Suffer in Silence Page 11

  “Your bellies.”

  Students flipped onto their stomachs.

  “Feet.”

  They jumped to their feet.

  “Backs, bellies, feet. Backs, bellies, feet…” Backs, bellies, feet, backs, bellies.

  Grey’s eyes stung as the sweat streamed down his forehead in rivulets. The endless litany of commands continued. The unforgiving asphalt rubbed Grey’s hands and bottom raw. He cursed under his labored breath as his ass scab tore free.

  “Hit the surf. Wet and sandy.”

  Thankful for any change of routine, the class sprinted across the parking lot, climbed the berm, and charged into the ocean. Osgood was waiting when they returned.

  Backs, bellies, feet. Backs, bellies, feet. The sand only made the abrasion worse. Grey knew he was bleeding. His ass was on fire, the pleasant result of salt water on an open cut. He fell into a battered trance, and the minutes blurred into an undistinguishable tangle of pain.

  FIVE

  GREY CAUGHT UP WITH Murray on the run back to the barracks. He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the pack of limping students. The pair slowed to a walk.

  “What’s up, sir?”

  “Whatever happened to your quest for dirt on Redman? Did your contact work out?”

  Murray allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. “It sure did.”

  “And?”

  “Jeff pulled through for me. I called him up, and he gave the number of someone out here who worked with Redman—a retired chief named Scott Armstrong. I gave Armstrong a call, and he agreed to meet me at a restaurant in Imperial Beach last night. Let me just say my hunch was right. Redman is one dirty fucker.”

  “What did Armstrong say?” Grey asked impatiently.

  “He served with Redman on Team Four before Redman transferred to BUD/S. Apparently our favorite instructor wasn’t the most popular guy around. He didn’t get along with anyone, and more importantly, no one would operate with him.”

  “So he was worthless.”

  “Essentially. It gets better, though.” Murray’s blue eyes sparkled. “He got removed from Team Four well before his tour was up.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say the team had inventory problems. Ammo and demolitions seemed to grow legs and walk off the compound. Armstrong says they were never able to pin the problem on Redman, but the platoon commander had little doubt it was him. Apparently it’s not uncommon to keep wet suits, H-gear, and other personal equipment, but taking any kind of weapon home is bad news.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. They think Redman was stealing ammo and explosives?”

  “That’s it. Not many people know about it. Armstrong got involved because he was the platoon commander’s right-hand man. The two of them discussed the situation, and rather than launch a formal investigation, they convinced the commanding officer to relocate Redman. That way they got rid of him without destroying his career and possibly even sending him to jail.”

  “Isn’t it hard to pull off that kind of thing? I thought inventories were tight.”

  “Not that tight. Stealing an M-60 would be one thing, but bullets and explosives are another story. You use them, and they go away. Catch my drift?”

  “So he went to the range and kept ammo instead of expending it?”

  “You got it. And on top of that, Armstrong said that while it was rare to lose a weapon, they lost track of a huge number of older parts from cannibalized M-4s—”

  “Meaning Redman could assemble his own firepower from spare parts,” Grey mused. He shook his head in amazement. “It worries me that this criminal has the authority to beat the shit out of us.”

  “Kind of scary, isn’t it?”

  “Scary is an understatement. It just goes to show that you shouldn’t press it further. If Redman catches on to your snooping, there’s no telling what he might do to you. He probably has a basement full of torture equipment.”

  “Very funny.” Murray shifted his gaze away from Grey’s face. “I’m not satisfied yet. I’ve got some good leads, but I don’t have any hard evidence. I want to see what I can dig up here in San Diego. Redman’s been here awhile—long enough to get into some trouble.”

  “It’s your life and your body, sailor. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I can handle it. You worry too much, sir.”

  They walked back to the barracks in silence. Grey punched Vanessa’s number into his cell phone. He was still soaking wet and covered with small cuts and bruises from the day’s events.

  “Hello?” Vanessa’s voice was sleepy.

  “Geez. You sound worse than I do.”

