Flashpoint

29

Murdock eased into his chair behind his small desk in his office at SEAL Team Seven, Third Platoon, in Coronado, and tried to relax. It had been a series of good flights home. He even caught some sleep.

As soon as they landed at North Island U.S. Naval Air Station late the night before, he and his four wounded men went to Balboa Naval Hospital to be checked over. They kept Canzoneri, not liking the way the knife slash on his left thigh looked. Fernandez was admitted. The doctors looked over his medical records that came with him and told Murdock it would be at least two weeks before they could think about releasing him.

“That chest wound isn’t right. We may have to go in and find some more of the shattered round.”

The doctors there checked and rebandaged Murdock’s wrist and Dobler’s thigh and Jaybird’s arm and released them.

It was nearly 0400 by the time they got to the base and put away their combat gear.

“I’m bunking out here until morning,” Dobler said. “I don’t want to charge home and scare Nancy and the kids. Tomorrow morning will be better.”

Murdock said he’d be in about noon and headed for his apartment. When he pulled in his parking space, he saw a light in his front window. He grinned. No burglar, this one. Murdock ran up the steps and used his key on the door. Inside, he dropped his small bag and checked the living room couch.

A long bundle wrapped in a blanket lay there. It was topped by a frowsy pile of blond hair. Murdock tiptoed to the couch, knelt beside it, and pushed the blanket back enough to kiss a pink nose.

Ardith Manchester smiled in her sleep and turned so he found her lips. He kissed them and they responded. Her arms came out of the cover and wrapped around him.

“Ha, bet you thought I was sleeping.”

He kissed her again and she leaned back. “About time you showed up. You were scheduled in here at 1600 yesterday.”

“We had an equipment delay in Miami.” He shook his head. “How in hell did you know our flight schedule?”

She grinned at him.

“I know, but tell me anyway. You’ve joined the CIA.”

“Nope.” She kissed him quickly and chuckled. “This one you won’t believe. Dad knew about your mission and followed it. Then he remembered that he had been in school with the captain of the aircraft carrier Jefferson. They got in touch.”

She frowned and reached for his left arm. “How is that wrist? Is it healing properly?”

“Medics said so an hour ago.” He laughed. “Is there anything you don’t know about our work down in Colombia?”

“Only that my dad called the White House twice when they were trying to figure out if they could do another flyover of Colombia to bring you out in a Sea Knight.”

He stared at her in delighted surprise. “Lady, you might as well be in my hip pocket.” He stood and held out his hand. She came up from the couch with the grace of a coiled mountain cat. When the blanket slipped off her, he saw that she was delightfully naked.

“Enough of this foreplay. Now I want you in my bed. Unless you know about our next mission and I have to fly out in less than two hours.”

“No mission. I never know about them before they happen. Can’t help you there. I could brief you on the trouble spots of the world and the ones that the President and the Joint Chiefs and the CIA are the most concerned about.”

“Don’t you dare. There have to be some surprises in life.”

They didn’t get to sleep for almost two hours.

When morning came, Senior Chief Dobler rolled out of the bunk at Third Platoon HQ and shaved carefully. Then he put on his civvies, backed his four-year-old Honda out of the lot in front of the quarterdeck, and headed home.

It was nearly 0730. The kids would be off to school, and he should be able to have a long talk with Nancy. He didn’t know what to expect. He’d sent her an E-mail after they returned to the carrier. She knew how to receive them, but wasn’t sure about sending them.

When he left, she was just out of the hospital with bandages on both wrists. If anything bad had happened, he would have heard on the Jefferson. Master Chief MacKenzie would have tracked him down. He pulled the Honda into his parking space and looked at their ground-floor apartment. No activity. Good.

Dobler hurried to the door, tried the handle, and found it unlocked. Yes. Kids were gone. He pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Nancy came from the hall toward the kitchen. She saw him and gave a little cry of joy as she rushed forward and threw her arms around him. Tears welled in her eyes.

