SEALed Forever Read online

  He let his mind wander. He didn’t want to overwhelm her this first time with too many instructions. But when he came back, he wanted to sit down and lay down some plans, some future goals, like buying a house, saving their money, and missions they could accomplish together. He was starting late in life to be a new husband. He didn’t want to waste any time, but he also didn’t want her to feel pressure. He had to take it one step at a time, check this first mission off the list.

  So tonight would be about him showing her how much he loved her. How much he was going to miss her. He wanted to thank her for letting him do this gig. He knew he was lucky to have a woman who loved him for what he was and what he wanted to do. Tucker was going to make sure she experienced his love every single day of her life.

  He covered her hand with his. “You ready to go?”

  When she turned her head and her face was bathed in sunlight again, he discovered she’d been tearing up.

  “Honest answer? No. I promised myself I’d be brave.”

  “You are brave. You’re incredibly brave, Brandy. Don’t be afraid to show it. It’s part of who you are and why I love you so.”

  He drew her hand to his lips. Their fingers wove together and gently dropped to the shiny shellacked surface of the table. He rubbed her fourth finger with the undersized wedding ring on it he was going to replace as soon as they could afford it, despite what Brandy said.

  “Promise me you’ll paint. Spend time in the garden and with Dorie and Jessica and your dad, okay?”

  “I promise. Can you promise me something too?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Write me some letters, Tucker.”

  “No, ma’am. I’m not a writer.”

  “I don’t care if you think you’re a writer. Write what’s going on. Just tell me like we were here and you were describing your day. I mean, say the things you can say. Leave out all the—”

  He knew what she meant but answered her with humor. “Leave out the bugs, sunburns, flat tires, and snakes, right?”

  “Especially the snakes.”

  “Come on, princess. Let’s get you home. I need to add a few things to my bags, and then I’d like to turn in early, if you don’t mind.”

  She wasn’t looking at him as she slipped his freshly laundered and folded red, white, and blue boxers into his bag. Her nimble fingers combed over his things like she was looking at them for the last time. Her breathing was a little ragged. She bit her lower lip and he could see the top of her chest was blotchy. Tonight, he’d be gentle with her, kiss every tear away and make her purr like a kitten. He was overwhelmed by her grace, the dignity with which she handled her fear, and the trust she had in him.

  He set his phone alarm and then took her by the hand into the shower. As the warm water relaxed them, he kissed her neck and down her spine, rubbing the lemon shower gel over her backside, and then drew his fingers up the front side of her luscious body. When her head rolled back to rest on his shoulder, she moaned.

  “Don’t ever doubt that I’ll return, Brandy,” he said as he drew his tongue up and under her ear. He splashed the lukewarm water over her shoulder and smoothed his palm down her front, squeezing the fullness of her breasts, capturing her nipples between his thumb and first two fingers, pinching her.

  Her eyes flew open. She turned around, facing him. Arched on tiptoes, she mated her mouth to his, while water cleansed them both.

  “And I’ll be here, Tucker. I’ll always be here,” she whispered back to him.

  He handed her the fluffy towel scented with lavender. “I can hardly wait.”

  That brought a smile to her face, finally.

  The room turned darker as they slipped into bed. Everything he wanted to tell her, he could do with his touch. He tasted her soft skin, savored the many textures of her body, and explored her dark and sensitive places with his probing fingers. He’d been noticing her effort not to cry, so he did everything in slow motion until he felt hot tears of his own.

  As he filled her and held her shattering body in his arms, he wished for a fleeting moment he’d never signed up to leave her. Why had he agreed to risk something so precious he’d waited for his whole life? Why did he ask her to endure that as well? Was it sweeter this way, as he played her body, because he knew now life was so fragile? It all could be over in an instant. Would she ever forgive him if he was the one not coming back—something just an hour ago he was certain could never, ever happen?

  Forgive me, Brandy.

