God, I’m getting old.
When he was younger, there wasn’t a weekend that went by without him having a date. Sometimes two.
Sometimes more.
But after high school came boot camp, and not long after that came BUD/S. Once he made it through twenty-four grueling weeks of the hardest, most intense mental and physical training he’d ever experienced, Brody’s focus became centered on being the best SEAL he could be.
He’d kept in touch with his sister, of course. Going home every chance he got. But those visits had been few and far between during his service with SEAL Team 1.
The rest of his time—hislife—had been reserved solely for the Navy and doing all he could to protect the world from the worst it had to offer. And that’s exactly what he and his former team had done.
Under the leadership of Master Chief Michael Ainsworth, Brody and the rest of SEAL Team 1 became the most coveted team on the West Coast. Especially since their assignments weren’t limited to a specific country or region like other Teams.
On paper, they were responsible for the Western Pacific geographical area. But when the shit hit the fan…
We took on the whole fucking world.
And for a while, that was more than enough. Those first years as a frogman were some of the best, scariest, craziest years of his life. He’d lived on adrenaline, whiskey, and women.
But as with so many things in life, the fly-by-night lifestyle lost its boot-kicking appeal. By the time Brody left the Navy, too much had changed for him to stay.
The politics.
His team.
Me.
And after about a hundred close calls too many, he decided the risks he’d been taking…risks driven by a lethal combination of political BS, greed, and the need to be on top…simply weren’t worth it.
So he’d walked away.
Did he still take chances working for R.I.S.C.? Sure. But the dangers he and the rest of Delta faced were of their choosing and—most of the time—on their terms. Even the occasional work they did for Homeland was different than when he’d been active duty.
Less red tape, more freedom, and more money. And all while doing the types of jobs that drew him to become a SEAL in the first place.
“So back to what I was saying earlier…” Rocky placed one of his long rifles into its padded case. “I really hope the situation in Libya resolves itself soon. I feel like we’ve been on a months-long cycle of hurry up and wait, and I wish Hunt would tell Ryker to either shit or get off the pot.”
The other man pulled the zipper closed and slung the sheathed weapon over one of his broad shoulders.
“I hear ya, brother.’ Brody realized what Rocky had been trying to discuss earlier. “Trust me, Hunt’s just as frustrated. So is Ryker.”
“You guys hear from him recently?”
“Christian talked to him a couple days ago. Apparently Homeland’s most current chatter makes him think we’re getting close.”
Jason Ryker was a Senior Special Investigator with Homeland Security. The powerful man ran a specialized task force with the agency only a few top officials knew about.
Including the President.
Going way back with Jake McQueen—the brainchild behind R.I.S.C.—Ryker had been the company’s official Homeland handler since Jake McQueen first started Alpha Team.
Add in Bravo, Charlie, and now Delta Teams, and the recently promoted Ryker—along with the man’s powerful contacts—had helped catapult the R.I.S.C. empire into the world-renowned security company it was today.
A few months ago, however, their handler had announced to the team that he was stepping down as the security company’s first point of contact. He’d still be there, helping from the background, but they had a new primary handler now.
A woman the team still had yet to meet.
“We’ve been ‘getting close’ since summer,” Rocky grumbled. “I mean, it’s almost Halloween for crying out loud.”