“So glad… so glad to have you home, baby. So damn glad.”

“Good to be here. Kids in school?”

“Just left. You’ve got a good pair of offspring there, sailor.”

“Should be, my beautiful wife did most of the raising of them while I played in the deep blue sea.”

They walked arm in arm into the living room and settled on the sofa. It was a long, demanding kiss, and Nancy fell backward on the couch and pulled him down on top of her.

“I just want to feel you crushing me into the couch. Oh, my, yes.”

Dobler was encouraged. Nancy had put on her at-home makeup. Her hair was neatly done. He figured she’d had it washed and set recently. Her blouse and slacks were ones that she liked.

“Ask me how I’m doing. Go ahead.”

“Baby, how are you doing?”

“Oh, Dobe, better than I expected. The girls and I get together almost every day. We have coffee or go shopping. That Maria is a gem. Such a wonderful lady, and so good with the kids. I love her. We talk late at night sometimes on the phone.”

She went to the kitchen and started coffee. He followed her.

“I said we’d talk about the Navy when I came home. Is now a good time?”

“No. I want to feed you breakfast. Bet you haven’t had any. You look like you had about three hours of sleep last night. Right?”

He nodded.

“Do you know Milly, JG DeWitt’s live-in? She is a marvel. So smart and classy. She works full-time, but she came over three or four times while you were gone. She had some tough things to say to me about being a SEAL’s woman. Really tough. What it came down to was as women, we couldn’t change a SEAL. What we had to do was try to moderate and soften some of his life. To be the one to give and bend and accommodate, so the relationship could last. That Milly is one strong woman, and I’ve learned a lot from her.”

Nancy stood at the stove, tall and straight, her chin up and her eyes glistening. “So, swabby, some coffee, eggs, bacon, and some French toast, then it’s off to bed with you for at least ten hours. After that, I have another idea what we might do in that same bed.”

She grinned and turned to the stove. Senior Chief Dobler gave a short sigh. He was a lucky man. Nancy was going to do fine. They would still have the talk. He had decided right after he was shot that he was going to do what was best for his family. If Nancy wanted him out of SEALs action platoons, he would quit the next day. He could stay on the team, maybe in one of the specialty platoons. Hell, he could do two years without Third Platoon.

If she wanted him out of the Navy, he could do that and give up the retirement. Twenty years wasn’t a big bunch of retirement pay, anyway. He’d see. What was best for his family was what he would do.

Family had to come first. He remembered a star baseball player who had finished his contract with the San Diego Padres. Six other teams bid for him as a free agent. He turned down a $21.5 million contract with one team to sign for $9.5 million with the team where his family lived. He said he wanted to be closer to his family, to watch his kids grow up. Yeah, what a man. Family came first with Dobler, too.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was until Nancy put down the platter in front of him with the eggs, French toast, bacon, and hash browns. Dobler ate it all.

Back in the Third Platoon office, Murdock stared at his roster. Damn, he needed another replacement. He’d been averaging one man lost to the platoon on each mission. Fernandez would be back. He’d hold the spot open for him through another mission if he had to. He liked the man, wanted him on board for a little more stability. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had to bail any of his men out of jail recently. There would come a time. Getting them bone weary on missions like this past one helped drain off the excess energy.

Don Stroh. That was another matter. He had considered asking to be out from under the direct thumb of the CIA. He could ask but not necessarily get away. Stroh had set up the return transport, phoned Murdock on the carrier with the particulars, and that was the last Murdock had seen or heard from him.

He didn’t fly back with them as he sometimes did. It must have been partly due to being embarrassed because he had to pull the plug on the chopper. It wasn’t his decision, but he had to deliver the message. By now Murdock had cooled down enough to realize Stroh’s position. He was a conduit, a lead wire, an input source. He didn’t make the regs or the rules or give the orders, he just transmitted them to the SEALs.

