Eight Years: A Novel (Trident Trilogy: Book One) Page 2

  “I know. I know,” Drew says, sighing. “When are you out next?”

  “In a few days or so. Not sure of the timing exactly.”

  In truth, I haven’t even presented my next proposed target package to my boss. It’s a solid one, though, and he’s never been very good at saying no to me. Getting his permission is really more of a formality at this point.

  “Are you going overseas?” Drew asks, knowing to keep his questions vague if he wants them answered at all.

  “Yeah, and I’m not sure for how long. It could be a while.”

  “Your travel schedule is so unpredictable. I don’t know how you deal with it.”

  Drew starts telling me about a new client he just signed today. I smile and nod at the appropriate moments, but my mind is back on the text from Chase. I’m not sure how to answer it or even if I should. He knows where I am now and, more importantly, where I’m headed: back to Virginia Beach, the last place I saw him. I’ve avoided it successfully for so many years, but I know now that the road to the truth has to go right through there. The thought of going back fills me with a sense of dread that I haven’t experienced in a long time. The memories I had almost shut out completely are already starting to resurface, and I know they’re going to blow up in my face the minute I cross the city line.

  What is it they say? Sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better. Well, things are about to get a whole lot worse, and if this all ends like I think it will, things are definitely not going to get better.

  Chapter Three

  Mason

  Virginia Beach, Virginia

  2019

  “Fuck,” I say to no one as I look in my empty refrigerator. You’d think after fifteen years of doing this, I’d have at least learned to leave a little bit of beer in there.

  My ex always had the fridge completely stocked when I got back from deployment. She’d have dinner waiting for me with an ample supply of beer. It was great until I got done eating, and she wanted to talk. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. I just wanted to sit on my couch, drink beer, and watch sports. We were only married two years when she asked me for a divorce. It didn’t surprise me. It didn’t really even upset me. And, believe me, that says way more about me than it does about her.

  I’m contemplating how bad three-month-old leftover pizza might taste when I hear someone at my door. With what I do for a living, I never trust a random knock at the door. I look through the peephole and see a woman holding a plate and a six-pack. Well, there are worse things to see, especially right now.

  “Hey,” she says as I open the door. “It’s me. Rebecca. I moved in next door right before you left on deployment. Remember, you helped me carry my TV in?”

  I kind of remembered. “Oh yeah, right. Hey.”

  “I saw you in the parking lot earlier. I figured you just got back and could maybe use something to eat. And drink. I made lasagna if you want some.” She lifts the plate up closer to my face. It smells so good.

  “Oh man, that’s really nice,” I say as I accept the food and beer while trying to figure out how to politely indicate that’s all I want from her.

  Before I can, she’s taken the plate back from me and deftly moved herself through the small opening between me and the door. “Here, I’ll heat it up for you,” she says.

  I stand at the door for a second, trying to think of a way to get out of this, but I’m tired and hungry. My defenses are down. I head to the couch, popping open one of the beers on the way. She’s saying something from the kitchen. I’m not listening. I turn up SportsCenter to drown her out.

  “I brought you some garlic bread, too,” she says as she hands me the plate. “I didn’t know if you’d eat salad. Do you eat salad? I mean, you’re in great shape, but you look like more of a meat-and-potatoes guy.”

  I inhale the food, washing it down with my third beer. I’m not saying anything to her, but she’s still talking. And, she keeps edging closer to me on the couch. Jesus, I know how she wants me to repay her. I mean, she’s good-looking and all, but I don’t lack for female companionship, even on deployment.

  It’s crazy to me how women chase us. They hunt us down like we’re exotic animals in a safari. Most of us are just about as exotic as that old penny you pass over in the parking lot. But, I guess what we do for a living makes us seem dangerous. If that turns women on, hey, I’m not complaining. It’s a great fantasy for one night.

  Rebecca rubs my shoulders as I try to keep a razor-sharp focus on the TV.

  “Do you want a back rub? I could do your entire back if you want to lay down,” she whispers into my ear.

  Fuck. Okay, let’s get this over with. I turn to kiss her. She responds like an animal that has been caged for months. She jumps up on my lap, almost spilling my beer. I manage to set it down on the floor before she starts pulling off my T-shirt. The first thing she sees is—the first thing they all see—the scar on my shoulder where I took my first bullet. I’ve been hit several times, but that one kept me out of action for almost six months. I don’t like talking about it, and they always want to talk about it.

  “Oh, what happened here?” she says, running her finger over the scar.

  Before she can talk any more, I flip her onto her back and reach under her skirt to pull off her underwear. She’s not wearing any. Well, at least that requires less effort on my part. I don’t bother taking off my jeans. This is going to be fast. I unzip, grab a condom off the table, and am inside her in seconds. Yeah, I keep condoms on the table. I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but this happens a lot.

  She starts saying something again, so I go back to kissing her until I’m ready to come. She makes a sound underneath me as I collapse on top of her. I lay there for a second, catching my breath before I pull out. I go to the bathroom to throw away the condom. When I walk back in the room, she’s still laying on the couch.