  After their bodies had cooled, they stared into each other’s eyes. His thumb caressed her smooth forehead, and he wiped away the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks into the pillow. Somewhere in the distance, a sea bird was calling. A freight train blew its whistle, and car lights flashed by from the hills looking over the valley floor, quickly dimmed by the consuming darkness of their last night together. It was the eve of his first deployment as a married man. He was whole, complete, content. No matter what, wherever Brandy was, it was home.

  Life continues. Everything moves to the rhythm of our hearts. Nothing stops. Nothing stays the same. I am yours forever, Brandy.

  He knew now that he could write those letters and exactly what he would tell her.

  Tucker was off before dawn, slipping quietly out before Brandy awoke, which was planned. All their good-byes had been done last night, softened with kisses and watered with her tears. To the end, she was strong.

  The transport made a stopover in Norfolk for fuel. Once the team landed in North Africa, they took commercial flights to Benin, all of them operated by French and African charter flights used by private contractors and various U.S.-backed aid services. In this way, the team was split up, and arrived from different destinations, in case anyone was watching. Everyone posed as energy consultants working to improve the quality of the electrical grid in Benin.

  Tucker’s plane was the first to arrive. He and Brawley spent a whole day waiting for the team to assemble and helping to coordinate supplies they’d need for the overland convoy into Nigeria. He found the port village along the coast of Benin fascinating. Its history of the Slave Coast trade had brought tribal leaders much wealth in past centuries, but at a huge price for its people who were caught between waring factions.

  The buildings reflected Portuguese and Spanish influences, which gave way to French architecture during the colonial period of the eighteenth to early twentieth centuries. France gave Benin independence in 1950 and, after a couple of decades of Marxist flirtation, was a now a country with a duly-elected administration, sorely in need of foreign aid to keep the peace. The popular vote wasn’t always peaceful. The most dangerous times were during elections, but Benin had proved to be a good neighbor to the U.S. and, with help from French intelligence, was deemed a safe landing spot and good cover.

  The Team was put up in a tourist hotel overlooking the ocean, that catered to international businessmen. He roomed with Brawley. Kyle had arrived the day before and was off to visit with their French intelligence contact, as well as pick up the vehicles they’d rented. His LPO group took up the top floor of the hotel, but the iron balconies cascaded on the outside like a web of ivy vines. If they wanted to avoid the rickety elevator that was said to work intermittently or the stairs, they could always scale the building with ease. The rest of the team was scattered throughout the hotel.

  Brawley was excited to discover an espresso machine in the lobby he didn’t have to pay for. It wasn’t long before they were talking politics, but they stopped just before they descended into the depths of hell—religion. Tucker knew he’d have trouble sleeping tonight with all the caffeine he’d ingested.

  Former professional goalkeeper, Patrick Harrington, and his roommate, Jameson Daniels, had the room next door. The four teammates explored the city together. Patrick dubbed Porto-Novo the “African Riviera” with its old waterfront hotels and large residences of glory days gone by.

  “Except a hellofa lot more dangerous. And that’s a shame.” Tucker
knew that in today’s world, the port city was far from safe.

  “Not safe at the Riviera anymore, either,” quipped Patrick. He’d lived and played throughout Europe during his professional days.

  “I get you.”

  The four bought small trinkets from several tourist shops, including some local refined and scented shea butter, one of Benin’s largest exports. They also wandered through a large open-air market that sold produce, fish, palm oil and other items, stocking up on assortments of nuts and dried fruits, including some incredible dates and figs.

  Ships of varying sizes docked haphazardly along the waterfront. Most of the boats were for local fisherman and charter crews, but occasionally, there would be a huge yacht guarded by several men bearing semi-automatic weapons. Most the larger crafts were anchored farther out and used jitneys for travel to the town, which Tucker thought would be safer.

