The Soul of a SEAL Page 3

  “No. Of course not! It’s just that we have skilled people here already. Let’s use them.” He held both hands open, flat and empty. What was this man attempting to communicate…that he was harmless? My ass! He was an enemy, and she knew it as surely as she drew breath. She just couldn’t prove it to anyone else yet.

  “Too late. The Secretary of the Navy has spoken. We have new arrivals on their way. I expect you to give them their due. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She stepped around him, slipped inside her suite, and locked the door behind her.

  The look on Kess’s face as the door closed was priceless, a combination of frustration and outrage. What was she going to do with him? Whom could she trust?

  “Kimberly, are you okay?” The sound of the computer’s voice was a comfort to her.

  “Yes, Sally,” said Kimberly flatly.

  Staring at herself in the mirror, she said, “I should have punched Kess in the face. If only it were that easy to solve all the difficulties Kess is creating in my life. Ideally, I’d love to fix his wagon permanently and get him out of here.” But that feat, she knew, would take an act of God, or some force with the kind of power necessary to separate him from the project.

  Please, she prayed. Please give me the strength to make that wish come true.

  Chapter 2

  It was a nice adrenaline rush for Bennett, racing down a dirt road off Highway 8 at ninety miles an hour on a dark Friday night in his 1969 white Mustang, nicknamed Justice, a cloud of dust in its wake. This back road had been abandoned by the military for years, and once he got past the mountains, he could let Justice have her head even more. He’d restored this baby with his father, before he had passed. The memory of that time together was pretty significant. Being raised by a single father made him bond swiftly with his SEAL brethren, but with women…it took longer.

  Before it was Boho-chic to recycle and reuse, times had been tough, but his dad had always made stuff fun and cool. His dad was his hero, and aside from him, the only link Bennett had to humanity was through the Navy.

  A flash of light ahead caught his attention, and he slowed the car to a crawl. Turning onto the main road, which was well traveled, and then immediately taking a series of dirt roads…something didn’t feel right. He flipped off his headlights on the last dirt road and drove slowly. The moon was bright enough to light his way, and having grown up in this area, he was pretty familiar with the terrain.

  A rock pelted his bumper as he turned the corner. Flipping on the lights as he saw the gate and guardhouse, Bennett didn’t know what to make of the sight. A giant gated structure was blocking the old road as though something had plopped it down in the center of the oddest place on Earth. That was definitely new.

  The last time he was out here had been right after Hell Week. His class had rotated out for some astronaut training, and he hadn’t been back since. He wondered if the Lester Facility had changed.

  He slowly engaged the brakes. Giving the guards at the gate his warmest old-buddy smile, Bennett waited for their routine set of questions. As a SEAL, he’d learned never to offer information unless necessary and then to give only the bare minimum. Funny how once you had a Trident, that glory mostly stayed under wraps. He kept the tension out of his body as he covertly watched the other men.

  “Can I help you?” A tall guard with a .45 strapped to his hip leaned down.

  Four other guards surrounded the car. In their hands were semiautomatics, which seemed a bit dramatic, given that this location was in the middle of nowhere. It was a dead giveaway that something precious was inside.

  The tall guard stepped closer to the vehicle, making it impossible to drawn his sidearm if Bennett were a bad guy. “What’s your purpose?”

  “I have an appointment.” Bennett kept his hands in view, though he could have had a 9 mm in his hands in seconds. It was stashed in a holster hidden between the edge of the seat and the back, right behind his hip. It wasn’t a common place for a weapon, but it was ideal if he needed it in a pinch.

  “Let’s see your ID.” The guard held out his hand. Now, that was something Bennett could snap off. The man didn’t seem like he was on a power trip, but he didn’t look competent either. Nobody looked in his trunk or under the car; he could have a bomb strapped underneath, drive inside, and kaboom.

  Bennett’s whole life had been centered on weapons and volatile situations, and it was hard not to be critical. He raised an eyebrow.