  “Mark?”

  “Is everything okay? How’s school?”

  “Who cares about school? How are you doing?”

  “I’m alive. Bleeding out the ass, but alive.”

  “Okay, babe. Some things you don’t need to tell me. You can spare me the details of your love life.”

  “You’re nasty,” Grey said. “It’s from sit-ups, silly.”

  “Right.” Vanessa laughed softly. “So what’s new? They beat you up today?”

  “Of course. Same old story,” Grey said, “but I lost a guy in my crew—”

  “Baby, that’s horrible! He died?” Her voice rose an octave. “Do you have to do this? I mean, can’t you be an accountant or something? I’m sure you could land a good job, maybe grad school, law school, medical school.… Please? Baby, don’t do this.…” Her voice trailed off.

  Grey was silent. Someone was clearly having a bad day.

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I know I’m being ridiculous. But please tell me he didn’t die.”

  “He’s alive,” Grey said. “I think he broke his back, though.”

  “Was he a friend of yours?”

  “We’re all friends.”

  “I mean, were you close?”

  Grey sagged against the wall. Vanessa wasn’t making this any easier. “Yes, we were pretty close. He was a good kid.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby. That’s horrible. How did it happen?”

  “The boat … We were in the boat … I mean, he was … I was in the water.…” He couldn’t finish. He felt a crushing weight on his chest, and he felt his eyes tear up. He bit his lip, his embarrassment growing rapidly. I need sleep. That’s all. Just sleep.

  “I have to go.” His voice was uneven. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Please don’t go. Not like this.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  “Just tell me you’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I love you.” Grey struggled to understand how he could swing from joking around to almost shedding tears in a one-minute conversation. Nice warrior you’ll make, Grey. Real stable. After limping to his room, he jumped in the shower and scrubbed out his cuts. He dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt. It wasn’t cold outside, but being wet all day made wearing a dry sweatshirt a luxury. Jones was sitting on the hood of Grey’s jeep when he walked into the parking lot.

  “Ready?” Grey asked stupidly.

  “Well, I sure as hell ain’t sittin’ on your hood for kicks.”

  Grey unlocked the doors and Jones climbed in. Soon they were racing across the Coronado Bay Bridge toward Naval Medical Center San Diego. The clouds had rolled in again, and the downtown lights glowed weakly through the gloom. To the south of the bridge, a series of gray ships sat heavily in the bay, tethered to their gray piers. To the west, the lights of Point Loma glimmered through the haze, marking the position of the unobtrusive submarine base. The lighted runway of the North Island Naval Air Station lay directly behind him, and the old Marine Corps Recruit Depot sat quietly at the north end of the bay. Grey loved San Diego, even if the military presence was a little overwhelming at times. The day he would actually have time to enjoy the many delights of “America’s Finest City” seemed impossibly far off, and his mood only blacken
ed as he weaved through traffic.

  “You think the instructors are tellin’ the truth?” Jones asked.

  “About what?”

  “About it never getting easier … even after we graduate.”

  “It depends. Yes, you will travel constantly, and you won’t see much of home. But no, you won’t have an instructor screaming in your face.” Grey spoke loudly to be heard over the rumble of his jeep as he accelerated past a semi. “Before I came to BUD/S, I had temporary duty at the Special Warfare Command. Let me tell you, the SEALs I worked for are incredibly laid-back. It threw me off at first. They are about the furthest thing from a BUD/S instructor. Just a bunch of friendly guys who surf on their lunch breaks. It’s a whole different world, Jones. You walk a quarter mile down Trident Way, and the nightmare of BUD/S seems far away.”

  “Traveling so much must be hard on the family, though.” Jones mused. “I wonder how many guys are married.”

  “Why? You planning on tying the knot?”

  “Well, there is this girl back home.… I love her to death, but I told her we’d at least have to wait until I got out of BUD/S. She still lives with her parents. Wants to be a schoolteacher.” He smiled to himself. “I’d love to marry her; I just know staying hitched ain’t easy in the Teams.”