  The odor of fish mixed with diesel fuel permeated the air, and at times, it was thick with black smoke. Narrow alleys snaked from the main coastal road up the ridge to clusters of colorful, metal-roofed shacks that fanned out in all directions, which appeared to be homes for workers employed in the town. While French was the language Tucker recognized the most, many African dialects that had adapted words from various languages he could recognize. “Cell phone” and “text me” were words he heard quite commonly.

  Tiny coffee houses and bars were squeezed between larger stores and warehouses. A good number of the buildings were abandoned or in the process of being torn down and rebuilt. People were living under blue and green plastic tarps amongst the rubble. In addition to flocks of bicycles, human pushcarts and scooters were the most common forms of transportation.

  The four teammates slipped inside a darkly lit coffee house to sit and observe and speak amongst themselves in private.

  A barefoot waiter served them thick black coffee poured from a tall Samovar in the middle of their table. It poured like pancake syrup and was accompanied by a chipped bowl of sugar and shea butter chunks light brown in color. When Tucker dropped one into his small cup, it created a creamy foam on top.

  “Amazing,” gasped Brawley. “I’m taking mine straight.”

  “Wow!” said Jameson. “A couple of cups of this and my teeth will be permanently stained shit-brown.” He smiled, and Tucker could see he was right.

  “Not too bad yet, but your breath is foul,” answered his roommate, Patrick. He glanced around and studied the two men smoking at the bar. “We got two military-aged males keeping an eye on us over behind you, Tucker.”

  “Hey, thanks. We all need to keep watch for causing too much interest. Because of where we’re from and our accents, they’ll be curious what we’re doing here,” answered Tucker.

  “How many deployments did you do in Africa, Tuck?” asked Jameson.

  “Not here. We don’t use any specialized terms in public, okay?”

  “Gotcha.”

  “But hell yes, I’ve been to the east coast several times. Mostly I went to the sandbox.”

  Brawley spoke up. “Kyle and several of the guys spent time off the coast, Cape Verde. Even took a cruise that was a bit exciting.”

  Tucker had heard all about those trips and about how they had to sneak the ambassador’s body home in a food cart aboard another cruise ship.

  “Our last trip next door was quite interesting,” said Patrick. “I played on the League with fellow from Nigeria who had to flee as a child. This waterfront living is all different, really is like an African Riviera. Inland, it’s a whole different place.”

  “Kind of reminds me of the Caribbean,” said Brawley.

  “That’s a result of the slave trade. How the islands got populated.” Tuck finished off his syrupy mixture and then leaned into the table. “This is where Voodoo comes from.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” mumbled Jameson.

  “It was brought to the Caribbean and then New Orleans with the slave traders. The French, who were expelled from Haiti a couple hundred years ago, settled in New Orleans with their French-speaking slaves, and many of the slaves brought their religion with them.”

  “You’ve done your research, Tucker.”

  “I love history. Just read up a bit about Benin. Nigeria was settled by the Brits, but there’s lots of crossover. We’re supposed to know something about the country we’re helping, right?” He grinned and could see he’d impressed the younger SEALs. “When you’re home, read up on these places so you’ll be prepared. Helps to know who we’re dealing with.”

  Jameson and Patrick nodded. Brawley punched him in the arm.

  “If you gents are done, I’d like to move on. Not a good idea to stay too long in one spot if you don’t know the neighborhood,” Tucker advised.

  “Sounds good to me,” mumbled Brawley, who was halfway out the door.

  Tucker looked for shops that might cater to European contractors and found one fairly large hardware store that sold maps, camping gear, auto parts, and heavy clothing suitable for hiking and fishing. He bought a map of the port, as well as one for the entire country of Benin, and one for Nigeria.

  Jameson and Brawley looked over the fishing equipment, which was sparse. Some of the rods were used.

  “That’s a good idea,” Tucker said. “That would make a good prop to walk around with,” he said pointing down at the bucket of rods in varying stages of disrepair.

  Brawley bought a small hand-held net, some sisal string, and a small roll of wire. He said he liked the feel of the hunting knife in his hand, so purchased that as well.

