Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Three

The flight to Costa Rica was long and tiresome, typical when flying AF transport. Grissom and his team were last-minute hitchhikers, traveling on Uncle Sam’s dime. The C-130J-30 Mother snagged their passage on, was the stretch version. A recent modification added 15 feet to its fuselage, increasing the bird’s usable space. Most of that usable space was currently occupied by four dozen active-duty US Army and Air Force members, three helicopters, a shit load of palletized disaster and first-aid supplies, bottled water, and other rescue and medical equipment. All were deploying to southern Costa Rica’s Peninsula de Osa, in response to extreme flooding and mudslides. While that unexpected disaster spiked Grissom’s anxiety into the red zone, Murphy insisted Luke and Tanner weren’t anywhere near there.

Grissom now knew Pam and Estes had gone down with his plane in the Pacific, twenty-some miles off the coast of Samara, a small village on the northwest coast, known for its palm-lined beach. Both were assumed dead, as well as the four tourists flying with them. According to the latest intel from Agents Shane Hayes and Beckam Garner, Luke and Tanner weren’t in Samara, nor were they in any of the villages along the coast. All that astute intel did for Grissom was eliminate one possible location out of thousands. Not good enough.

The further south the AF bird flew, the more stifling the air inside the noisy transport became, and the shorter Grissom’s temper. By the time they touched down in Puntarenas, he was half out of his mind. The aft loading ramp had no more than cracked far enough open to let in a rush of humidity when he was on the tarmac and antsy as hell. His boys needed him. He didn’t have time to waste. It seemed like hours before Murphy, Taylor, Cord, and Walker joined him. Where the hell was their ride out of here?

Grissom commenced pacing. He’d been in Costa Rica before. At its widest, it was a hundred seventy miles. Transportation would be problematic. If his boys were hidden somewhere on the Pacific side, it could take hours—days!—before he could get to them—if he knew where to look. If not? Fuck!

Puntarenas itself was a port town situated on a long finger of land stretching west from the Costa Rican mainland into the Gulf of Nicoya, which in turn opened to the Pacific. The landmass of the conjoined Puntarenas and Guanacaste Provinces lay between the Gulf of Nicoya and the Pacific, putting Tanner and Luke yet farther away. Driving distance by bus, which would take Grissom and his team north and around the Gulf, would still, if all went well, waste close to eight hours. By POV, three to six. Murphy should’ve engaged a local helicopter, damn it. Why wasn’t anyone waiting there to meet them? What was taking so long?

Damned if Shane Hayes and Beckam Garner didn’t pull up in a fairly new passenger van, instead of the beater vehicle Grissom had expected. The van looked like it would accommodate everyone plus gear. But that meant Tanner and Luke were three to six hours away. Not acceptable. Shit!

His nerves were eating him alive and time was wasting. No one seemed to think finding his boys was important enough to hurry, damn it. No one but me!

Grissom bit his bottom lip to keep from blowing his cool and making a bigger ass of himself. Instead of opening his mouth and spewing the anxiety eating him alive, he stowed the gear he’d brought, err, make that, what Murphy’d brought for him. Murphy was not the enemy here. None of these men were, and Grissom knew it. So what if Murphy hadn’t thought ahead and engaged better transportation—like an airplane or a helo? What if Shane and Beckam were wrong and Tanner and Luke were on the Pacific side of this damned country? On the coast?

Growling at the growing frustration he was holding back—barely—Grissom raked his fingers over his already mussed hair. The still tender scar at the back of his head, the one he had no idea where it came from, screamed at him to take it easy. Like hell! He had two little boys to find. He was not the important one here! Only Tanner and Luke!

“Let’s hit the road,” Shane said, as he climbed back into the driver’s seat. Beckam ducked inside and claimed the farthest window seat in the middle row behind Shane. Wordlessly, Taylor, Cord, and Walker angled their wide bodies between the two middle seats and crammed themselves onto the rear bench. Murphy climbed up with Beckam and pulled the passenger door shut. Grissom launched his ass into the empty front passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt. His fingers commenced tapping the dash, needing to be gone.

Once headed away from the runway, Shane explained, “We’re pretty sure your boys are being held on the west side of the peninsula. If all goes well, you’ll be on the way home with them before sunset.”

Grissom absorbed that info as calmly as possible, as if he hadn’t just been pissed-off and nearly out of control. “This peninsula? They’re that close? Really? Are you sure?”

Shane shot him a quick glance before his gaze returned to the road. “You look like shit,” he said, slapping a hefty hand onto Grissom’s shoulder. “But, yeah. Becker’s gut’s been talking to him, and he believes your wife left Tanner and Luke here, where Estes lived, not on the coast where they, umm, crashed. Mother’s been looking over Jed McCormack’s satellite images. Right, Murph?”