Most of the SEALs showed up at the platoon quarters by noon. They stowed their gear and sat around talking.

Ostercamp had a race to run that night at the El Cajon Speedway. A stock car. He had three wins so far this season.

Ron Holt, Jaybird Sterling, and Paul Jefferson were going to a party that night out in Santee, a slightly rural area east of San Diego.

“Hell, there’s more horses and rednecks in Santee than anywhere in the country,” Holt said. “I used to sleep with a broad out there last year until I got run out of town by some dude with a shotgun who claimed he was her common-law husband.”

“That’s when he killed you,” Bradford jibed.

“Hell no. I took the shotgun away from him, fired both rounds into the air, and then broke the damn gun in half. He came at me, so I broke his arm. Last I ever saw of him.”

They all laughed. “Chances are as soon as you saw the shotgun you shit your pants and ran for your car.”

“Naw, he was riding a pinto pony that night,” Lam shouted.

Holt grinned. “So, any more of you numb nuts want to take in a real Western party? No boots or cowboy hats required.”

They passed. Then Lam said he’d like to go.

The party in the west edge of Santee, up against a hill, began at ten that evening. There was a four-piece Western band, a big patio set up for Western line dancing, and enough livestock around to make it look like a real ranch. The woman who owned it was a master programmer and systems computer analyst for a big outfit in San Diego’s own silicon valley.

The four SEALs were on their best behavior. They danced, learned the simple line movements, and had enough beers to keep them happy.

About midnight, four motorcycles roared into the front of the parked cars and four big bikers got off their rigs.

Janie, the owner of the place met them with a cattle prod.

“Who the hell are you guys, and who invited you?” Janie shouted in her usual diplomatic style.

“We’re the four riders from hell, and we go where we want to go, little bimbo. You ever had it twice in a row on the back of a Harley?”

“Get your ass off my property,” Janie said. “I don’t want you here, and I’m the honcho of this outfit. Now go.”

Another one of the quartet spoke up. He had on studded leathers and a huge beer belly, but he looked as hard as a much-used branding iron.

“Little bitch in heat, we don’t make trouble, we just answer it. Now step aside, and let us see your party.”

Janie lunged at him with the cattle prod, which could send out a serious jolt of electric charge into whatever it hit. The tip of the prod connected with his thigh and zapped. The big man didn’t even seem to notice. He grabbed the rod, jerked it out of Janie’s hand, and reversed it. He found the trigger, and before Janie could scramble out of the way, he touched it to her shoulder.

Janie bellowed in pain and staggered back. The four laughed and surged past her to the patio. They helped themselves to beers and called loud sexual suggestions to the women dancing.

Paul Jefferson left the other SEALs to go for another beer. He passed just in front of the four bikers.

One of them reached out a foot and tried to trip him. Jefferson, at 6' 1" and 200 pounds, was slightly smaller than all of the bikers. He daggered a look at them and went on to the iced tubs with the beer. When he took out a bottle and turned, the four were ringed in front of him.

“What’s a nigger like you doing at a nice white party like this, boy?” the biggest of the bikers snarled.

“I was invited,” Jefferson said, taking a step past the four.

“Not by us you weren’t, Africano,” another of the bikers said.

“You got to learn your place, black man. This ain’t it. This is white man’s territory.”

“Everyone is entitled to his own—” It was as far as Jefferson made it before the closest man whipped out a right fist and caught the SEAL on the side of the head and drove him backward. There a biker caught him and slammed his fist into Jefferson’s gut. When Jefferson doubled over in agony, the biker’s knee rammed upward, hitting him in the jaw and dumping Jefferson into the grass.

Somebody shouted to stop it.

One of the bikers moved his leg back to kick Jefferson, who writhed on the ground.

Jaybird and Holt saw the attack and ran through the people to the scene. Jaybird made it just in time to shoulder-block the kicker before he struck, blasting him backward so hard he sprawled in the dirt. Jaybird whirled as he sensed someone behind him. He blocked a big fist coming at him and drove his foot upward into the biker’s crotch. The man dropped like a shot steer.

