In the Mouth of the Wolf

Chapter 1

Grant walked across the beige shag carpeting on his way to a large picture window in the living room. The room itself was very plain, with white walls. The only decorations were a few black and white photographs of Bavaria, boats on the Danube, and the Tiergarten, the oldest public park in Berlin.

Standing by the window, he raised the aluminum window blinds, then rested a hand against the window frame, as he looked south down Ellis Road and the lights of Rhein-Main Air Base. Located adjacent to the busy Frankfurt International Airport, the noise from jet engines this evening didn’t seem to distract him as his mind reviewed the mission he and his team had just completed.

Three months earlier he received orders from Admiral John Torrinson, Chief of NIS (Naval Investigative Service), sending him on TAD (temporary additional duty) to Coronado where he reported to the commanding officer at Naval Special Warfare.

His assignment was to handpick a squad of SEALs and train with them. Eventually, their mission had taken them into Austria, on the hunt for an escaped dictator, who had been put on trial and convicted for genocide and crimes against humanity. He was sentenced to death, but escaped when soldiers still loyal to him, attacked a convoy that was taking him to prison. After months of being on the run, rumors started circulating of possible locations of his whereabouts.

The SEALs received their warning order, and a week after hitting the ground in Austria, they found him hiding in an underground storage room beneath a church in Jaidhof, a town northwest of Vienna.

The sound of a sultry voice interrupted his thoughts. “Having a problem, sailor?” Her arm brushed against his back as she tied the silk sash around her black negligee, the lacy material doing little to hide the willowy figure beneath.

“Only problem I’ve got is you! These visits are way too short!” Grant smiled as she stepped next to him. At 6’1” he was nearly a half foot taller than her, and he looked down into her hazel eyes. “Mmm… you smell good,” he said, leaning toward her.

“It’s just soap,” she smiled. With a deft, unconscious motion, she wrapped the long brown strands of hair behind her ear, then stood on her toes and kissed him. “ I’ve gotta go. Duty calls.” She spun around and headed for the bedroom.

He watched her until she disappeared behind the closet door. From the moment they met in Coronado, they hit it off, with their relationship turning into one that was more than casual and a little more than sexual. But commitment was never in the picture. They each had their careers.

Giving his submariner a quick glance, he followed her to the bedroom. “Look, since you’ve got duty, guess I may as well head back to the BOQ. Maybe I can grab some extra Z’s before the flight. Can you give me a ride?” He reached for a hangar holding his dress blues.

“Sure. Say, how’s that friend of yours?” she asked as she pulled on her stockings, attaching each one to a white, lace garter belt.

“Joe? He’s good. Right now he’s on TAD. Somebody within the higher ups requested he be in charge of an EOD team out of Little Creek. He’s at the new Armed Forces Network facility.”

The phone rang, she answered, then put the receiver on the nightstand. “It’s Senior Chief Moore.” She continued zipping up her uniform skirt, while at the same time trying to balance herself as she stepped into her black heels.

He picked up the receiver. “Yeah, Ray, what’s up?”

“Sir, just checked with BaseOps. Our flight’s been rescheduled. We’ve got an earlier flight leaving at 0630.”

“Very well. I’ll meet you in front of the BOQ at 0530.”

“I’ll request a van for pickup, sir.”

“Appreciate it, Ray.” He hung up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Terri standing in the doorway, twisting her single-braided hair into a knot at the nape of her neck.

She asked with concern, “Something going on?”

“Our flight’s been rescheduled. We leave at 0630.”

“That’s a weird flight time.”

“One takes what one can get,” he grinned, mischievously, as he tucked his long-sleeve white shirt into his trousers.

She ignored his remark, and said, “I won’t be Stateside for another two months. Do you know if and when you’ll be back here or if we can meet in D.C.?”

“Don’t know. I'll touch base with you in a couple of days, okay?”

“Ha! Where’ve I heard that before? Well, you know where I keep the extra key.”

Ten minutes later they left the apartment.

On their way to the base, driving down Ellis Road, they passed the Berlin Airlift Memorial. Grant couldn’t help think about the important role Rhein-Main played after the end of World War II. In June 1948 the Soviet Union blocked access to the three Western-held sectors of Berlin, which lay deep within the Soviet-controlled zone of Germany. This move had cut off all rail and road routes going through Soviet-controlled territory in Germany. Rhein-Main became the primary American terminal in Western Germany for the great Berlin airlift. By the time the airlift ended, over two million tons of food and supplies had been delivered.

The concrete memorial was constructed in a small park. Nicknamed “the hunger rake,” the three arching “prongs” represent the three official air corridors used by aircraft passing over East German territory on flights between West Berlin and West Germany.

After showing their IDs to the guards, they were waved through the gate. Grant pointed out the window. “There’s the gedunk. Just drop me off there.”

Bringing the VW beetle to a rolling stop, she slipped the gearshift into park. “How will you get to the BOQ when you’re done? I won’t be able to take you.”

