Target America

77

Lieutenant Commander Jedidiah Brighton of SEAL Team III was eating breakfast with his wife and son in their home just north of San Diego when his iPhone chirped on the table. He sat chewing as he thumbed at the screen to check the message.

His wife, Lea, saw him make a face as he pushed the phone aside. “What is it?”

“A list of addresses over on Coronado. Some real estate idiot must be spamming the shit out of everybody in the county.”

“Dad, you just said a cuss word,” said his six-year-old son, Tony. He had the same blond hair and bright blue eyes as both of his parents.

Brighton winked at the lad. “Daddy’s allowed.”

“Yes, Daddy’s allowed,” Lea said, “but that doesn’t mean he should do it, does it?”

“He said shit!” Tony declared proudly.

Brighton laughed.

His wife frowned. “Quit encouraging him.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“No? Then you talk to his teacher the next time she calls.” She got up from the table and went to the refrigerator. “He’s been in kindergarten only a couple weeks, and she’s already called twice about him swearing at the other kids.”

Brighton suppressed a smile and looked at his son. “No more cussing in school. Got it?”

The boy nodded, scooping Cheerios into his mouth.

“What did he say, anyhow?” There was the twinkle of mischief in the SEAL team leader’s eye.

Lea frowned. “We’ll discuss it later.”

The iPhone rang, and Brighton glanced down at the name of the caller. “What the hell does he want?”

“Who?”

“Gil Shannon.”

“Oh, the hero?” She cut into her pancakes with her fork. “Better answer it before you miss your big chance.”

“Dad said hell!”

She glared at the boy. “Enough! Eat your cereal.”

Brighton picked up the phone, deepening his voice. “Commander Brighton.”

“Jed, it’s Gil Shannon. Are you in San Diego?”

“I’m eating breakfast. What do you need?” There was no great love lost between the two SEALs. Gil had served under Brighton with SEAL Team III before his transfer to DEVGRU/ST6 on the East Coast, and even before the East Coast — West Coast rivalry became an issue, the two equally strong-minded men had never gotten along. To make it worse, Brighton knew most of the details of Gil’s unauthorized mission to rescue Sandra Brux, and the fact that Gil had been awarded the Medal of Honor for it annoyed him to no end.

“Jed, the loose nuke’s somewhere on Coronado Island. Bob Pope is emailing you a list of suspected addresses as we speak. You need to put together a crew and check them out ASAP. Today’s September eleventh.”

“What are you talking about?” Brighton set down his fork. “They’ve been evacuating DC for the past twelve hours.”

“I know, but DC’s not the target. It’s NASNI.” The Naval Air Station North Island.

“There’s been no intel to that effect that I’m aware of.” Brighton sat back from the table. “You’re not even with the teams anymore. What the hell’s going on?”

“What’s he talking about?” Lea whispered.

Brighton held up his hand to quiet her.

“I’m with ST6/Black now,” Gil went on.

“Fuck, why doesn’t that surprise me? I thought they were disbanded.”

“Dad just said fuck!”

Lea pointed a slender finger across the table. “You’re cruisin’, buster!”

“Jed, look… they want to fry the base and take out the carriers. You and I don’t have to like each other, but I called you because you’re the go-to SEAL on the West Coast. And you know me. You know I wouldn’t break it down like this if I thought there was another way. In a couple hours, a two-kiloton Russian nuke is gonna level that island.”

“What about FBI? DHS? Why aren’t they moving on this supposed intel?”

“I don’t have the details, but I suspect they’re tangled up in a pissing contest with Pope. It’s typical G2 bullshit, Jed, and Pacific Command is gonna pay the price.” He let out an exhausted sigh. “Jed, listen… I’m at my ranch in Montana, where I just debriefed one of the AQAP insurgents who burned down my fucking house and beat the hell out of my wife.”

“You’re shitting me! What the fuck happened?”

“There’s no time to explain anything. What matters is that I gave this asshole the VIP treatment, and he gave me San Diego as the target. So are you gonna trust me on this, or are you gonna let the idiots in G2 fuck the West Coast teams right out of existence? I know you’re all a bunch of candy asses out there, but I like to think even a West Coast frog is smarter than that.”

Brighton would have preferred to think that Gil had lost his mind, but he knew in his gut that he hadn’t. “This coming from the SEAL who was awarded the Medal of Honor as a device for political propaganda.”

Gil chuckled. “Now, there’s a point we do agree on.”

“Fuck,” Brighton muttered, running a hand over his closely cropped head, agreeing it was probably time to bury the hatchet between them. “Is Marie gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. She got the shit kicked out of her, but she’s gonna be all right. So did I call the right frog or what?”

Brighton got to his feet. “I’m moving now. Call me back with any additional intel.”

“Roger that. Good luck, Commander.” Gil broke the connection.

Brighton put down the phone and took his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out five hundred dollars in cash and giving it to his wife.

“What the hell is this for?”

He picked up his son from the chair and kissed his face. “I want you two to get in the car and drive east. Don’t stop until dark or until you hear from me. Keep the radio on. If you hear anything bad, you turn south for Texas and head for my parents’ place.”

“Bad like what? Bad like what, Jed?”

“The nuke is here — here in town — and I gotta go find it. There’s no time to go through channels.”

“God damn Gil Shannon!” Lea pushed away from the table as her eyes began to fill with tears. “Why’d he have to call you? Of all the SEALs in San Diego, why’d that prick have to call you?”

Brighton held his son tight against him, his words catching in his throat… “Because I’m the best, baby.”