SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9) (15 page)

He called Kyle.

“You understand they may medically discharge you for SEAL duty?” Kyle had a way of not sugarcoating anything.

“I’ll be good. Look at Adam Brown.”

“Yea, but he didn’t break a hip.”

“No, he lost an eye. That’s worse.”

“You might walk with a limp. That ball socket won’t last you twenty or thirty years like everyone else’s does, with all the jumping and everything we do. You might pass all the qualifications, maybe they make you go through something like BUD/S all over again, and they still could elect not to take you.”

“BUD/S is for the psychological part of it. You know I got that, Kyle.”

“I agree. Fully. Just got to see how your body heals.”

Kyle was right. That was the hard part for Rory. He wanted to do everything in his power to heal back 100%, but even then, some would have their doubts.

He’d seen a couple of former Marines, homeless, sitting outside the Rescue Mission near Old Town. He’d served with them not more than three years ago. How fast they had deteriorated. And they’d both been injured, too.

He reached forward, checking over his post-op instructions. He picked up his bottle of pills, counting them. They’d given him a thirty-day supply. He told himself he was going to try to make it stretch to sixty days.

Today, though, as his thoughts got darker and darker he began to realize what the real enemy was. How would he feel about himself if he were no longer needed? He’d never had that as a kid. Got to manhood without it, and then found the SEALs. So, what if they no longer needed him? What would he do?

How the hell will I survive?

The next day
they were summoned for a meeting. Rory’s attendance was required.

“No doubt you’re hearing all these reports on the news about threats overseas to our military families, to civilian contractors,” Kyle started. “I’ve been asked to remind you we are due to deploy in a couple of months, and we’ll be doing some heavy training. All weather conditions, so get yourself fit if you’ve put on that little bit of weight and get ready to amp up.”

The Team loved these talks. Rory wished he were working up with them.

“One thing I’ve been asked to remind all of you about. Facebook, group chats, Internet. Just say no.” Kyle crossed the room, staring down at his feet. When he looked up at them, Rory could see how serious and worried he was. “We got good credible intel that there are people here in the U.S. already who mean to do us harm. Might seek us out.”

The mumbling in the crowd was mostly agreement.

“But your wives and sons and daughters, hell, even your parents and grandparents, everyone has to be careful. You aren’t allowed any social media accounts. Limit your Internet to only sites you’re familiar with, people you’ve talked to before. Your family needs to stay off social media and Internet as much as possible now too.”

Coop stood and addressed Kyle. “Sir, how much of this information do we share? I mean, we got to tell them, but it’s going to scare the living shit out of them.”

“As it should, Coop. As it should.” He turned and addressed the whole group. “Gentlemen, I’m as serious as a heart attack. If you value your families, you’ll heed my advice. I don’t want any leaks, breeches of security coming from one of your kids, so prepare them. They know what you do. They know how important it is. Remind them, and it pains me to say this, but remind them there are people out there looking for
them
. And that we just can’t have happen.”

Later in the
week several events shook the community. One of the teenage daughters of their Lieutenant Commander was found dead after having been lured by a young man she’d found on the Internet, according to her friends. Although it appeared the local police, working with Naval Security, identified it as a random criminal act, no one really knew for certain it was. Leads dried up as if the perpetrator had never existed, and that left a creepy taste in everyone’s mouth.

It was a chilling reminder that the stakes were rising fast. Part of the war was coming home, and while they could minimize it, it was not something any of them would be able to stop. Their best defense was their training in improvisation and observation, especially in the face of danger.

But their families were more vulnerable.

‡

R
ory wanted to
call Corrigan and tell him he wasn’t having the test, He left a message for him first on his cell. Then he called the home number and left another message with an answering service. He got a call back later that day from a Manhattan Police Detective.

“Is this Rory Kennedy?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m Detective Nicholas Gunn, Manhattan P.D. You a friend of Mr. Corrigan?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You left a message about a blood test? Can I ask about what that’s about?”

“Sure. He thinks he’s my father. I’m not so sure I want to know.”

“Ah. Well then maybe you can tell us where Mr. Corrigan is.”

Rory’s stomach fell to his knees.
No! This is not happening.

“I have no idea where he is. I last saw him at the hospital in Los Angeles.”

“When was that Mr. Kennedy?”

“Six, no seven days ago. It was last Wednesday. We both checked out the next day. He’d already left when I went to say goodbye.”

“You guys use the hospital for a family reunion? That’s kind of odd, don’t you think?”

“Actually, we were involved in a snowboarding accident and discovered we have the same rare blood type. But that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Understood. So have you had any contact with Mr. Corrigan since? Or any contact with his staff? I guess there’s a Mr. Derek Larson who’s on his staff—had any contact with him?”

“No. No one. I just figured he’d gone back to work. He had broken bones, you know.”

“We’ve gotten some insurance and hospital things in his mail. But as far as we understand, Mr. Corrigan never came back to New York, and we were thinking perhaps he’d changed his mind and decided to stay in California. Anyone out there would know where he is?”

“So he hasn’t been at work? Has anyone there heard from him? Derek was always at his side, his, um, assistant, I think.”