  “Hey, I appreciate the lasagna. It was good,” I say. “You want me to wash the plate before I return it?”

  She’s sitting up now, looking at me with the expression they always have. I’m not sure what they expect.

  “Umm, no, I can just take it,” she says slowly.

  I hand her the plate and open the door. “Thanks again.”

  She walks to the door with the plate in her hand. “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  You won’t. That was it. And believe me you’re better off. As I close the door, the only thing I feel is relief that I won’t have to go to the grocery store until tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  Outer Banks, North Carolina

  1998

  “Mack Marsh, you make her wear that hat! The sun is turning her hair as red as an apple!” Camille yelled as Mack and Millie walked down the porch stairs hand-in-hand. She knew he wouldn’t listen to her. He never did anymore.

  Camille turned back to Beatrice who was fanning herself vigorously with the magazine she found on the table next to her lawn chair on the front porch. Even in the morning, July was already showing its ugly side.

  “I always said if my child had red hair, I’d drown it in a lake,” Camille said, pouring herself another glass of lemonade as she settled back into her chair.

  “Well, technically, you don’t have a child with red hair. She’s Mack’s daughter,” Beatrice said, pressing her cold glass against her temple. She wanted to remind Camille that Mack had bright red hair when he was born.

  Camille knew what Beatrice was thinking. “Mack’s red hair all but disappeared when he was five.”

  “Because you dyed it,” Beatrice said. “You probably burned every brain cell in that poor boy’s head. Putting that dye on a baby.”

  “I did not dye his hair, Beatrice Tucker. It just got darker as he got older.” And, she’d been relieved when it did. Camille didn’t want any memory of Mack’s father around.

 
Beatrice sighed. She’d given up trying to resurrect the Camille she once knew. That carefree spirit had disappeared the day Camille got pregnant.

  “Well, Millie’s hair is getting blonder and blonder. Maybe all that strawberry will go away eventually,” said Beatrice.

  Mack shook his head as their voices died away. He didn’t know how Beatrice dealt with his mother all these years. She’d been the only one to stick around after Camille got pregnant. Beatrice told Mack everything when he was growing up. Everything. Things he didn’t really want to know about his mom, especially that he was conceived in a one-night stand. But really, as uncomfortable as it was to think about, he always believed it was better to know. It helped explain Camille’s negative outlook on life, at least a little bit.

  As they rounded the last corner to the beach, Millie started dancing and spinning like she did every time she saw the ocean. They made this walk at least a hundred times, but she always acted like she was seeing the water for the first time. Millie insisted, as always, that they immediately get in the ocean. Mack had her in the water by the time she was six months old. She took to it immediately, just like he had. He picked her up, took her past the break into waist-deep water, and held her as she bobbed up and down.

  “Daddy, I want to swim like you do. Let go of me, please,” Millie said impatiently.

  She had already developed the courage and confidence of someone well beyond her three years. Not to mention the language skills. She started talking in full sentences when she was just two.

  “Sweetie, we’re in the ocean. It’s dangerous. Daddy has to hang on to you for now. But, when you’re older, you’ll be able to swim like a fish just like me.”

  “Daddy, you’re not a fish—you’re a seal!” Millie let out a peal of laughter that echoed off the waves.

  The words made Mack jump. “Who told you I was a SEAL, Millie?”

  “Camille said that you’re a seal, and you kill people, but that’s silly because seals can’t kill people,” she said definitively.

  Mack breathed in sharply. He’d told Camille not to discuss his work with Millie or anyone else, for that matter. But especially Millie. He knew it didn’t mean anything to her at this age, but as she grew up, he didn’t want her to know how dangerous his job was.

  “Daddy, throw me, throw me!” Millie was kicking her legs in the surf, ferociously trying to propel her body into the air.

  Mack flung Millie up in the air, watching her splash down a few feet from him, quickly surface, and paddle her way back over to him. He caught her just before the wave hit, protecting her from the break with his body. After almost an hour of doing this, he finally convinced her to come out of the water. Mack rolled her up like a burrito in an oversized beach towel, only leaving her head visible, just like she liked it. She laid down in the sand, her head on his lap, and was asleep in minutes.

  Mack had just reenlisted in the navy for a couple more years, but he spent every second of downtime in the Outer Banks with Millie. Camille had agreed to keep her as long as he needed, especially after he told her he would get a raise for re-upping, and that she would be getting half of that, too.

  Mack knew he should quit and be with Millie full time, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The teams had such a strong hold on him. Millie was his family, but they were his family, too. He thought he had figured out a way to manage both families. He just hoped it was the right thing for Millie. She seemed happy and well-adjusted. In reality, he saw her almost as much as the other guys saw their kids. Camille’s house was only an hour drive from the base. He drove down there every time he had half a day or more.

  Most importantly, he knew Millie was much less visible in the Outer Banks than she would be in Virginia Beach. After more than three years, he started to think they weren’t even looking for her.