Holt tackled another biker and pushed him back out of the fight for a moment. When the much larger biker recovered, he slashed a fist at Holt and knocked him down. He tried to kick Holt, who grabbed the foot and jerked it forward, pulling the biker off balance. Holt lifted his boot so he kicked the biker in the stomach as he fell, jolting him to the left, out of the fight.

Lam came in late, just in time to take on the largest biker. The motorcycle rider unhooked a bike chain from his waist and began swinging it in a circle. Everyone else backed off.

“What the hell is going on here?” Janie bellowed. “I told you fucking bikers to leave. Now scat.” She waved a six-gun with a short barrel. The biker and Lam didn’t notice. They circled each other warily. Lam whipped off his three-inch-wide belt that had a heavy brass buckle on the end.

Jefferson wobbled to his feet and stared at the scene. He held his stomach. Jaybird grabbed him and pulled him out of the circle.

“Come on, nigger-lover bastard,” the biker said. “Come get what’s coming to you.”

Lam darted forward, swung the belt, and smashed the heavy buckle into the biker’s upper right arm.

He howled in pain and charged.

Lam had sidestepped quickly and avoided the swing of the bike chain. He kicked the biker’s leg as he went by. The leg crashed into the other leg, and the biker stumbled and fell hard to the ground.

Janie fired two rounds from the revolver into the air. Everything stopped a moment, then another shot blasted into the night. Jefferson grabbed his stomach and bellowed in pain. The shot came from the crotch-kicked man. Holt was nearest him. He surged forward and knocked the gun from the biker’s hand where he still sat on the ground.

“Call nine-one-one!” somebody shouted.

“I have them on my cell phone,” another voice called.

The San Diego Sheriff’s deputies arrived before the ambulance. They had the bikers and the four SEALs in handcuffs. They took off Jefferson’s cuffs when he was strapped onto a gurney and put into the ambulance.

It was almost 1600 the next day when Murdock bailed his three men out of the county jail. They had been charged with disorderly conduct, and a trial date was set for two months away. Janie was there to help, but she didn’t get to testify. She told Murdock about it in the hallway.

“Those boys of yours saved my party. The bikers weren’t invited. They just barged in. They’re white supremacists. They cause trouble wherever they go. Hope your man isn’t hurt bad.”

Murdock had been at the hospital half the night as they did emergency surgery on Jefferson and spliced back together part of his intestine and did some minor repair work.

“He’ll be fine, but it will be two months before he can go back on duty,” Murdock said. “We hope you’ll be at the trial, Janie.”

Janie gave him her full name and phone number and said it would be her primary concern. She had no idea who the SEALs were or what they did. Murdock was just as happy about that.

That same night, when Ed DeWitt came home, he saw that Milly had made it ahead of him. That meant she must have quit work early. As soon as he stepped into the apartment, he noticed the difference. Soft music played on the CD deck. The table in the small living room was set for two with candles already lit. Milly stood by the table in her sexiest dress that showed an inch of cleavage and the swell of both breasts. She called it her man-catcher dress.

“Hi there, stranger. Can I take you in and feed you and maybe give you something to drink?”

DeWitt staggered against the wall. “Anytime, anywhere.”

Milly laughed at his clowning, hurried up and kissed him, then caught his hand.

“Just a few more minutes and your sumptuous dinner will be ready. How about a glass of a very nifty little Chablis first to whet your appetite?”

“Yes, and my appetite is already raring to go.” He kissed the nape of her neck, and she gave him a smoldering look.

“Just a little later, cowboy. I don’t want the dinner to burn.”

After dinner, they left the dishes and pots and made love gently, softly, on the couch in the living room.

“I hear you’ve been a good Navy wife, helping to hold up Nancy Dobler.”