“Right,” Murphy replied. “Mother, Axel, Beau, and Ember have all been working twenty-four-seven, scrutinizing every image taken of this area this month. She’ll call if they find anything else. Just you wait and see.”

If they find anything… Not anyone… Shit! Grissom shook off the profound negativity driving him. His boys had to be here, and he had to believe they were. There were no other options. He had to find them, and it had to be today. How could he live, ever breathe again, if—?

“Grissom,” Shane said quietly, his hand still a brick on Grissom’s left shoulder. “We will find them, buddy. Every available agent is right now searching for them, if not in this country, at home poring over those sat pics. We’re all on your side. You’re not alone.”

“Yeah, but…” I’m the only one who’s going to lose his mind if I never see my boys again. I’m the only one who’ll go home empty-handed. What if she sold them? Pam would do something like that. The woman’s bitter to her core. She never wanted boys. Only little girls she could dress up and twist into mini-versions of herself. You guys have no idea what our life’s been like!

Instead of voicing his despair, Grissom cranked the window open and let the salty air blow in. There wasn’t enough oxygen in this crammed-full van, and he had a gutful of adrenaline to burn. He ached. Every tiny nerve and muscle fiber in his body hurt, they’d been wound tight for so damned long. Too long. God, he’d been a mess since he’d married Pam. The only joy in his whole life was his two little guys. But he didn’t know where they were! Or who they were with. And…!

No! Just no! The never-ending roller coaster ride he was on was killing him. Grissom knew he had to settle down and trust his fellow agents. He knew that, but shit! The thought that Tanner and Luke might be in a city of close to a hundred and thirty-five thousand… Did. Not. Help! What was he supposed to do? Start knocking on all those doors? Wait until Mother and her people found something ? Not someone? Not—!

“Jesus!” he mentally blasted into the wide blue sky overhead. “Help me find my boys, damn it! They need me. They don’t even know their mother’s dead, and I don’t know where they are. I can’t do this alone!”

Another hand landed on his other shoulder, as if reminding him again that he wasn’t alone, no matter how much he felt like he was. Had to be Murphy. Of course. The old codger dug his fingertips into Grissom’s shoulder muscle and growled, “Swallow this and don’t give me any crap.”

Sure enough, Murphy’s right hand was clenched into a fist between the door and Grissom. He looked down and the gnarled fist opened and revealed one of those tiny, damned pills he was supposed to take. “Now?” he asked, like a whiny brat.

“Take it!” Murphy snapped. His other hand released its hold on Grissom’s shoulder and a dripping wet bottled water appeared out of nowhere. No sense arguing. Everyone in this van was on Murph’s side.

‘And yours,’ the annoying voice in Grissom’s head whispered.

Jesus, is that my conscience?

Shane seemed to know where he was going. He didn’t need Grissom’s help—or interference—so Grissom obeyed the order to self-medicate. It might work. He’d given his word, so, yeah. He swallowed the tiny pill, then chugged the entire bottle of water to make his boss happy. Someone in this van might as well be.

Shane hooked a right that took them to the other side of the narrow strip of land. Everywhere he looked, Grissom saw homes, apartments, and markets sandwiched between fishing or boating businesses. Boats bobbed along the shore, some along small, private docks, while some had been turned on their sides on the beach. Seabirds squawked overhead. The air smelled of salt and sea. Grissom could only pray. Nothing prepared a man to lose his children. Not all his years in the Army. Not any amount of well-honed training. It all came down to his boys being strong enough to survive this nightmare n their own. If they were okay, he’d be okay.

God, please let them be okay. Take care of my babies for me. Please!

It’d only been minutes since Shane pulled away from the airfield when he turned into a narrow alley. A three-story building that looked a lot like a hundred-year-old Motel 6 faced the rear of an open-ended warehouse that stored boats. Lots of boats.

Shane maneuvered the van up against the warehouse wall, leaving Grissom just enough room to get out. Nobody moved. Nobody said anything. Everyone seemed to be waiting so…

“Are they here?” Grissom asked, his sharp eyes quartering the building on his right and the warehouse at his left. The warehouse looked empty of everything except storage racks filled with boats, which made sense. Nothing suspicious there. But the motel was oddly quiet, considering it was probably an apartment building now, not a motel. It was a long, weathered wooden structure that had once been painted white, with a red, clay-tiled roof. Walkways terraced each story, with stairs leading to ground level at both ends of the building. No maid service carts anywhere. No drapes on the windows. Someone’s laundry draped over one end of the top-most banister.