  Mack wasn’t sure how long he had been lost in his thoughts when he heard Millie’s sleepy voice. “Daddy, I just had a dream about Mommy. She’s in heaven.”

  “Yeah, sweetie, she is. She looks down on you every day, and she loves you so much.”

  “Allie said I had to have a mommy to be born,” she said, furrowing her eye brows.

  Mack knew he wasn’t ready to have that conversation.

  “Hey, is it time for us to have ice cream yet? I’m getting hungry,” he said in his best attempt to distract her.

  “Yes!” Millie was suddenly up and spinning around in the sand. “I want strawberry!”

  “I know you want strawberry,” Mack said, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. “It’s all you ever eat. You’re going to turn into a giant strawberry.”

  As they got close to the ice cream shop, Mack saw a girl a little older than Millie running toward them at breakneck speed.

  “Millie!” she screamed. The two girls collided with an ear-splitting series of squeals.

  “You must be Millie’s dad.” Mack turned to find a woman staring at him.

  “Yeah, Mack Marsh,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m guessing you belong to the other one.”

  “I’m Carol Blake, Chloe’s mom. Would you like to share our table?” She pointed over toward the corner. Mack didn’t really want to, but Millie and Chloe were already over there whispering aggressively to each other.

  “Sure, that’s nice. Thanks. Let me go grab her a cone.”

  He came out to find Millie and Chloe playing in a nearby fountain.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Carol said. “It’s just so hot out today.”

  “No worries. We just got back from the beach. She’s already in need of about a hundred baths.”

  Millie’s cone began to melt on his hand, so he started licking.

  “You’ve got a little in your beard,” Carol said, pointing.

  “Yeah, it’s one of the hazards of having a beard,” he said, trying to wipe the ice cream out with his hand.

  “Camille tells me you’re a SEAL.”

  Mack’s mind snapped back to the conversation he was going to have with Camille. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

  “You know Camille, huh?” he said, ignoring her comment.

  “Does anyone not know Camille?”

  Mack rolled his eyes and smiled a little bit again. “Yeah, my mom has never really been shy.”

  Millie and Chloe had made it back over to the table.

  “Daddy, you ate all the fluffy ice cream top,” Millie said, crossing her arms and pouting her lips.

  “It was melting, sweetie. I’ll buy you a new one,” Mack said as he stood up. “We should really be getting back home. I need to head back to the base tonight.”

  Carol looked disappointed. “Why don’t I give you my number if you need anything while you’re away? Millie and Chloe are really close. I’d be happy to keep in touch with you.”

  Mack smiled and pretended to type her number into his phone. “Say goodbye, Millie. We need to go.”

  Mack bought Millie another cone, but she declared very dramatically she was too tired to eat after only two licks. So, Mack downed another strawberry cone as he carried her sleepy body in his other arm.

  Mack barely got her out of the bath before she was fast asleep. He tucked her in and headed back downstairs. Camille was just finishing her lunch.

  “There’s some left if you want any before you leave,” she said in his general direction.

  Mack walked up behind her and pulled her chair out swiftly from the table, so she was facing him. He leaned down until his face was even with hers. “If you ever talk to Millie or anyone else about my job again, I swear I will kill you while you sleep. Do you understand me?”

  Camille nodded immediately. She had never seen his eyes look like that or heard that tone in his voice.

  “I have to head back to the base. I’ll be back in a few days,” he said as he walked away. “If that child isn’t the happiest she�
�s ever been when I get back, we will have a problem.”

  Camille didn’t move until she heard his car pulling out of the driveway.

  Chapter Five

  Millie

  Washington, D.C.

  2019

  “My god, Millie, it’s just Monday. Can’t you give me a few days to get into the week before you dump shit like this on me?” George has been my boss since my first day in the agency, and despite his perpetual irritability, he is one of the kindest people I know.

  “He’s alive, George. I know he is. I’ve been tracking him since the day I started here.” I watch him shift uncomfortably in his office chair.

  “On your own. Not at my direction.”

  I can tell he’s feeling emasculated, and I know I have to tread lightly.

  “I should have told you about it sooner, but I wanted to make sure I had something,” I say.

  George stops shifting. It’s never taken that much contrition from me to win him over to my side.

  “Millie, I want to help you, but everyone’s going to think I’m crazy if I try to push this through. The agency has been chasing Sayid Custovic for decades. Everyone has all but given up. He hasn’t been seen in almost twenty years. He’s dead. He has to be.”

  “Then how do you explain his organization still surviving? Even thriving?”

  “Those organizations are like weeds. You know that. You kill one leader, and another one pops up in his place. You know as well as I do that Yusef Hadzic runs that network now,” he says.

  “Well, then let me go after Hadzic.”

  “Millie, you’ve barely been here for three years. And, I know you’ve had a meteoric rise, but you’re still too green to say ‘I’m the one to get Yusef Hadzic.’ We’ve been trying to get him for years. Agents with a lot more experience have tried and failed.”

  “I found a new lead,” I say.