Shadows of the Past (SEAL Brotherhood: Shadow Team #1)

Chapter Six

“D id you call her?” Jordan asked.

“Wanted to wait until I talked to you first. It’s her handwriting. How did you know for sure she’d sent it to you to give to me?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way it was packaged. Nothing on the outside handwritten. Could have been packaged by someone else.”

“True. But it came to me just as you see it, in another sealed envelope. Sent from Italy. It’s from her, I know it is. You said that’s her number.”

“Which more than a few people know. That’s the number she’s had for years. How would she know the call was from me? If she’s in that much danger, what if my calling sets something up she can’t handle or I can’t get there soon enough to fix?”

“So then why did she put her number down? You think she wants you to ignore the message? She told me to give these to you.”

“How? Did you talk to her?”

“No, through her sister’s account. It was a text. She’s never signed as herself.”

Of course he was being overly cautious. He’d been holding back, holding the hope that she was still alive in a little box, stuffed in his underwear drawer in his heart. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take another scar— that he could handle. A blind curve or wrong turn. Dead-end street. It was the fear that he’d put her in jeopardy. He felt he didn’t know enough yet to take that risk.

But his grouchy puppet self sat like the devil on his left shoulder, making snide comments, telling him he was a fool. He should just go for it. What else did he have to lose? How could he not answer her call to action? Who was he to second-guess maybe his last chance of seeing her again?

“Okay, I’ll call, but not from here.”

“Good idea. You have like a protected room at your office?”

“We do. But not sure I want to go on record for that. I have to sign up for it. I don’t want this call on any record anywhere. Besides, I’m supposed to be taking the week off next week.”

“Not technically next week yet. You could lie, but I get it. Then it’s important where you call from and from what phone. You have a relative outside of the D.C. area you could visit? Someone with no history of calling any agencies?” He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking I don’t have to worry about this. Preferably you have a relative who isn’t wanted by the law or in prison or something.”

Even though Jordan was laughing, Dimitri wasn’t.

“Yeah. I’m glad you didn’t bring that up. I’ve got no one here except friends and the people I work for. Wouldn’t be a good thing to call from the president’s office, would it? But I do consider him a friend.”

“Very impressive. That would look good on a resume.”

“Except I can’t use it. No, I think I’ll go down to Florida. I owe my parents a visit. They live in a retirement complex. My mother is undergoing cancer treatments, and my dad suffers from early stages of dementia.”

“Perfect! Use his phone,” Jordan said with a smile.

Dimitri felt better about at least visiting his parents, but he wasn’t happy about getting his father into trouble with the State Department. He wouldn’t be a very reliable witness, anyhow, and probably would not have any recollection of him borrowing his phone. He’d love to sit in on that interview. He’d seen people like that before on the hot seat. Only frustrated the interviewer, never the suspect. Everything taken down had to be deemed unreliable and usually was worthless. Could never consider any part of their interview as truth. Good intel was based only on truth. Otherwise, people died.

Still, for all the Hell his dad was putting his mother through, it would serve him right. Karma was indeed a strange, angry bitch. Better still, the sisters would have strong opinions in every direction about it. It would be a good source of fodder for the next thirty days, if it happened that fast.

As long as it couldn’t point back to Dimitri or Moira, that’s all he cared about.

He really didn’t think anyone would come knocking. He’d tell his dad a bedtime story, like he used to when he first was on the Team, making up things they did overseas. He liked to live vicariously through Dimitri. His dad always told him he came from a long line of Greek patriots, never on the right side of history and most of their exploits got them killed and never saved anybody. But they were still patriots, freedom fighters. And his dad loved what his son signed up for.

“The best of the best. A real frog man!”

He was always asking him what kind of equipment he used and, for some reason, zeroed in on the flippers, what they were made out of, and how long they lasted. Dimitri hadn’t used a pair, didn’t own his own pair, for years, other than in training. And even then, no more than once every other year.

But to his dad, flippers made the man.

