Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,1

can’t afford to lose one of them to anything, not training or terrorist acts.”

Shea had taken an oath when she’d joined NCIS. This was probably one of the more important missions they’d asked her to do, protecting not only her country but also the young men who would be the future of the Navy SEALs. She was ready to do her job no matter the mission. She never backed down. “When do I start?” Shea asked.

Rebecca nodded. “All right. BUD/S commences in a week on Coronado.” She pulled out a packet. “Here is your press pass, and you will be provided with a quick and dirty training on the camera that we’ll also provide you with.”

“When?”

“Someone will be in touch.”

After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Rebecca said.

A woman entered, seasoned with experienced brown eyes, her dark hair pulled back off her attractive face, accenting her sharp cheekbones and firm jaw.

“Mak,” Shea said with affection.

“Hi, weary traveler,” Mak said with a smile as Shea rose and they hugged briefly. Special Operations had a few offices sprinkled around the area to handle all NCIS investigative and undercover needs.

“Mak, Chris, Kai and Paige were part of the team who brought down NWO,” Rebecca said.

“Where’s Vargas?” Shea asked, thinking the handsome agent was always fun to hang out with when Shea was back in San Diego between assignments. In fact, Makayla Ballentine, formerly Littlestar, who had been recently married, Kai Talbot and Paige Wilder were all great to sit down with and share shop talk and catch up with their personal lives, well as much as Shea was willing to share since her recent loss had crippled her ability to be carefree.

“Chris is on another assignment, an investigation into pilot deaths aboard the USS James McCloud,” Mak said. She closed the door and sat down. “Let’s get started.” Mak opened the file she’d brought with her.

They had discussed possible suspects after looking at the large class of recruits. Since Shea had never been to that part of the base, she and Mak headed over to Naval Amphibious Base Coronado for a walkthrough of the BUD/S compound. Coronado, for all intents and purposes, was an island connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of eight miles of sand called the Silver Strand. NAB was the West Coast shore base for naval amphibious operations, including training and special warfare. Naval Surface Force, U.S. Pacific Fleet, Naval Special Warfare Command and Expeditionary Warfare were all housed there. The North Island Naval Air Station, known as NAS North Island, providing maintenance, training, and repair for the Naval Air Command of the Pacific Fleet, was located to the north.

Inundated with tourists, the island had many shops and restaurants to keep them amused and relaxed with the western end of Orange Avenue, the main hub, anchored by Hotel del Coronado, or just Hotel del, as it was called by locals. The elegant hotel boasted royalty, movie stars, including Marilyn Monroe and presidents as some of the honored guests.

Shea’s major concern was how open the beaches were. The location was beautiful, but it made it a challenge to secure the area. She asked a lot of questions about security that didn’t allay her concerns. If someone wanted to get explosives on this part of the base, it would be a logistical nightmare to cover every inch of the area.

But lives were on the line, and she intended to do her best. No one was going to die on her watch.

O-course, Naval Base Coronado, Coronado California

“Move your ass!” Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper shouted as Atticus “Hemingway” Sinclair approached the weaver, a set of pipes in a wood frame that came to a peak, requiring a weaving in-between them to the next pipe to progress. He was about halfway through the course as one final run through before he had to report for BUD/S.

Present were all of Ruckus’s team, as well as, Will “Shadow” Blackmoon which was fitting. They had been instrumental in helping him to prepare for the beginning of his journey into becoming a SEAL. He knew he had an advantage over the other men who were entering his class—163 of them—to vie for a coveted position of special operator.

He moved faster onto the Burma Bridge—a bridge made of rope—the Hooyah logs and the rest of the course to finish in seven minutes, twelve seconds.

“You shaved off a full minute,” Ruckus said as Hemingway made his way toward the tight-knit team. They converged on