Age of Blood

4

Holmes stared at the table with the empty chairs. His SEALs were getting ready for mission. He should be too, but he couldn’t help contemplating the empty chairs. Not only did they represent the current members of Triple Six, but those he’d lost as well. The deaths of Ruiz and Fratolilio were fresh in his mind. Ruiz had died at the hands of the demon Chi Long and Fratty had been almost beheaded by a chimera in the hold of a cargo ship in the port of Macau. Not only had they been incredible SEALs, but they’d been incredible men, too. Then, of course, there was Chong, the sniper whom Walker replaced. He’d spent a year with the team without so much as a scratch.

Then came the mission against Geronimo. They still didn’t know who or what had killed Chong, but they’d taken the body, along with the body of HVT1, out of Pakistan. Leave no man behind. They’d brought Fratty back as well, but Ruiz hadn’t been so lucky. That he’d evaporated in the explosions of a dozen MOABs (massive ordnance air blast bombs) made Holmes confident that the enemy didn’t have him. Still, he wished he’d been able to return the SEAL’s body to Coronado.

And there were the others: Ling, Evans, Close, Smith, Forsythe, Unger, and Jensen. Each had gone down in the service of a nation who knew nothing of their sacrifice. Classified Code Word, the missions of Triple Six would remain unknown to the public probably long after America ceased to be a nation. Only a few select members of Congress and those who passed through the revolving door of the White House ever knew what a team of five dedicated, unheralded men were doing for their country.

Which was as it should be.

“Everything okay, boss?” Laws asked, poking his head into the room.

Holmes gestured for Laws to join him. As the other sat, Holmes silently acknowledged how lucky he was to have someone like Tim. Not only was his eidetic memory of incalculable worth to the team, but he was a true polymath. Like Leon Battista Alberti, the fourteenth-century Renaissance man who was at once an architect, an artist, an historian, an astronomer, and an athlete capable of jumping over a man’s head from a standing position, Laws had a sum of parts which seemed so much greater than his whole.

“What’s shaking, Kevin Bacon?” Laws asked, slipping his feet onto the table and leaning back. He wore a smile that he should have trademarked.

“Remind me how long I’ve been doing this?”

Laws leaned forward. “Uh-oh. It’s one of those conversations.”

“Just remind me.”

“Five years, three months, seventeen days, six hours, and about eleven minutes.”

“How many missions?”

“Forty-seven.”

“And how many SEALs have we lost?”

“Ten.”

Holmes was silent for a good minute, digesting the figures. He knew they didn’t really mean anything. Can one measure patriotism with math? Can numbers really represent the value of the well-being and peace of Americans? Still, he hoped for an algorithm, or maybe an equation that he could populate with these numbers to determine if it was all worth it.

“It won’t add up, Sam,” Laws said. “Stop trying to make it work out. We’ve done our best. And I wouldn’t have anyone else lead the team but you.”

Holmes waved away the compliment as he stared into the past. “I get that. No need to blow smoke up my ass. It just gets old sometimes.” He glanced up at Laws. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about moving on, you know.”

Laws nodded thoughtfully. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. I’m not going to remind you what we told Yank today.”

Holmes sighed and leaned back. “Another new guy. Another Type A personality I have to mold and forge.”

“It’s in your blood. You love it.”

“Do I? I mean, do I really?”

Laws steepled his hands. “What would you do if you weren’t doing this? Do you really think you could go back to the teams?”

Holmes looked pained, as if the decision were too much to even contemplate. What he was experiencing wasn’t self-doubt, it was more the result of being in one place for too long. How many times was he willing to roll the same patriotic wheel through the mud just to get the same result?

“I do love it. With two failed marriages behind me, the only successful relationship I’ve ever had is with the SEALs. Billings told me that if I ever want to move on, I’d have a position on her staff.”

“Would you take it? Would you work for her?”

“She’s sharp and she’s smart. I just might.”

“So this is it? You’ve made a decision?” Laws’s patented smile returned. “You’re ready to go out to pasture?”

Now it was Holmes’s turn to smile, only where Laws’s grin always held the idea of a punchline, Holmes’s held the promise of pain. “Maybe not just yet. Let’s see about the senator’s daughter first, then I’ll make a decision.”

Laws stood. “Just let me know. We’ll need some time to pool enough money for a hearing aid and walker.”

“Very funny.”

Laws grinned from ear to ear. “I thought so.” He pushed out of the chair and left.

Holmes remained sitting for a time. He wasn’t ready to quit. Not just yet. Hell, maybe not ever. He just needed to hear the words out loud. Sometimes hearing what he was thinking helped put it all into context.