SEAL Team 666: A Novel

Yaya had been born and raised in Philadelphia. He was a red, white, and blue American who’d joined the Navy right after 9/11. A modestly devout Muslim, the behavior of the few who’d flown jets into the buildings and a Pennsylvania pasture had so incensed and insulted him that he wanted to demonstrate that theirs was the exception rather than the rule. As it turned out, a belief in the spiritual is at the root of Islam and it was known that certain caliphs and mullahs were deeply involved with the supernatural. In fact, Yaya had let this be known during his screening interview, which he believed was one of the reasons that he was selected for Triple Six.

He’d been a member of SEAL Team 4 since Class 258. As an East Coast SEAL out of Little Creek, Virginia, he didn’t know many SEALs from the West Coast. But he’d heard of Holmes. Although Team 4’s mission was focused on Central and South America, Yaya had spent the last four years on repeated deployments to the Middle East. His most recent mission was as part of a task force to take down an old oil platform off the coast of Yemen that had become home to a force of AQAP (Al Qaida on the Arab Peninsula) pirates threatening ships entering the Gulf of Aden.

Then the others introduced themselves to him. When they got to Walker, his story was much shorter. He told the story about how he was jerked out of training, which earned him a look from Yaya that was both shocked and impressed.

“I’m definitely not all that,” Walker said. “Right now I’m specializing in not doing what I’m told.”

Ruiz nodded. “You’re good at doing what you’re not told to do.”

“Ain’t no one does the kickin’ chicken better,” Laws laughed.

Ruiz held out his fist and kissed knuckles with Laws. “Amen to that.”

When Yaya gave a blank look, both Ruiz and Laws glanced at Walker for permission.

Walker shrugged. If they wanted to talk about it, then more power to them. He wouldn’t do it, though. It just felt too weird.

Ruiz and Laws jumped right in. They sat on the edge of their respective couches talking animatedly with their hands, diagramming the mission to Chinatown. When they got to the part where Walker fell to the ground and started thrashing, Ruiz demonstrated on the couch, by rolling on his back and shaking his arms and legs spastically. Soon, they were all laughing uproariously, even Walker, who found it funny in a self-conscious he-couldn’t-believe-it-happened-to-him sort of way.

Their laughter stopped when the door to the conference room opened and Holmes stepped out. He called Laws over and they spoke for a moment. While they conversed, Billings left with her briefcase in hand. Soon Laws returned to them. Holmes walked past, hardly acknowledging them. He went into Fratty’s suite and slammed the door.

“What was that all about?” Ruiz asked.

Laws frowned and shook his head. “Okay, here’s the scoop. SPG pulled some data off the hard drive. We have a mission brief tomorrow morning at 0900. Tonight’s the wake for Fratty at McP’s. We all need to go there. Until then you’re on your own.”

He turned to go, then paused. “Oh yeah. I’m in charge for the immediate future. Skipper has to stand before a board. Once he’s cleared, he’ll be back in command.” Then he headed to his own suite.

Walker sat back. “That was an ‘oh yeah’ comment?”

“He didn’t want to put any weight on it,” Ruiz said. “Happens every time. The brass conducts a board to ascertain the events surrounding a death of a SEAL. But in this case, it’s two within one month. First Lieutenant Chong, who Walker replaced, then Fratty.”

“They call it due diligence,” Yaya added.

“They going to ask us questions?” Walker asked.

“Probably.” Ruiz shrugged. “Just answer truthfully. We all saw what happened.”

“What did happen?” Yaya asked after a few moments of silence.

Walker got up to leave. With all the time he had, he could give Jen a call and see if she was available before he was due at the wake. He left Ruiz talking about the HAHO jump into the mission and the beast aboard the ship.

29

CORONADO ISLAND. MIDNIGHT.

Although buzzed from Fratty’s wake, they weren’t ready to call it quits. Walker and Laws liberated a cooler from a passed-out fisherman and headed down the beach. The lights of San Diego glowed in the distance like an earthbound galaxy. A barge bleeped its horn as it cruised forlornly down the middle of the empty harbor. They found a place to park, grabbed beers, and went down to the water.

McP’s had been closed for the wake and filled with SEALs old and new. Pictures and plaques adorned the walls. Team names and patches were everywhere. This was as much a museum to what it was to be part of a team as it was a bar. They drank beers and sang songs. They shared what stories they could about Fratty.

Then after a time, Holmes got serious. He pulled Walker aside, grabbed two beers, and took him down the beach a ways. They found a spot where only the surf and the stars could overhear. After Holmes opened the beers and passed one to Walker, he began.