  “It can be done,” Grey said, “although Chief Baldwin said the divorce rate hovers a little over ninety percent.”

  “Damn. Ninety percent?”

  “Something like that. It’s not easy. Imagine being gone eleven months of the year. Your wife might not even know where you’re going.” Grey thought of Vanessa, and tried to imagine leaving at a moments notice, disappearing for months. “It takes a special kind of woman to put up with that crap.”

  Jones sat quietly, staring wistfully into the distance.

  “Women,” Grey said. “The great complication.”

  “No kiddin’. But they sure are nice.…”

  Grey pulled his jeep into the hospital parking lot and cut the ignition. Several minutes later they were standing in a nicely appointed reception room. A handful of flower arrangements dotted the premises, and a small-scale model of the hospital sat in the center of the room under thick glass. Grey walked to the bathroom while Jones approached the front desk. When Grey strolled back into the reception area several minutes later, Jones was standing with his back to the desk, hands in his pockets, staring out the window.

  “What’s the news?” Grey asked.

  “We can’t see him,” Jones said softly. “He had a stroke. Hemi-plooga, or something. Can’t move his left side.”

  “What do you mean? I thought it was a spinal injury. A fractured disk—”

  “You can ask the lady, sir.”

  Grey wheeled around and strode over to the reception desk.

  “Can I help you, sir?” A young petty officer with silky black hair and full lips looked up from her magazine.

  “What happened to Ramirez? I thought he was going to be fine.”

  “You’re referring to Petty Officer Angel Ramirez, sir?”

  “Yes,” Grey replied impatiently. “I’m his division officer.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it was easier than explaining the function of a boat-crew leader.

  “I called in several minutes ago on behalf of Seaman Jones,” she said, “and I was told Petty Officer Ramirez has suffered a brain hemorrhage. Hemiplegia. He’s lost motor control of his left side. Of course, he only got here this morning. I’m sure you could talk to his doctor tomorrow.”

  “I want to see him tonight.” Grey folded his arms across his chest.

  “Sir, I can’t let you do that.” The receptionist’s green eyes burned into him. “He’s had an incredibly traumatic injury, and he’s in no condition to receive visitors.”

  “Fine.” Grey knocked his knuckles against the desktop impatiently. “Can you at least give me his room number so I can send him something on behalf of his division?”

  “If you drop something off here, we’ll be happy to deliver it. Or I can give you the hospital’s mailing address.” She regarded him suspiciously.

  “Okay, Petty Officer—”

  “Grant.”

  “Right. Petty Officer Grant…” Grey shifted approaches. “You are doing your job very well. I understand you have orders, but I just want you to hear me out. I’ll be perfectly honest with you: I feel like Ramirez’s accident is my fault. He was my responsibility. He was alone in a boat that I was commanding. When he took the fall, I was there to witness the whole thing. He wanted nothing more out of life than to become a SEAL. Dreams die hard, but the knowledge that his classmates haven’t forgotten about him would make all this a lot easier.”

  “You mentioned sending something,” she said, her demeanor softening. “Maybe if you got the class to sign something and sent it over…” Grey noticed she was quite attractive now that she had dropped her guard slightly. Her eyes were truly startling, the deepest green he had even seen.

  “That’s a nice idea, but it’s not the same.” He leaned forward slightly. “Please. Please tell me his room number. I’ll do anything. He’s like family.” Unethical or not, Grey had to see Ramirez.

  Grant propped her hands against her forehead and bit her lip. “Like family?”

  “Like family,” Grey repeated.

  She smiled slightly, and Jones swayed unsteadily. She wasn’t just good looking. She was gorgeous. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No promises, though.”

  “Of course not,” Grey said. “A chance is better than nothing.”

  “Right.” She picked up a phone and chewed on her nails nervously. After a short wait she said, “Yes, this is Grant at the front desk. I have two gentlemen here who want to see Seaman Ramirez.… Yes, they’re family. Brothers through adoption … I know it’s a bad time, but they’re both scheduled to leave the country tomorrow.… Yes, that would be great. Thank you.” She hung up and sighed heavily. “Don’t ask me to do that again!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re a princess.”