  Another guard was sitting comfortably with his ass on a stool, and if that dude had to pull his sidearm, his partner was in the line of fire. It was very sloppy, not to mention deadly. Six men to guard a gate, and none of them was really thinking about lines, angles, or firing safely.

  He sighed.

  “A little late for a visit, don’t you think?” The guard was stalling.

  Bennett located at least four cameras, and then he saw two red dots reflected in his windshield. He moved slightly to the side so that the snipers didn’t have a clean shot. “I can come back in the morning,” he offered.

  The sound of a phone ringing reached his ears. The guy in the guardhouse answered as the main gate sprang to life, opening smoothly and quickly.

  “Guess that won’t be necessary, Mr.…”

  Bennett didn’t give his name. Instead, he put his Mustang in gear and went through the gate. Seeing the expression on the guard’s face was priceless. Not that he enjoyed being a dick, but that guy was clueless. Sometimes that happened with private security.

  Of course, the camera system seemed to work. Judging from the swift response, their cameras had gotten a good lock on his face and run his ID. But damn, those snipers were slow. He’d recommend that those guys take up optimal sniper positions for a wider field of vision and cleaner line of fire. Tree cover would provide blinds for them and give them better positioning. Where they were now, they gave themselves away to anyone who had training in antiterrorism.

  “Guess there are always improvements to be made in offense and defense,” he muttered to himself.

  The road changed from dirt to blacktop almost instantly. The trees thinned out.

  He eased off the accelerator to get the lay of the land. Even in the dark, he could make out several vehicles and guards tucked behind outcrops of rocks and stationed in blinds within the trees. It seemed, for lack of a better word, amateur.

  Going through a second set of gates where he was heavily scrutinized made him feel better.

  Inside this second fence was a different story. These folks appeared well trained and on high alert. It took him longer to find the guards; some of them were snipers in ghillie suits.

  The Mustang ran over bumps in the road, definitely triggering alarms, and there were three tire-piercing apparatuses spaced through the road. As he drove through a bottleneck suitable only for one vehicle at a time, he decided the narrowing of the road was very clever. Whoever had put in the road had created a maze of defensive measures. The question was…did the precautions take place before or after the death of his fellow SEALs?

  His gut tightened. He hated thinking of that, brothers dying without answers. He would get to the bottom of the mystery and complete the mission. No way was he going to die trying. He was more of a Yoda than a Skywalker—he “did” rather than “tried.”

  Finally the road opened to a parking lot. A spot was lit and his name flashed briefly over it.

  Things had definitely changed at the Lester Facility and on the grounds since the last time he was here. What else waited for him inside that place?

  Bennett pulled his car in, put the stick in Neutral, set the brake, and got out of the vehicle. He could feel at least ten eyes on him. Crazy red lights were lighting up the ground, guiding him into the facility. He rolled his eyes. This seemed unnecessary.

  A voice beckoned to him. “Mr. Sheraton. Please enter through this door.”

  Walking toward t
he light was pretty uneventful. He stepped inside and the smell of a sterile, hospital-like facility assaulted his nose.

  A tall, thin woman wearing a white jumpsuit pointed at a room. “You need to step through there before you can head inside directly. There’s a locker, if you need to store a firearm. They aren’t allowed in the Lester Facility itself.”

  Bennett considered telling her that he wasn’t carrying one. Over the years, he had worn some serious tech and enjoyed having it to blow away the targets, but in the USA he was overcautious about an everyday carry. Command insisted that SEALs be careful. A sidearm in his hands—or any SEAL’s, actually—meant someone was going to die. No one got out of training without being a dead shot, and as everyone knew, in death (unlike in life) there were no second chances. So he preferred to challenge himself with other ways to provide protection or deal with a situation. It gave him a bit of a Jason Bourne feeling sometimes.

  That’s what he got for being a movie buff. When he was off duty, he rarely slept a whole night through, so he watched a lot of late-night television.

