Maybe that said something.
Maybe they knew there was more good in the world than there was bad.
Then a big hand fell on Slater’s shoulder, and he looked up into the eyes of a man he hadn’t seen in at least a decade. The guy was in his sixties, grizzly, rugged. He still had all his hair, and it was still thick, but it was silver. He’d grown it long and swept it back, tucking strands behind his ears. His face had craters and crevasses and pockmarks — partially from a lifetime of exposure to the sun, but mostly from a lifetime of exposure to pain.
Slater thought the guy was an apparition, a long dormant parcel of his memory now stirred up.
But he was real.
And he was standing over them in a bar in Manhattan.
‘Holy shit,’ Slater said. ‘Jack Coombs.’
3
King wasn’t in the know.
He kept silent as Slater leapt up and pulled the grizzled man into a bear hug. They slapped each other on the back hard enough to draw the attention of everyone in the bar, but they seemed to wise up to the commotion they’d caused.
Slater dropped back into the booth and slid across so he was between the old man and King. The guy bent down and dropped into the space Slater had been occupying a minute earlier.
Slater said, ‘Jason King, meet Jack Coombs.’
King extended a hand, and Coombs reached out and clasped it. His grip was powerful. Like iron. All three of them were the same. Built with hard corded muscle, but even stronger underneath than they looked on the surface.
Which was considerably impressive, given just how toughened their exteriors were.
King said, ‘Guessing you two know each other.’
Coombs smirked. ‘Will’s an old student of mine.’
‘Navy,’ Slater said. ‘A long, long time ago.’
King said, ‘I thought you were Air Force.’
‘I did two years there. Then they transferred me, which was a serious abnormality. But they wanted to capitalise on my “genetic gifts.”’
Coombs leant forward, dropping both elbows onto the chipped wooden table. ‘I was the First Phase Officer in Charge when the boy went through BUD/S.’
Basic Underwater Demolition — SEAL.
The initiation into the Navy SEALs, which included the fabled and feared Hell Week — one hundred and thirty continuous hours of sleep deprivation, physical exhaustion, and mental suffering.
King said, ‘How’d he go?’
‘That’s why I remember him,’ Coombs said. ‘The kid breezed through it. All the instructors… it mentally fucked us. Even at the end of Hell Week, his body was destroyed, but his eyes were sharp. I’ll always remember that. Sharp eyes. Ate the whole thing like a Tic-Tac.’
‘Sounds like Will,’ King said.
Coombs stared at Slater.
Slater stared back.
Coombs said, ‘I can’t fuckin’ believe it, kid. Here you are.’
‘Here I am. How’ve you been, old man?’
Coombs shook his head. ‘This ain’t about me. You’ve got some explaining to do.’
Slater raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I?’
‘They whisked you outta the Navy real quick, didn’t they? You were there, and then you were gone. The rumour mill churned. We all thought you were dead. We thought they got fed up and put a bullet in your head for making the whole thing look too damn easy.’
They all laughed. A mutually genuine, wholehearted laugh. Not the superficial forced bullshit that usually plagues social interactions.
It was the only kind of laugh King and Slater allowed themselves.
A real one.
Slater said, ‘They had other plans for me.’
‘Who did? They never told us shit.’
‘They didn’t tell me shit either. Not until I was already off the books.’
Coombs stared. ‘You’re kidding.’
Slater jerked a thumb at King. ‘He and I. We’re cut from the same cloth. We did the same sort of wet work. Spent most of the last fifteen years operating independently. Now we work together.’
Now Coombs stared at King. ‘What are you two doing in New York?’
King said, ‘We live here.’
‘Are you supposed to be telling me this?’
‘Hell no.’
‘I thought as much.’
Slater said, ‘I trust you, and King trusts me. That’s all that’s needed.’
‘You sure? I’ve only just run into you.’
Slater shrugged. ‘It’s intuition.’
They regarded each other across the booth. Exchanged glances of mutual respect and understanding.
Whatever’s said here does not leave this table.
No matter what.
It didn’t need to be vocalised. They were men of discipline. They knew.
Slater said, ‘What about yourself, Jack? The hell are you doing here? Retired?’
‘From active service,’ Coombs said. ‘But I’m still working. I’m busier than ever.’
‘What does an old dog like yourself do in the civilian world?’
Coombs smirked again. ‘You wouldn’t approve. Especially if you’re still doing wet work.’
‘Try me.’
‘I’m a leadership advisor,’ he said. ‘I know — it sounds like I’ve given myself a fancy title and then jerked myself off. But turns out there’s a few tricks this old dog can teach to big businesses. I’ve crawled my way up to Fortune 500 companies. I give them the time-tested principles that worked so well in the SEALs. Helps that I know them like the back of my hand.’
‘You’re doing well for yourself?’
‘Better than well. Better than I deserve, probably.’
King met the old man’s eyes and said, ‘We know what you mean.’
Coombs shrugged. ‘Turns out it’s an untapped market. People are weak. I’m hard. Haven’t had a pretty life, but that actually helps in some ways.’
‘Of course it does,’ Slater said. ‘Pretty lives are usually hollow.’
Coombs nodded. Didn’t respond. They didn’t have to compare past traumatic experiences. It was extraneous.
After a long pause, Coombs finally said, ‘I’d say we should go over what we’ve been doing, but I wouldn’t even know where to start. I imagine you’re the same.’
Slater gave a nod for both of them.
Coombs said, ‘Am I intruding?’
King managed a wry half-smile, but didn’t answer.
Slater said, ‘Not at all. We just don’t usually make conversation with anyone other than ourselves and our significant others. Takes some warming up.’
Coombs said, ‘Can I buy you a beer?’
Now it was Slater’s turn to half-smile. ‘A couple of months ago I would have
