store on my way home. Best I be going.” Her smile was that of a proud mother.
“Commander Hubbard, it was a pleasure meeting you.” Berit had moved back into her warm yet professional persona.
“The pleasure was all mine.” Evan grabbed her hand and enveloped it in both of his, giving her his lady-killer smile that under other circumstances was almost a guarantee to get him laid. He was between wives, again, but Micah thought the man had more class than to troll for women at a funeral. On the other hand, there was something special about Berit Barker.
She returned a congenial smile. “Until next time.”
When she retrieved her hand, she thrust it toward Micah. “Captain Reid, it was nice to see you again. Perhaps next time we meet it will be under more positive circumstances.”
He shook her hand in the professional manner it was offered. “We can only hope.”
Micah and Evan started walking in the opposite direction where military drivers waited with official vehicles, secretly armored to protect two of the most sought-after Navy SEALs on the East Coast.
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Evan commented. “For a few minutes there, I’d forgotten who she really is, besides being Mak’s mother.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Micah’s mind had been desperately hoping that his driver had the heat on. Ever since he’d experienced light frostbite on a mission years ago in North Korea, his toes were extremely sensitive to the cold.
“Berit Barker,” Evan said as though Micah should have known.
“What about her?” Then he remembered his conversation with her and decided he should explain his connection to her. “Ms. Barker handled the funeral arrangements for an old friend of mine who used to be the Director of Special Activities at the CIA. She’s some kind of Casualty Assistance Officer for them.”
“No, she’s not.” Evan stopped and turned to face him. “Berit Barker is the Deputy Director for Support for the entire CIA. At her new job, she’s poached more than a dozen of our best SEALs in just the past year. She was an in-country handler for years, one of the first female station chiefs in Africa. She wanted Mak to go to high school in the USA, so she came home and has been in clandestine services ever since. Rumor has it that Joseph Lambert is getting ready to retire and she’ll step into his job as the number five person in the whole CIA. If scuttlebutt is right, she’s being groomed as the first female Chief Operating Officer, as in the civil servant who actually runs the CIA.”
“Holy fuck,” Micah said on an exhale. She was one hell of a woman. If given the opportunity, he’d enjoy getting to know her better.