Before the Storm

Chapter 2

Cobb was halfway through his pitcher when his phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and saw a name from his past.

He smiled for the second time that day.

Maybe he wasn’t screwed after all.

Cobb took a deep breath before answering. “Well, I’ll be damned. You must’ve read my mind. I was thinking about giving you a call.”

“Really?” the man said. “Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t sure your secretary would put me through.”

The caller laughed. “You have my cell number, not my work number. Besides, I’m not in the office. I’m on vacation.”

“Me, too,” said Cobb as he struggled to hear. He covered his left ear with his free hand, but the torturous wails of the white Bob Marley were echoing in his head. “But I bet you’re somewhere fancier than I am — like Malta or the Amalfi Coast. Meanwhile, I’m melting in Florida.”

“Really? I’m in Florida, too.”

“Which part?”

“Beats me. Everything looks the same.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Plus it’s, like, three hundred degrees. It’s so damn hot I just saw a squirrel blowing on his nuts.”

Cobb laughed. “What are you doing down here?”

“Visiting a friend. And you?”

“Drinking my ass off.”

“Alone?”

“What can I say? It’s been one of those weeks.”

The caller nodded knowingly. He was well connected at MacDill and had heard about Cobb’s situation from a number of people. All of them wanted to help but couldn’t risk involvement. “In that case, maybe we should meet up.”

Cobb’s smile grew wider. “That would be great. Just tell me when and where, and I’d be happy to make the drive. My schedule is pretty wide open at the moment.”

“I’m not sure driving is a good idea — particularly if you finish that pitcher.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

Cobb paused. “Wait. Who said anything about a pitcher?”

“No one had to. We’ve gone drinking before. I know your MO.”

Cobb shook his head and glanced around the Palm Pavilion. He suddenly realized his friend was nearby. “No way. I’m not buying it.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not buying it. You ordered it before I got here.”

Cobb stood and spotted his buddy near the entrance.

He was even bigger than Cobb remembered.

Dressed in a black T-shirt that showed off his physique, Jonathon Payne moved through the crowd with ease. People sensed his presence and got out of his way — and those that didn’t were sidestepped easily by the agile giant. Unlike most men his size, he was blessed with the dexterity of an Olympian. That rare combination of strength and grace allowed him to letter in football and basketball at the U.S. Naval Academy.

It had also paid dividends in his military career.

Prior to his retirement, Payne had led a Special Forces unit known as the MANIACs, an elite counterinsurgency team comprised of the top soldiers the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force, and Coast Guard could find. His position included final say on all personnel decisions, which was how the two soldiers had met long ago.

Like most officers with his security clearance, Payne was fully aware of Cobb’s track record with the 160th SOAR and felt Cobb would be a perfect addition to his squad. To make that happen, Payne had flown to Fort Campbell, Kentucky — where the Night Stalkers were based — in order to convince Cobb to join the MANIACs.

His recruiting pitch had included beer, food, and a lot of laughs.

Although they had never served together, they quickly realized they were kindred spirits — men from prestigious families who took great pride in molding a squad of elite soldiers into a well-oiled fighting machine. Unfortunately, despite their admiration for each other, it was obvious their similarities would prevent them from working together.

To put it simply, both men were born to lead.

And two leaders wouldn’t work well on the same team.

Nevertheless, they had grown close over the years.

On his own, Cobb was an intimidating guy.

Chiseled, but not bulky, he was a shade over six feet tall with a handsome face and a stare so icy it could freeze water. People often underestimated Cobb’s strength until they saw the muscular definition of his arms and legs and six-pack abs.

But next to Payne, he felt like a garden gnome.

Knowing what Cobb had been through, Payne greeted his friend with a massive bear hug. It so powerful and unexpected it actually knocked the wind out of Cobb, whose feet briefly dangled above the floor. In that moment, Cobb knew what it felt like to be mauled by a grizzly.

“Put… me… down,” Cobb gasped.

Payne grinned as he released his prey. “Good to see you, too!”

Cobb couldn’t help but laugh. “Holy shit, I see the steroids are working.”

Payne laughed. “Look who’s talking! Your veins are huge. It’s like you have dicks under your skin. Then again, what’s the expression? You are what you eat.”

Cobb playfully punched him in the arm. It was like hitting a telephone pole. “I’ll ignore the insult and focus on the bigger picture. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that. I mean, how did you find me?”

“How do you think?”

Cobb rolled his eyes. The answer was obvious.

He was quite familiar with Randy Raskin.

The computer genius worked in a windowless office in the subbasement of the Pentagon, but due to his classified position as a researcher for the U.S. military, the data he compiled frequently found its way to the White House.

Payne had used his services on many occasions, which had eventually led to a friendship. Raskin often pretended he didn’t have time for Payne, but the truth was he admired him greatly and would do almost anything to help. And the feeling was mutual. Payne loved to brag about the gifted hacker to anyone who would listen.

“As you know, Randy can find just about anything.”

“Except a girlfriend,” Cobb joked.

Payne laughed loudly as they headed toward the bar. “Truth be told, I don’t think he’s looking for a girlfriend. He’s too busy building one.”