  Grant smiled shyly. “Sir…”

  “Sorry. We’re not used to being in the presence of good-looking women.”

  “And that’s the truth,” Jones added.

  She was blushing now. “Someone will be here any minute.”

  “Great.” Grey stepped away from the counter and waited. A young corpsman strode into the room moments later.

  “You’re Angel’s brother?” the corpsman asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Through adoption,” Grey corrected quickly.

  “Right. Follow me.” He walked at a quick clip, navigating a series of empty corridors with ease. The corpsman stopped in front of a white door. He opened it and peeked in. “It looks like he’s resting.”

  “We’ll just wait by his bedside,” Grey offered. “We’ll let him sleep.”

  “Fine. Give a holler if you need anything. I’m just down the hallway.”

  Grey stepped into the room and immediately felt an intense pressure on his chest. Ramirez looked so out of place in the sterile hospital room. His cheeks were tear-stained, and his closed eyes were swollen and rimmed below with bluish skin. Grey walked closer and stood at the bedside. Jones stared at the floor. They stood motionless for several minutes before Grey turned and nodded toward the door. There’s nothing we can do.…

  “Sir.”

  Grey jumped. Ramirez’s voice sounded weaker; the sarcastic edge was gone.

  “Thanks for coming.” His eyes were slits. He smiled weakly. “I thought you might show up. And Tennessee, well that’s a nice surprise.”

  “What? You expect any less from me?” Jones acted hurt. “Where I come from it ain’t no surprise when the whole town turns out for someone.”

  “Of all the people to bring along, sir,” Ramirez said with a smirk, “you have to bring Mr. Sunshine Country Bumpkin. Next thing I know, that hillbilly hog’s gonna be telling me it’s for the better.” He looked at Jones’s fac
e, and realized he was pushing it too far. “Jones, you know I’m just messin’ with ya, bro. I’m glad you came.”

  “Anything for the sexiest man in BUD/S.”

  “Oh, you better stop before I climb out of this bed and give it to you good.”

  “Enough, guys. You’re starting to worry me,” Grey said.

  “Tell me with a straight face that you don’t think I’m sexy,” Ramirez challenged.

  Grey smiled and shook his head. What a piece of work. He missed Ramirez already.

  “See? It can’t be done. I’m sexy.”

  An awkward silence filled the room. Jones fidgeted nervously and kept his gaze firmly planted on the white floor.

  “Hey, this ain’t no damn morgue,” Ramirez said. “I’m still alive.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grey said. “I was just thinking about how much we’re going to miss you.”

  “Yeah,” Jones agreed. “What’s a boat crew without a loudmouthed Mexican?”

  “Well, at least you still got a dumb-ass hick to keep things exciting.”

  “Any idea what’s going to happen to you?” Grey asked quietly. “How serious is it?”

  “Pretty bad.” His smile faded. “I can’t feel my left side so good. The doctor said something about full disability. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ve got three kids, bro.”

  “Things will work out,” Grey said. “Sometimes these things happen for a reason.”

  “Yeah, like I was a dumb-ass and gave the middle finger to a ten-foot wave. That’s the only reason I can think of.”

  “I meant maybe things will work out better in the long run. You’ll regain mobility, invest your disability money, and eventually become a corporate raider on Wall Street. We’ll come visit you in your Manhattan penthouse. You’ll have a whole gaggle of sexy senoritas waiting to fulfill your every desire, and all the disgusting cow-tongue burritos you can eat.”

  Ramirez laughed. “Fuck Manhattan. If I’m going East Coast, it’s the Bronx for me. You know any Mexicans that live in Manhattan?”

  “Then the Bronx it is,” Grey agreed.

  “I don’t know a damn thing about those places,” Jones mused, “but I don’t really care, so long as this half-breed stays away from me. He’s nothing but trouble.”