He made it home, gathered things he’d need in a suitcase this time, so he could bring some disassembled firepower, ammo, a vest, some NV goggles, and scopes. He wished he had room for the mini-drone “Coop” Cooper custom made for him.

He informed the guard to log in that he’d be gone for a week and watch for any further intrusion into his place. Informed him there wouldn’t be any mail and no one had access to his place unless he gave permission later.

“Where are you going?”

“Got some family things to take care of. My mom’s sick.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ll be praying for her. Where does she live?”

“California,” he lied.

“Oh, nice out there this time of year. Not LA, though. Hope it’s not LA.”

“Up north. Wine Country.”

“Nice! Well, have a good time, and try to relax and enjoy that spot. Good place to get your mom’s illness out of your head.”

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing. See you next week. Oh, and if the management needs to talk to me about Wendell or that thing yesterday, they can call on my cell. They have the number.”

“Understood. We do too. Have a safe flight.”

He never drove anywhere, so his Hummer was dusty but otherwise spotless. He transferred his sidearm to the bolted box on the floor, since he’d be traveling through un-friendly territories where conceal carry wasn’t the law of the land. Although he had a right to carry, he didn’t want the hassle. But if he needed it, he’d have it. And not in some duty bag that could be stolen.

The beast roared to life and leapt from the underground garage and onto the street, narrowly missing a delivery van. He cranked up the music and inserted his noise-cancelling earpods that allowed him to hear important sounds in the cab. It was like a viper’s nest inside the thing, dark-tinted windows all around, except for the sunroof, which was covered and locked. On the back windshield, he had a small Punisher logo on the bottom left, black on the blackout windows, matching the dulled black Hummer’s exterior.

He drove straight through with little traffic. Too early for vacationers, too late for spring breakers or college dorm closures. The closer he got to Florida, the brighter the sky got, and he was grateful for the tinted windows.

He checked his phone for messages. All State employees were given attachment scramblers for their phones so their whereabouts couldn’t be tracked. Other than Jordan, no one in the world knew he was headed to Florida. Even his mom or dad.

He meandered through the shady older neighborhood with wide streets and huge oak trees decorated in hanging grey-green moss. Landscapers were trimming, but using chainsaws and other powered tools to fend off the rapid growth the Tropics brought.

Their entry gate had a buzzer and speakerphone, but that had broken years ago. The gate also didn’t lock, so he pushed it open and drove inside, parking by the front door. His mom’s Prius was parked in front of the garage doors, looking like it hadn’t been washed in a year or more. Two other vehicles sat perpendicular to the front porch. He assumed these belonged to the sisters, who were now staying with his folks indefinitely.

He ran back to the gate and closed it, then jogged to the front door, and listened before knocking.

It was another argument, and his dad was losing terribly. He sounded much more old and feeble, which made Dimitri sad. But it was good news for the mission at hand. Of course, he didn’t like the family drama, but he did owe them a respectful visit. Their good days were going to be few and far between as the years progressed. Maybe even faster than that.

He knocked, and the shouting stopped immediately. Little footsteps, probably Mom’s youngest sister with the size three shoe, came the door.

He was right.

“Miriam. Nice to see you.”

“Oh, Deenie, ” as she called him, a name he hated. She yelled to the rest of the bevy who had gathered in the kitchen. His father poked his head around the corner.

“Son! What a surprise!”

His father gave him a quick hug, enough so Dimitri could feel every disc in his spine, every gap between bone and muscle where more muscle should have been. He could smell the chewing tobacco Dad had taken up again, after he’d promised his mother he’d quit.

That probably meant she was too sick to notice.

“You’re looking good, Dad. Mind if I stay for a little visit? I’m overdue.”

“Sure, the house is yours,” he said in front of the army of three sisters who stood behind him with their arms crossed.

He wondered which one he was going to have to wrestle to get his own bedroom, but he put it aside until later.

“How long are you staying, Deenie ,” asked the heaviest one, Andrea.

“I took a week off work. Just a few days, if it isn’t an imposition.”

“You should have called ahead. I’ve got a bad back,” said Eludia, the middle sister of the three. “I can’t move things out of my room.”

