paper in hand and sat back roughly in the chair.
He stared at the words, remembering Fratty’s viewing the day before. He supposed that he’d have his own one day. They were told not to worry about it, not to anticipate it. Theirs was the most dangerous job on the planet and the odds were against them surviving for very long. It was only because of the training and instructors like Reno that they were able to stay alive for as long as they did. And now they were asking for the song he wanted them to play in the event of his death.
“Can I have some time to think about this?” he asked.
The clerk shook his head. “I need to have it now. If you can’t decide, I’ll put down my favorite song.”
“What’s that?” Walker asked, hoping for some inspiration.
“Madonna’s ‘Material Girl,’” the seaman said with a straight face.
Walker definitely didn’t want that to be played at his viewing. It had never occurred to Walker when he was listening to Aldo Nova yesterday that he’d have to come up with one of his own. He found himself staring at the sheet. Minutes ticked by as he went through his mental catalogue of songs.
“Can we get this done?” the clerk said. “I have a date tonight.”
Walker looked at him. Yeah, he needed to hurry. He wouldn’t want the choice for his death song to get in the way of the young seaman’s sex life. He grabbed a pen, jotted down the title and the band, then signed the form. “Here you go. Are we done now?”
The clerk read the choice aloud: “‘Wheel in the Sky,’ by Journey.” He shook his head. “What is it with 1980s hair bands?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. He stacked the papers together and placed them in a classified carrier. Then he stuck out his hand. “Good luck, SEAL.”
Walker accepted the handshake. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”
The clerk walked out.
Walker got up and went into the main room of the Pit. Billings was there, as was someone new. As he came into the room, they all turned.
“Walker, this is your new team member. Chief Petty Officer Ali Jabouri, meet Petty Officer First Class Jack Walker.”
They shook hands. The new guy was of Arab descent. Although he wore a grim face, he had smiling eyes. He was shorter than the rest of them but didn’t act like it bothered him.
“Call me Yaya,” he said, with an accent that sounded more like Philly than Saudi Arabia.
“We’ve had Chief Jabouri’s file for some time now. While myself and the members of the Sissy share our most sincere condolences for Chief Fratolilio, I’m hoping that you’ll welcome Chief Jabouri.”
Walker caught her looking at him appraisingly as she said it. He also saw the other team members offering their own tight smiles to her statement. Her subtext was clear. They were gears in a supernatural defense machine. One gear broke and here’s another. Plug it in and get instant continuity of operations.
“Now that we’ve had introductions, I’ve got to be on my way.” She pointed at Holmes. “Can I see you for a moment?”
Holmes nodded but spoke to the team first. “No one goes into Fratty’s room until I get a chance to clear it.”
Everyone stared back at him. The thought had never crossed their minds. Until Fratty’s belongings were cleared, the room was essentially the man’s shrine. Not a single one dared to enter, much less remove anything.
Holmes turned to follow Billings into the conference room and closed the door behind him.
Everyone stared at each other for a few moments.
Yaya looked at Walker. “Is it always like this?”
Walker shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’ve only been here for two days.”
“Three,” Laws corrected, holding up three fingers. “Or it could be four,” he said, examining his own fingers with critical eyes. “Going back and forth across the dateline confuses me.”
“And you’ve already had one mission,” Yaya noted.
“Two,” Laws corrected again, holding up two fingers this time.
“Yeah. Two missions. I just now signed all my admin forms.”
Yaya raised his eyebrows. “I filled mine out…” He let it fade, then said in a much lower voice, “Last night.” He shook his head. “Listen guys. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”
Ruiz went to the bar and grabbed beers. When he returned he passed them around. He opened his and held it up. “To the FNG.”
They all opened their beers and drank slowly and deeply.
Laws held up his left hand and spread his fingers Spock style. “Live long and prosper.”
Ruiz snorted in his beer and Walker couldn’t help but laugh. They’d turned a somber moment on its head and were soon lounging around the leather couches in the middle of the Pit, exchanging resumes. Common in every military unit since Hannibal’s poop scoopers had crossed the Alps behind the elephants, military members had shorthand for telling where they’d come from, where’d they’d been, the sorts of missions they’d done, and what their skills were.
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?”