  Walking back to their rooms at the Hotel Classique, Tucker noticed they didn’t draw as much attention as they had before.

  Kyle, Cooper, Armando, and Fredo were waiting for them when they returned and were headed out to the airport to pick up the remaining members of their SEAL Team 3 platoon. Much of their specialized equipment was arriving with the balance of the team.

  His LPO indicated they would be staying another two days, so Tucker set to re-packing his suitcase. He took a shower, washed out his clothes, and hung them up next to Brawley’s laundry. When he reached for his patriotic boxers, something fell out onto the floor. It was a green leather journal slightly larger than the size of his hand. He opened the first page to read her inscription:

  Tucker, my love.

  I hope you find this easier to chronicle your journey and hope it helps fill the hours until you can return home. My heart is with you, as always. I know the men with you are lucky to have your experience and emotional strength. Enjoy what you can of the trip, and we’ll bury or blow up all the other stuff when you get home.

  All my love,

  Brandy

  He chuckled, which drew Brawley’s attention. As he fingered through several sketches Brandy had made sporadically throughout the journal in watercolor pencil, his buddy had some choice remarks.

  “I’m not checking my bag too closely. I might have gotten a dirty diaper.”

  “So that’s what smells,” said Tucker. “Make sure you bring her something nice, Brawley. I think she’d love getting some nice warm Moroccan oil you can drizzle all over her body. It might be the miracle you’re searching for.”

  He hoped Brawley would take it casually, but he wasn’t sure. Brawley didn’t speak to him the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 6

  Two days after Tucker left for Africa, Brandy resumed work at her dad’s store. She began training the new bookkeeper they’d hired. The little office had recently undergone a DIY makeover with a professional organizer Brandy found. It had been difficult to get anyone to even interview for the job, but after the decluttering and straightening, the space had been turned into a very efficient and sunny little office. No longer were boxes of invoices and books stacked to the ceiling, obscuring the window. She’d purchased attractive curtains and replaced the old AM radio with a new internet receiver and speakers installed around the store so they could stream upbeat music.

  One of the things that d
idn’t change was a metal bar of hooks behind the office door her mother had found at an antique store and attached herself. They were sacred, and they were like hands reaching out to hold hers and her father’s green aprons. She nixed getting the door painted because it meant the hooks would have to be removed and then replaced. No one was going to do that to her mother’s handicraft. She knew her dad would agree without even asking him.

  Steve Cook arrived late, nearly Noon. He was wearing a long-sleeved, pinstriped white shirt and green bow tie. He noted her expression.

  “Thought I’d start looking the part. I’m the green grocer now.”

  “The gourmet grocer, Dad.” She hugged him. “How did you get the nerve to buy that bow tie?”

  “I had a few things in my drawers I’ve not worn for years. I went through some stuff and got rid of tons of old clothes. Ratty with holes or things I was tired of. Decided to splurge on five new shirts, some jeans that weren’t so baggy, and two bow ties. You like?”

  “Definitely a good look for you.”

  Brandy had noticed he’d been losing weight, and he’d been using a belt with his faded blue jeans, cinching them up. Today, he looked ten years younger.

  Studying his face, she also noticed he’d gotten a haircut and was allowing a bit of salt and pepper stubble to form on his cheeks and chin.

  “I like this look, Dad.”

  He swung the green apron over his head, tied it behind his waist, and spread his arms to his sides.

  “Showtime!”

  Brandy watched him wander out onto the floor with a new spring in his step. He spoke to several customers before he started ringing in sales.

  He was absolutely charming.

  She wondered how long this change had been coming, realizing she’d been so preoccupied with Tucker’s deployment that she hadn’t been focusing on anything else.

  As the day turned into late afternoon and early evening, she stopped checking her cell to see if there was a message that Tucker had arrived safely. He’d told her he could only call after their situation was settled and warned her it might take a week to get that established. But it was force of habit, and now she understood it was one more routine she’d have to learn to live without temporarily.