Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,160
swiftly summoned back from his cushy new assignment in Hawaii. Instead of sipping Mai Tais on a Waikiki beach, he was now headed for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training Center in Coronado, CA, per Sec Def’s direct order. Looked like Kroft was going to learn what being a SEAL really meant. No pre-BUD/S apprenticeship training. No mentorship from any former or current SEALs. And no Admiral flying cover for his sorry ass. Just wham, bam, out of the kiddie-pool and straight into the deep end—with the real sharks.
By all accounts, numerous news reports, and most of all, according to Senator Sullivan’s terse conversations with the Sec Def, former USN Lieutenant Walker Judge was well on his way to being a free man. Somehow, the missing Navcompt 3065 leave request had finally been ‘officially’ located. Lo and behold, it had been duly signed and recorded—by Goff—just like Beau Villanueva had said. How about that? The Navy made a big deal of how thoroughly they’d searched for what was now being heralded as proof positive of Peckering’s, Goff’s, Spenser’s, Cudahy’s, and Kroft’s crimes.
Best news of all? Sec Def had ordered the brand-new Secretary of the Navy to get his house in order, and make damned sure former USN LT Walker Judge got his Trident back.
Overall, Goff’s diabolical Black Dragon Syndicate had proven how poorly he’d chosen throughout his naval career. But not Persia. She’d only ever chosen light and life and honor, and those things had come back around to work for her now. For that, Walker was grateful.
But holy shit, it’d been one helluva close call. If he hadn’t connected with Izza in Puerta Vallarta when he had… If Alex hadn’t been the OCD asshole that he was and stored all those medical supplies on board… If Walker hadn’t left his pistol with Persia when Goff ordered him overboard…
Things could’ve gone so, so wrong. A chill shivered over his shoulders at how much he would’ve lost if he and Ryder had taken off like he’d planned. Shit. Persia would be dead or whored out by now. Damn Peckering’s and Goff’s souls to the lowest pits in Hell.
The quiet rap at his door told Walker that Izza was back. That knock was his signal to get moving for the day. He and she had been taking turns staying with Persia. Walker suspected Alex knew he’d spent the night with his agent, but it seemed smart not to rub that fact in his new boss’s face.
Easing out from beneath her lush, warm body, Walker showered, dressed, and exited the cabin as quickly and quietly as possible. When he closed the door behind him, she was still on her stomach and asleep. Her glossy black hair draped her pillow, and he could hear her breathing. Good. She needed to stay that way for another day or two.
“How is she?”
Walker turned to find Alex asking, not Izza. Shit. “She’s having a hard time accepting that Peckering got the drop on her. But she’ll be okay.”
“Did you tell her about Goff?”
“Not yet.”
“More nightmares?”
Ah, so Alex knew about those. Walker nodded, not willing to divulge anything personal about Persia. Those were her stories to tell.
“She decent?”
“She’s asleep.” Alex could take that however he wanted.
Unexpectedly, he ran a hand over his head and turned to stare off the port side. “I’ve got sleep-aids and pain pills, but they’re just temporary fixes and all that crap comes with side-effects. She doesn’t need them.”
“Sleep’ll do her the most good. She’ll snap out of it. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried, I’m pissed. Should’ve known Peckering had someone watching the marina in Portugal.”
“Well, he isn’t a step ahead of us now, is he? Neither’s Goff.”
“So…. What’s next?” That was unprecedented, Alex asking Walker for his thoughts on a way forward.
The more he worked with Alex, the more Walker understood the guy. “You tell me. You’re the boss of this outfit.”
“We still need to know who’s buried in Goff’s grave. And I need to tell you about Dan Peters and the Black Dragon Syndicate.” Alex nodded aft. “Izza fixed breakfast. Let’s eat first, then there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Out here? On the ocean? What’s he going to do, just drop in?”
“Something like that.”
Walker joined his boss in the galley.
“For you,” Izza said, handing him a mug of coffee. “Didn’t know if you liked cream or sugar.”
“Black’s good. Thanks,” Walker said, curling his fingers around the cup.
McQueen and Brimley were engrossed in a discussion about art and painting, of all things. Ryder had recovered