“Not at liberty to discuss that with you, son. But I will say this, his office staff hasn’t heard a word, and that’s highly unusual for Mr. Corrigan not to be in touch. Highly unusual.”

Rory’s heart was pounding in his chest. He fisted his fingers.

“As far as you heard, he was planning on returning to New York?”

“Yes, that’s what he told me.”

“Okay, I’m gonna call LAPD. Let me have your contact information.”

Rory gave him his address and cell phone number. “Sir, I live in San Diego, in case that makes a difference.”

“But L.A. is where he was last seen. We start there. They may want to interview you. Can you be available later today, if that’s the case?”

“I can’t drive. I’m recovering from a broken hip. Not sure I can arrange for someone to take me at this late notice. San Diego is about two and a half hours away.”

“Don’t do anything just yet. Please stay by the phone, and please don’t leave the area.”

“I’m not a suspect, am I?”

“We don’t have a crime as of yet. Why, should you be?”

“No. I’m just asking.”

“You are the last person we know of who saw Mr. Corrigan.”

The two Los
Angeles police detectives who stopped by asked for permission to walk through Rory’s house, which he granted. Rory had called Kyle, who arrived shortly before. They produced their military I.D.s.

“So the Navy says you’re SEALs.”

“Yessir,” Kyle answered. “Tell us what you can. Perhaps we can help.”

“No, you gotta stay completely out of this one. Over there, you guys get to be the big heroes and we thank you for it. But here, this is our jurisdiction.”

“So just what do we have here, then?” Rory asked.

“We got a missing person. No evidence of foul play, except for the fact that he’s missed several board meetings and a couple of other business-related matters.”

Kyle took a deep breath, stood tall, and asked another question. “Business-related matters, such as withdrawals of large amounts of money?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You do know there are terrorist cells operating in the United States, right? Ransom is one of their most common areas of focus. Kidnapping and ransom. SOP over there.”

The detectives looked at each other.

“You think this has anything to do with me?” Rory asked.

“Well, has anyone contacted you on his behalf? Made any demands?”

“No.”

“We’re still checking out things with the ex. He say anything to you about her?”

“Never discussed it.”

“Okay. So who have you met, or has he mentioned anyone in your extensive conversations in the hospital?”

“Detectives, I’ve spent less than ten minutes total talking to him. I barely know him. He told me he was a hedge fund trader. I got that he was successful. I mean, he arranged private transportation to the hospital in Los Angeles from Big Bear. He had this guy Derek helping him, and he was on the phone and computer all the time. That’s pretty much it. That’s all I know about him, other than the fact that he said he’d tried to find me when I was little and failed.” Rory noticed he too was beginning to worry about Corrigan’s safety. “I mean, he was searching for his son. We don’t know for sure if that’s me or not.”

“That’s the least of our problems, son.”

“I just can’t think of anything—what about Derek?”

“We can’t find him, either.”

Rory made fists with his hands, which caught the notice of the detectives. If both of them were missing, something was definitely wrong. Kyle’s brow was wrinkled, and he was gently shaking his head.

“And you’ve had no contact since L.A. No phone calls or emails with his office, with this Derek guy?”

“Absolutely, no. I haven’t checked my computer in a few days, but last time I did, nothing.”

“Would you check it right now, please?” one of the detectives asked.

Rory got up slowly, positioning his cane for steadiness. Kyle stopped him.

“Let me. Where is it?”

“Next to the bed.”

Rory walked slowly with his cane for support and leaned slightly into a stool as Kyle placed the computer on the eating bar. The two detectives looked over Rory’s shoulder. Scrolling through his Gmail account inbox, he found something he’d never seen before.

It was a single line item with a subject line: Raymond Corrigan, from Raymond Corrigan’s computer. Underneath there was a single picture, which flashed slowly on the screen line by line. It was a picture of Raymond, bound and gagged, barefoot, sitting on a chair on a concrete floor of some dark warehouse. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit. On his lap was a copy of the New York Times dated today. His eyes were swollen shut with dark bruises. Underneath the picture were the chilling words:

Proof of Life.

‡

T
he detectives wanted
to take Rory’s computer. Kyle reminded them they’d have to get permission from the Navy before any passcodes or access to his accounts was allowed, let alone physical possession.

“We’ll need it, and I’m sorry, but this has nothing to do with the Navy.

This is our jurisdiction. Just hand it over, son.”

“We know you are the good guys, but this computer goes with me everywhere, and nothing is given to anyone without somebody way above my pay grade in the Navy or the Justice Department to approve it first,” said Rory. He tried to remain calm. He’d dealt with highly emotional situations in Afghanistan and Iraq. The calming person always won out. Also, calm made it easier to think straight.

The detectives were getting red in the face. “We’ll be able to get access to your emails. We just have to go get a warrant. This saves us a lot of time. In this case, it could delay getting to your father. I’d think you’d have some interest in that at least.”

“You have no evidence this was used in a crime.” Kyle fought back. “Why not let them think you guys aren’t involved yet?” Kyle’s logic seemed to make sense. “But I’ll guarantee you, the Navy isn’t going to let you take his computer and start fishing around. That just isn’t going to happen.”