“Not a problem. I’ll walk or hop the duty bus.”

He got out, closed the door, then went around to her side as she rolled down the window. Leaning in towards her, he whispered, “Thanks for everything.”

“My pleasure! And I might say the same!”

He gave her a long kiss, then backed away from the car. She waved out the window as she drove off. “See ya, sailor!”

As he walked into the cafe he removed his cap and slipped it under his left arm. He just started eyeing the menu when he heard, “Captain!”

Turning, he saw Senior Chief Moore waving him over to the table where the rest of the team was sitting. As he approached the table, they all stood. “As you were, gentlemen,” he smiled.

He looked around the table at each man. These men, who helped him complete another successful mission, had at one time experienced “Hell Week” during their SEAL training, where their instructors instilled in them the “Team mentality.” At the end of their training, they all came to embrace the prize, the “Holy Grail” of BUD/S, the ability to understand the word “Team.”

Senior Chief Ray Moore, with his rugged face, black hair, and a “take no prisoners” attitude. He’d been with Teams the longest and had made senior chief two years earlier.

Petty Officer First Class Craig Simpson, 5’10”, blond hair, baby face, and strong as an ox. Simpson was the “stand-up comedian” and always ready with a joke.

Petty Officer First Class Ken Womack had short-cropped brown hair, blue eyes, and a flat, wide nose, held together with a metal plate, the result of being hit with a baseball bat when he was in high school.

Petty Officer Second Class Paul Cranston was born and raised in South Carolina. The redheaded Cranston spoke fast and furious, with a deep southern twang.

Petty Officer Second Class Eric Lewis was the youngest member of the squad. At barely 5’8” Lewis always felt he had to prove something to himself. Becoming a SEAL had been his own mission in life. Once “Hell Week” was finished, his teammates recognized the fact that he had “muscles in his shit.”

Petty Officer Second Class Vince Russo’s nickname was “Adonis,” with his dark curly hair, brown eyes and all-around good looks. The name wasn’t exactly one the Navy SEAL enjoyed being called by his teammates. But when it came to the ladies, he had no qualms boasting about it.

“How’s it going, sir?” Moore asked with somewhat of a smirk. They had noticed Grant drive up with Terri, knew there was a relationship, but also recognized the fact that it wasn’t any of their business.

“Good, Ray. Glad to be going home. Hey, what’s good to eat here?”

Ken Womack laughed. “It’s a gedunk, sir! Your choices are far and few between.”

Grant laid his cap upside down on the chair’s red vinyl seat. “Guess that means burgers. Be right back.” He returned with two cheeseburgers, a carton of milk, and seven Snickers candy bars. He usually had a stash of the candy with him, but there hadn’t been much time on this trip. He picked up a plastic knife and smeared some ketchup on the bun. Getting ready to take a bite, he pointed to the candy. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, sir!” Simpson smiled, as he and five others reached for the chocolate bars.

“Think I’ll pass,” Moore said.

“Then that’s one extra for me,” Grant laughed, snatching the last one from the table.

An hour later he walked into his room at the BOQ. Flipping on the wall switch, a dim light on the nightstand came on and he stood there briefly, before dropping his key on the dresser. The room was sparsely furnished. Besides the dresser and nightstand there was a single bed with a dark blue bedspread, and a small wooden desk with matching straight-back chair. Don’t need anything else, he thought. The life he led was lonely at times, and it was times like this when he felt the loneliness even more. He was nearly thirty-seven years old, but he couldn’t begin to imagine sharing this life — his life — with anyone. It just wouldn’t seem fair.

Once he had showered and shaved, he flopped down on the crisp white bed sheet, drawing the top sheet over him. Clasping his hands behind his head, he tried to relax, but it was happening more often, every time he was coming from or going on a mission.

The same pictures flashed in his mind, almost like a slideshow. Grigori, Joe, Moscow, Tony Mullins on the Bronson, Libya, the op in Cuba, Bolivia. Over and over the images slid by until the face of Eugene Morelli jolted him. “Dammit! This shit’s gotta stop!” he mumbled.

He threw off the sheet and sat up. Sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, he lingered there briefly, with his head hanging down. Finally, he got up and went to get a drink of water. He swished the warm water around in his mouth, then angrily threw the paper cup in the trash. Wiping sweat from his forehead, he slowly walked to the only window in the room, pushing a short, white curtain aside.

Standing there, staring out into the night, but not seeing anything, he tried to make himself understand. He’d been on rescue missions, search and destroy missions, seen things, done things no humans should have to see or have to remember. If only he didn’t have to remember.

There was no way to get away from it. He’d have to live with his past and whatever was in his future. He never felt any guilt, never would feel any guilt, but still, he’d have to live with it.

Forcing himself back to bed, he started invoking his karate discipline of relaxation. He concentrated on slowing down his breathing and heart rate, letting all other thoughts disappear. In under ten minutes, he was finally asleep.