“Yes,” Beckam said with authority, from behind Grissom. “See the toys on the second level landing?” He stretched a long finger between Shane and him, pointing at what Grissom should’ve noticed. “Bright plastic trucks and cars, too.”

“That’s what you’re basing your best guess on? Stupid toys?” Although Luke did sleep with toy trucks at home, and his boys were prone to fight over which toys were whose. But Grissom had no way to know whether those were really Luke’s or not. It made sense Pam would’ve brought the boys’ most treasured belongings with them, if only to keep them out of her hair and quiet, so she and—

A deadly growl percolated from deep inside Grissom’s chest. Damn it. He shut down the thought of Pam and Estes acting like man and wife in front of his sons. Way down. This was a new day, and if his boys were in there—

“Besides,” Beckam added. “That’s the only room with its drapes pulled shut.”

Oh, yeah. Grissom noticed that now, too. Opening his door, he put a boot on the ground. By the time he was upright, Murphy was standing on his right, Shane on his left, both with pistols drawn. Grissom blinked, and just that fast, Beckam, Taylor, Cord, and Walker were with him and also armed. He hadn’t thought to pull his pistols. Honestly didn’t need them if his boys were in that room.

The nightmare in Syria roared back to life, screaming a bloody vengeance that couldn’t be ignored. “No,” he growled, more at himself than at the men with him. “No weapons, guys. None. Not if my boys, hell, not if any kids are up there in that—”

He wasn’t finished speaking when the six brave men with him holstered their weapons. Nothing had ever sounded as good as that metal sliding into leather or mesh pockets. It took a buttload of stress off his shoulders.

“Your call, Grissom,” Shane whispered. “You lead.”

“Second level?” he asked, his heart pounding at the possibility that finding Tanner and Luke could happen this easy. This soon. He hadn’t been in country an hour yet.

“Yes,” Beckam declared quietly. “You ready?”

Pushing a nervous breath through his chapped lips, Grissom swallowed hard and said, “Yeah. We go in soft. I’ll knock and call out to my boys. If they’re in there, they’ll come running.” Just like they used to do every night when he got home. God, could it really be this easy?

No one argued for a surprise attack or offered another method of B&E. Where Grissom led, they followed. Yet the moment he wrapped his fingers around the dirty metal doorknob on that second-story room, he faltered. He trusted these men with his life. He would trust them with Tanner’s and Luke’s lives, too. Right?

But shit still happens…

How well he knew… “Weapons up,” he whispered at the still-closed door. “Just in case.”

Again, the quiet sound of metal whispered against mesh and leather. All but his. He’d never lift a weapon against a child again.

Instead of barging in like he would’ve in Afghanistan or Syria, Grissom released the doorknob and knocked softly. He didn’t want to frighten his sons. He called out a firm, “Tanner and Luke, are you in here? Can you hear me? It’s me, Dad.” Please open the door, Whoever-you-are who’s got my boys. Don’t make me have to bust it down.

The door sprang open inward, and the prettiest bombshell stood there, blinking her big, beautiful, absinthe-green eyes. Long, brown hair, parted down the center, cascaded over her shoulders in messy tangles. She looked exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept, bathed, or brushed her hair in days.

Murphy shouldered past Grissom and stepped inside the motel room. “Tuesday?”

Tears filled her eyes as she opened her mouth to answer but—

“Daddy!” three-year-old Luke screamed from behind the partially closed bathroom door. “I here! Daddy, I here! Don’t leave! I coming!”

Grissom dropped to his knees as both of his boys plowed into his arms, damned near knocking him on his butt in the open doorway.

Tanner burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I” —he hung his head, choking on shame no boy should have to feel— “I peed my pants. I’m sorry!”

Luke cried and Grissom couldn’t hold back the emotions drenching his cheeks and running into his beard. “Oh, my sons. My boys,” he cried, his voice raw and hoarse. “I think I might just do the same thing, Tanner. It’s okay. I don’t care if you had an accident, and I’m not mad. I… I…” He couldn’t begin to verbalize the emotional storm in his heart. All he could do was hold the most precious things in his life. His sons. The baby boys he hadn’t been sure he’d ever see again. They were here. Shane and Beckam were right.

Grissom broke down and sobbed, unashamed to let his love show or to let his boys know how much they meant to him. Men cried, damn it. His boys needed to understand that showing love was not a weakness, and he loved these boys more than life.

While he held his crying boys in his arms, the guys chatted with the woman who had them. She was probably tight with Pam, damn her. Grissom struggled to listen to what she was telling Murph, but right then, he had what he’d come to Costa Rica for. That woman could go to hell, for all he cared. He just wanted to take his sons and go home.