“She’s a sweet lady, a little uptight, but between Maria and me, we have her pretty well in hand. I don’t think she’ll have any more attempts, at least not while we have our little campaign going.”

“Now that Dobler is home?”

“We’ll cut back but still go out with her once a week. Maria and I worked it out. Hey, how is Jefferson? I heard on the news. They’re calling it a hate crime.”

“It’s certain about that. They used the N word and everything. More than two dozen witnesses. Those four bikers are in big trouble.”

“Your boys will get out of it with a fine?”

“Maybe no fine. They were defending the life of their friend.”

“That Janie sounds like a SEAL herself.”

DeWitt laughed. “Yes, she just might be able to do it. From what I hear, she ran a good party.”

She watched him. “Ed, are you happy?”

“Deliciously.”

“I don’t mean right now, just after great sex. Are you happy with us, being this way? Not married. No kids. Do you want a regular relationship and a family?”

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“I know, and I was the one who hung back. The SEAL syndrome, I call it. Women are simply scared out of their minds that on the next mission her man will be the one in the body bag come home for burial.”

“You still worry that way?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. After all, people do shoot at you quite often, try to blow you up, sink you, drown you, knife you. I have a hundred damn good reasons to worry.”

“But not obsessed?”

She stared at him. Her pretty face went slack and neutral, for just a moment a hint of a smile flashed in, then it vanished. When it was gone, a slow frown settled around her eyes and mouth.

“Obsessed? No, I don’t think so. Not after seeing what Nancy went through. She actually sliced both wrists and took thirty sleeping pills.”

“Remember, she’s a five-time loser at suicide. Which could mean that she really isn’t that keen on dying. She didn’t slice her wrists that deep, I’m told, and she called nine-one-one herself well before she could die from the pills.”

“So she’s sending a signal, but she doesn’t want to die?”

“I’m no psychiatrist, but that sort of thing has been known to happen. So, you’re not obsessed. Good. Every SEAL in the field is concerned about getting wounded or killed. It’s part of the job description. Asterisk: The body may be subject to any of several kinds of lethal objects entering it, or it may drown or be blown up by enemy fire.”

Milly rubbed the purplish scar on his chest. “Is this hurting you anymore? Did it bother you on the mission?”

“No, doesn’t hurt and didn’t bother me. Back to you. You’re not obsessed, and you’re still here. How about you and I getting pregnant? If it works, then we’ll thrash out the marriage idea.”

Milly’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in a small gasp. She hugged him tightly. Then she sat up. “Oh, yes, darling Ed. Yes, I think so. Right now we throw away our condoms and birth control pills. Hey, maybe tonight we can get pregnant.”

Ed grinned. “Maybe. If we don’t, it won’t be for not trying.”

That same night, Murdock came in from visiting Jefferson. He was feeling better. The surgery was still hurting and the pain medication didn’t quite knock it all down, but Jefferson would make it. He had been cool about the fight.

“Oh, yeah, Cap. I was surprised when those four guys called me nigger and attacked me. Thought that sort of shit was over. Then when the one shot me, I was totally blown away. People don’t do that anymore, I didn’t think.”

Murdock told Ardith about his day and the visit.

“I’m glad he’ll be all right. Now you have two slots to hold open or fill. Hope you don’t get a call any time soon.”

“You said you have three more days. Good. Let’s go rock hunting out in the Borrego Desert. About the farthest place I can think of now from the SEAL operation.”

“Yes, let’s. Oh, I almost forgot. I have a message from your mother. She says she’s ready at any time to help you plan your wedding. Now, I wonder why she’d say that?” Ardith smiled sweetly at him.

“What a sneaky way to get into the subject.”

She kissed him softly on the lips and leaned back. “Darling, I know. But we women are something of brood hens. Every time I see a cute little baby—”

He shushed her. They sat on the couch half watching a movie on TV. It wasn’t that good. At last they turned off the TV and hurried into the bedroom.

