“We’ll get together when we’re next on leave.”
“Sure.” I try to inject enthusiasm into my voice, but I’m not sure it worked.
“You should have spoken up.”
“You know how shit works.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I do. Take care, man. Watch your back.”
My own back, as no one will be there to have my six. Christ. Twelve years I’ve been used to someone being behind and beside me. That will take some getting used to.
Ending the call with my instruction for them all to stay safe, I look around. It’s early still, but bright blue skies are overhead, and the day is already warming up. Moms and their kids are emerging to get some time on the play equipment before the day gets too hot.
My eyes are focused on a little girl, about the age of Marjan who’s the reason I’m here and not flying out with them. If I had my time, I’d do it all over again. She’s alive. But my thoughts are tempered as usual by the anger that Pooh had died. Apart from the guilt that he’s dead, it’s compounded that I haven’t gone to see his wife. Haven’t been in contact with her at all. However much I know it’s the expected thing to have done, I’m wallowing under the weight of my culpability. If I’d obeyed, Pooh would still be alive.
If I’d followed orders, those children would have died.
Would his wife agree the lives of two kids in a faraway land are worth more than the feel of her husband’s arms encompassing both her and his child? She would not.
He never got to meet his son.
I like to think I’m a strong man, but I’ve no strength for thoughts like that. It destroys me every time. I’ve been stripped of my rank, turned out of my job. Nothing shouts guilt louder than that.
The park is filling up. A man, rough looking, sitting on his own is attracting attention. It reminds me I haven’t shaved for days. I’ve barely remembered to shower.
I’ve got to do something.
Seeing no other option, I take out from my pocket the crumpled piece of paper that the admiral had given me what seems like a lifetime ago. After a moment’s hesitation, I think fuck it and place the call.
“You got Pip.”
“Er, Phillip Hound?”
“That’s me.” He sounds cautious.
“My name is Finn Palmer. Admiral Hillier suggested I give you a call.”
“Stormy?”
I purse my lips. Seems my contact wasn’t unexpected.
“That’s me.” It’s my turn to be wary now.
His voice lightens, and I believe I can hear amusement. “I hear you’re in need of employment.”
I am, but I don’t deny or confirm it.
“I may have something to suit. Can you find your way to Utah?”
Utah? A landlocked state. Not the best locale for a sea-loving SEAL, but perhaps, as I’m that no more, a change might suit me.
I’ve wasted days wallowing in self-pity. The idea of having a direction in which to head, a destination to aim for even if the job isn’t one I’d want to take, makes me feel lighter. I don’t hesitate to say yes. “I’ve got to settle up a few things here. I can be there at the end of the week.”
“I’ll text you the address. Friday, at eleven am?”
“I’ll be there.”
He ends the call almost abruptly.
6
Swift…
Another week has passed. There’s been no change in Stormy, though the doctor is hopeful he’s stabilised to some extent.
Another church, this time without Grinch, Goofy and Mystic.
Snatcher bangs the gavel as I reach down to stroke App’s head, bringing my attention back to the prez as he kicks off the meeting.
Prez brushes his hand down his face. “We’ve been alerted by his security that there’s been suspicious activity around the family of a senator in Ohio.”
“As in what?” Cowboy asks.
“There have been sightings of the same men more times than to be coincidence. Or that’s their gut feeling.”
“Hasn’t he got enough security?” Bolt queries. “His own bodyguards can’t handle that?”
“They’ve been clocked, that’s their worry. Would appreciate some new bodies going to check it out.”
Piston glares. “Isn’t that what the cops and feds are for?”
“Isn’t this where we earn our money?” Snatcher retorts. He stares Piston down for a moment, then relents. “Look, I know we want to keep hands on deck to investigate our own problems. We’ve been lucky and had it quiet for a while, but I’m not about to turn work down. Especially where kids are involved.”
“If you need me to go, I’ll volunteer.” Road holds up his hand.
“Me too,” Rascal offers.
Prez raises his chin at the two who’ve spoken. “Four should be enough. So, if it’s not too much of an imposition, Piston, are you okay to go?”
Piston sighs dramatically. “Yeah. I don’t mind.”
“I’m presuming you’ll want me with the plane.”
Preacher assumes right and also gets a chin lift. A few more details are thrashed out, then Snatcher looks at me. “Swift. How’s Stormy?”
“Stable. For now.”
“Any sign of him coming round?”
I shrug. “It’s up to him. The doctors are weaning him off the shit that keeps him in a coma.”
“Who the fuck beat him up?” Rascal throws the question out there, but his head moves in a negative way as though he’s not expecting an answer. We’ve been searching but haven’t found out anything further. Even knowing the identity Stormy had been using hasn’t moved our investigation along. Without a trace of where he’d been and what he’d been doing, we’re stumped.
“Whoever it was, wanted him dead.” Preacher frowns. “Even a beatdown from us wouldn’t have left him with wounds like that.”
“Did he escape, or did they let him go?” I wonder aloud. “It’s a fucking miracle he managed to make it back. Talk about running on fumes, he had nothing left in his tank.”
“Did he upset someone recently, or does it go far back?” Prez asks, not seeming confident he’s going to be given an answer.
But Pip raps the table causing Snatcher’s eyes to go his way. “I’m looking into that. We’ve agreed Stormy changed four years back. Has he been hiding from something since then? Did his past finally catch up?” He’s yet another who poses a question that no one can address. “He might have upset someone in the months he’s been gone, or it’s linked to an event from years ago. I decided to start there. I’ve spoken to the admiral who recommended Stormy to me.” Pip pauses, and seems to gather exactly what he wants to say. “Seems that order Stormy disobeyed caused the death of Pooh, another SEAL.”
“Christ,” I breathe. That’s about as bad a crime as you can get.
The ex-prez looks sharply at me. “That he wasn’t court-martialled and that he had the Admiral’s support suggests there’s more to it.”
Nodding sharply, I acknowledge there’s truth in that. I’ll reserve judgement until I know all the facts.