  He entered the room and waited. It was a white room that appeared clean, empty, and quite uninteresting. Something sprayed at him, and he immediately moved away from the mist.

  “Please hold still, Mr. Sheraton. The fine-mist atomizer is simply killing any microbes that might be tagging along for the ride. It will feel like water, and there aren’t any long-lasting effects.” The voice was that of the woman who had greeted him. She sounded impatient. The flat tone wasn’t doing anything for him either. Maybe she should hum a few bars of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” That song always stuck in his brain once he started thinking about it.

  Effects, huh? Not that you’re aware of yet. How do you think they came up with Agent Orange? Originally, it was developed as a delousing solution. Let’s hope this stuff doesn’t do what that horrific stuff did. Taking his former position, Bennett stood still while a bright white light scrolled over his form from head to toe and a mist bathed him. There was no odor, and it seemed innocuous, but if he were an enemy, he supposed they could put knockout gas in here to slow someone down or stop them completely.

  The light and spray stopped abruptly, and an automatic door opened.

  He stepped through.

  Waiting on the other side of the door were Jonah Melo and a rather pissed-off-looking tall woman with jet-black hair and very pale skin. She was wearing the ugliest-looking lab coat. “You’re late,” she said. “Let’s get going.” She took off down the hall at a quick clip, her long legs making her coat swish as she moved.

  His nostrils flared. He recognized the scent. Was she wearing lavender?

  Bennett cut a glance at his Teammate. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, So, what’s the info on this lady?

  Melo shrugged in return. The tip of his thumb touched his forehead, which translated into watch and see.

  Bennett nodded and then cleared his throat. “So, you’re Miss Warren.”

  “That’s Dr. Warren, gentlemen. I know you’re signaling to each other back there, so you can cut it out.” Her tone was crisp and no-nonsense.

  He liked that; it reminded him of a schoolmarm—a hot one. Brainy. Beautiful. And ballsy. Dr. Warren was going to be a tough cookie to get Intel from. Since Melo was married, it was up to him to be…stealthy. Unfortunately, she was also the type of woman he longed to fall for, but not on this mission and not with murders to solve on top of a race to space. The goal was to solve the mystery and save the day. “My apology, Dr. Warren. We meant no disrespect. We’re honored to be here.”

  Melo stifled his smile and rubbed one finger on top of another, shaming Bennett for his thoughts, as if the man could read his mind. Maybe he could.

  “Space has been a lifetime interest of mine.” said Bennett. “I’m…excited for this opportunity.” He was backpedaling, trying too hard to make a good impression. Oh, well, humility was good for the soul.

  “Excited. I’ll bet.” She smiled slightly, just the corners of her mouth turning upward, as she pointed them in a new direction. Her stride was long and her pace sped up, and Bennett had to lengthen his stride to keep up. Usually, he was the one having to wait for people to keep up with him.

  It took twenty minutes to reach the room she sought. Dr. Warren leaned down, holding her ID over a black glass rectangle. A red light scanned her ID, and the door opened. When it closed behind them, she said, “Everything requires a key card. It logs in every individual and tracks their movements throughout the Lester Facility. There are several places that are off-limits.”

  “That’s not going to work for us. We need access to everything,” Melo said flatly. “If there’s an emergency, we need to be able to get in wherever it’s necessary.”

  Her lips thinned. “I thought you’d say that. The other men, Wallace and James, said that. I’m sorry for your loss, gentlemen.”

  Nobody said anything for several seconds.

  Bennett broke the silence. He nodded to the folders on her desk with their names on them. “Are those our IDs?”

  “Yes.” She walked around the desk and sat down in an ergonomic chair. It was one of those ball-like contraptions that were supposed to be good for your back. Seemed like a lot of work just to sit down, in Bennett’s opinion. “Let me just replace your IDs with a full-access version. I had both made, in case it came up.”