“Now stop it right now, you three. This isn’t your house. It’s my house and your sister’s house, and he’ll stay as our guest for as long as he wants and one of you will move. I don’t want to get involved, so just fix it, or we’ll do it at random and then everyone will be miserable and complain about it for the whole time he’s here. So stop it, I tell you!”

Dimitri leaned into his dad and whispered, “Way to go.”

“You think? Won’t do any good. These old biddies are just bags of wind. Thank God they cook, or I’d be fueling their pieholes and costing me a small fortune, especially the water bill. They argue, but they’re useful. And your mom likes having them around. They don’t argue when they tend to her, so there’s that.”

Dimitri soaked it all in, noting how nothing had changed. It was the same as when he was growing up, his dad complaining about the “spinsters” visiting every year and draining his bank account with tales of woe and his mother giving them little loans that never got repaid. His favorite answer to everything was, “What are you going to do? It is what it is.”

“Come on. Let’s see your mother. If she’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her, if you don’t mind. She doesn’t sleep comfortably much anymore.”

In the hallway was an alcove, originally built for a telephone, but now held a charging station. His dad’s phone was there, with another cracked screen despite the one he’d replaced the last time he was here.

He didn’t reveal he’d noted this and kept walking.

The bedroom smelled of death. She wasn’t in their king bed, but she rested in a hospital bed that could be lowered and adjusted, which made bathing and sitting to eat easier. Beside the bed was a walker, with tennis balls glued and duct taped to the legs to keep it from slipping when she put weight on it.

Her head was covered in a scarf with tufts of grey hair sticking out here and there. Not much, though. She had opened her eyes and gave him a warm smile, holding out her arms, one attached to the slow drip.

“Dimitri, my son. I knew you’d come visit. Wasn’t I saying that, Constantino?”

“You did. I can testify to that. You say it every day, Maria.”

He ran to the bed and hugged her bony frame. She smelled of sickness and resignation, that place between the living and the truly dead, biding her time, waiting for the final curtain to fall. He always felt when they got like this, and he’d seen it in even younger men, teammates who’d suffered for years with their injuries, it was almost a relief when they passed. And then everyone around them afterwards felt guilty for feeling that way.

That’s what funerals were for, he thought.

He released her and helped her settle back into the pillows as she squealed a tiny groan of pain.

“I’m having a good day, son. Even better now that you’re here.”

“Thanks, Mom. You look better, I think.”

“You could never lie well. This is the last drug, son. After this, I’m just going to let nature take its course.”

“Don’t say that, Maria, Goddammit. He just said you looked good. Take the compliment for once, will you?” His cheerful father piped out at her.

But she probably didn’t hear him. She was still staring blissfully at his face, checking his features, no doubt trying to discern whether or not he was happy. She was always good about digging that out of him.

As if she’d read his thoughts, she asked him, “Still living alone?”

“Yes, Mom. I think God intended me to be a bachelor. Sorry for no grandkids.”

“And a proud lineage it would have been nice to carry on. All those warriors on your dad’s side—”

His father swore in the distance.

“Don’t do that. God will just have to live with the last of the vintage being the perfect one, right?”

She smiled wide at that one. “Yes, that’s the way we’ll think about it. And look how handsome you still are. You could still nab one young enough to breed, you know?”

“Maria, didn’t you hear him?” his dad barked from across the room. “He asked you not to do that. Would you just quit? It isn’t going to happen. He’s too old to have kids.”

Her face showed pain.

Still trying to make her feel better, he said, “Not really, Mom, so if I find a nice woman, like you, I’ll be sure to work on it quick. I promise.”

“Someone like Moira,” she whispered to him softly.

It hurt him to the core. His dad broke his sad mood.

“What did you say? No secrets please, Maria. Who are you talking about?”

His mother held Dimitri’s hand and turned her head toward her husband. “Moira, the woman he was engaged to.”

“Never heard of her. Honestly, Dimitri, the drugs are getting to her. She makes stuff up,” said the man suffering and now demonstrating his own dementia.

Again, he had the thought.

Perfect.