“Only three more days. We don’t want to waste any time.”

Murdock had given the platoon a three-day leave. He took one day himself, and they drove into the desert. It was dry, it was mild. They took the ranger’s tour, learned how to survive in the desert and how to find water or at least a liquid if you’re that dry.

The next day, Murdock was working with the master chief, trying to dig up a replacement for Quinley. Murdock had been watching the new Tadpole training classes. The men were getting larger and larger. One SEAL Tadpole was 6' 8" and 285 pounds. He could run the forty-yard dash in 4.5 seconds.

“Master Chief MacKenzie, find me the largest, best SEAL you can. Nobody under six-four.”

Murdock turned around and saw Don Stroh watching him.

“Commander Murdock, get your hat. We have an important meeting in a half hour and barely time to get there. We’ll be gone the rest of the day, Master Chief MacKenzie.”

Murdock hesitated. Hell, Stroh was the connection, the conduit, and the boss. He crooked his finger, Murdock and his platoon jumped. He jumped now.

“Yes, sir,” he said and grabbed his cammie hat and went out the door with Stroh.

The CIA man asked Murdock to change into his civvies, then they drove in a blue Buick that Stroh always rented when he came to town. Murdock swore it was the same one, but it couldn’t have been.

“An assignment?” Murdock asked.

“Not exactly.”

“So what’s so important?”

“Show you soon enough.”

Twenty minutes later, they were over the Coronado Bay Bridge and through downtown San Diego, heading for Los Angeles. Stroh turned off to the left and headed for Mission Bay.

“Fishing?” Murdock asked.

“Fishing. They had a good bite this morning. The man on the desk said they would sail again at twelve-thirty. We have a lot of talking to do, and I owe you a fishing trip. We’ll rent the tackle we need and see if we get lucky.”

“So what are you setting me up for, Stroh?”

“Not sure exactly. We have three hot spots we’re watching. Libya has been making waves lately now that Saddam is gone. But more of that later. I called Seaforth this morning, and they had an unusual bite of yellows. Not big ones, eight to ten pounds, but a good fight.”

Murdock brightened. “A ten-pound yellow can give you lots of trouble.” He paused. “Does this mean I’m speaking to you again?”

“Hope to hell it does. Otherwise, it’s E-mail and telegrams.”

Murdock looked at him. “Ten-pound yellows? You wouldn’t tell a fish story to me, would you?”

“Swear on a stack of five-inch anchovies.” Stroh grinned and looked at Murdock. “Besides, there is also Cuba getting frisky at just the wrong time and at least two Russian-made tactical nuclear weapons of the twenty-megaton variety said to soon be on the market to the highest bidder. We hear it’s a floating sales room, but we don’t know the flag or the size ship or who is sailing her. Gives us a whole group of things to think about.”

Murdock was thinking. “Say they had something like an old Corvette. Give you some speed, enough space, and a few weapons for self-defense. Damn, they could go into any port in the world and make a sale right under the authorities’ noses.”

“Thought you’d like that one. Here’s Seaforth. We have ten minutes before sailing time. The cheeseburgers are on me as soon as the cook fires up the grill.”

Murdock scowled. “Damn, Stroh, you sure this is you talking? Sounds like I’m about to get blindsided.”

“Enjoy,” Stroh said. “Just think about that floating nuclear weapon sales room.”

Murdock did. From now on, he wouldn’t be able to forget such a threat. He felt his blood pressure rise. He hoped they had enough data on that ghost ship to make it their next mission. He’d keep hoping.

The fishing report at the end of the trip:

Stroh: two barracuda, three sand bass, one Pacific mackerel.

Murdock: three barracuda, six sand bass, four calico bass.

“Stroh, you promised me some ten-pound yellowtail.”

“Didn’t promise, just said the boat caught some yellows this morning.”

“That’s as good as a promise.”

“All right. Next trip I promise you three twelve-pound yellowtail.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”