  “You like to be prepared, don’t you?” asked Bennett as he watched her chop the two cards in a small desktop shredder. It was always strange to see your face cut into tiny, unidentifiable pieces.

  “Of course, don’t you?” she asked defensively. She placed the new IDs inside the folders and handed them to the men. “Can I have your phones?”

  The men looked at each other.

  Finally, Melo asked, “May we ask why?”

  She pulled her phone—a large, sparkly purple iPhone—from her pocket and pointed to a round metal disk on the outside. “This device keeps your calls private and allows me to send you data without worry that it’s being transmitted outside of the Lester Facility. When you leave for the day, the proprietary information disappears, then reappears when you return. Everyone inside this building is required to have one. It allows us to track who is accessing which files, and it can be used like a walkie-talkie in a pinch.”

  Leaning forward, Bennett asked softly, “You keep saying ‘we,’ and I’d like to know who that represents.”

  “Phones first.” She held out her hand. Obviously, Dr. Warren was a woman who demanded to have things her way and got it. Were they going to butt heads?

  The men exchanged a silent conversation before giving her their phones. She snapped the circular magnets into place. An icon appeared on their screens. With the tip of her index finger, she tapped each icon and said, “Access on. Access on.”

  A voice issued from the phone, “Yes, Dr. Warren. Access granted.”

  “Please give them full and complete use of all files, except my personal ones.” Dr. Warren handed back the phones. “Thank you, gentlemen.” She tapped a button on her desk. “Now even Sally cannot hear us. I’m sure Ouster briefed you on your mission. We need a pilot for the Warren Shuttle. Both of you are in the running for this position, though there are eight other men on this base vying for the role. Given the advance training you’ve had, we can slot you in anywhere. If it weren’t for that, neither of you would have even been considered as candidates, nor would you be standing here right now.”

  She laced her fingers together and stared over the bridge they formed, looking first at Melo and then at Bennett. “When you break through the atmosphere and reach the designated altitude, you will be asked to deploy a new communications satellite, which will be a global hub for all countries in our space agreement. If developing nations reach the stage that they too would like to join us, they will be given the codes to access it.” Dropping her hands to the desk, she looked
down briefly and said, “The next part of the mission will be to continue upward until you reach geostationary orbit, where you will deploy a laser array. You will fire the array to eliminate the bulk of space-garbage debris that has collected around the planet.”

  Shaking her head, Kimberly’s lips thinned briefly. “The tragedies that you haven’t read about in the news involve astronauts in private vehicles that had inadequate navigation systems and onboard radars that slammed into this mess, creating more issues. This is a loss of life that didn’t need to happen.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “When the laser is finished clearing away—rather, blasting away—the debris, you will then turn the system outward to deal with any incoming threats. Our biggest issue is developing an effective locking system. We don’t want another power gaining control of the array. Everyone is working madly on the locking-system issue right now, as well as a few technical bugs between our hardware and software. Like most software and hardware designers, the two technical specialists would rather not work together. In this instance, we are breaking tradition and doing just that. So, differences aside, let’s fix this stuff.”

  Melo leaned forward. “The dangers are…”

  “Meteors, comets, space junk, the unknown, or any issue that could arise. We need pilots who can think on their feet. This mission might be a one-way flight.” The sadness in her eyes was real. She hated that idea.

  “Can the shuttle return? Is it capable?” Bennett studied her face and body, watching for any telltale signs of lying.

  “Yes!” She lifted her phone and pushed a button that sent a load of information to him and Melo.

  Bennett stared at his device for a second or two, watching the data fly across the screen. At first glance, the shuttle looked impressive. There were personnel files, Lester Facility layouts, and best of all, tons of data on the weather, launch specifics, and the space shuttle itself. He pocketed the phone and studied her, this lady whose hair was as tightly wound as her personality. Did she ever let her hair down, or loosen up? He needed to break the tension, put her at ease. How else was she going to trust him? He was going to need her help; she undoubtedly had the inside scoop.