Hi:

Our loving trio are hidden away in their little home on the outskirts of Bristol Cove. At this time they are licking their wounds, figuratively and literally. We will see them in the next chapter.

However, things are starting to brew in different parts of the world.

With them as the topic of conversation.


Chapter 53

All of them

Lieutenant Commander Martinez's office still contained the sterile look of a typical military workplace. It had not changed since a distraught Maddie bared her soul to Nicole.

With the exception of an 8x10 color photo of the President, the steel beige cabinets topping off at five feet add the only other supporting color contrast.

"Come in," Martinez replies to the knock on the door. Its sieved etched glass showing the outline of a tall dark figure wishing to enter.

"Chief, please sit down." After standing to return the man's salute she sits back behind her desk.

"Thank you ma'am." His reply.

"Here is the final report on the incident at Puget Sound."
She tosses the navy blue manilla folder to the front of her desk.

"Oh, really?" Chief Hawkins' comment upon reading the first few lines.

"Yes, Chief. Really…" Martinez takes a breath and eases back on her mid-back swivel chair.

"So", the seasoned SEAL operative continues.

"The international terrorist called Tia was killed in a struggle with Agent Joseph Torello." He exhales while keeping a close eye on his superior officer.

"Agent Torello died from injuries suffered in the fight. His body was lost, as was the terrorist Tia at sea." Hawkins clears his throat after the reading.

"She fell overboard after being shot a multitude of times." Martinez presents a stern expression as she speaks. "Agent Torello bleeding heavily from Tia's attack could not keep his footing on the fishing boat and slipped into the sea."
"Let me guess the owner of the boat?" The Chief asks as he leans back on the metal folding chair. His grin widens as he prepares for Martinez's answer.

"If you guess Ben Pownall, you are correct." Her words are straightforward.

"So the guy that beat the hell out of my men at the hotel, leaving me looking like an ass in the parking lot is a hero?" The hardened veteran tightens his facial muscles as he waits for a reply.

"Chief, it's the only thing the White House will accept." She admits. "This guy is…or was so high up…well," she sighs. "We can only dream of how connected he was."

"He's screwing the world's most wanted terrorist…a damn psychopathic killer and he's gonna get a medal."

"No Chief. Guys like him, don't exist. No commendation." She bites a lower lip. "His death will not be reported as such. Maybe he'll just be…lost at sea to any of his family. If he's got any?"

As he reads further into the report, he chuckles.

"I see, you have sworn affidavits from three witnesses. All concur with this fairy tale." He shrugs broad shoulders, "you know me." He takes a breath. "As long as my name is not involved in this crap, I don't care."

"Chief, anything report telling of the true actions from last night and will have us invaded by a bunch of suits nosying around." The facility's commander remains seated shaking her head.

"Commander Martinez, I've been with those two lovers since the Philippine Sea." He rolls his eyes. "Or is it three lovers?"

"And the point, Chief?" Her gaze locks on his lips.

He inhales, as if readying for a statement that will not be well received.

"The more I talk to them or even that girl, Hope." Hawkins waits to see if the officer before him needs to interrupt. He continues. "Reports from men I trust about their behavior and some of the conversations overheard."

"I repeat, what's your point?" Her tone is one associated with annoyance.

"You know ma'am…all weapons are dangerous. Even the ones that walk on two legs."

Martinez displays no change in her stern expression as she replies to the comment.

"Chief Hawkins, which one do you think will finally lose it one day and start a rampage."

His answer is immediate.

"All of them."


8,000 Kilometers to the East:

In an after dinner meeting members of the Spetsnaz sit in a conference room located deep underground in the Kremlin.

The men of this elite unit, an equivalent of America's Green Berets understand they will be offered the opportunity to exact vengeance upon those responsible for the death of their team members. Those individuals had been previously sent to the US to capture or kill the International Terrorist known to the world as Tia.

"Gentlemen, welcome." The unknown figure emits a certain authority recognized by the soldiers sitting around the long rectangular conference table.

"You have been selected…" His words are interrupted by murmurs from his audience.

"Yes, selected." He restates. "I know you are all volunteers, but there will be a specific request should the first part of your mission fail…that may not be of your liking?"

Raising a hand, a tall, fair-skinned blond wishes to be recognized.

"Yes, my friend. What is it?" The distinguished speaker in a plain blue suit asks.

"I heard the mission calls for four operatives. Yet…"

Now, it is his statement that is interrupted.

"There are eight of you here." The well-dressed man still standing tells them. "That is because, the last request is something never asked of any member of our military." A serious expression crawls up his face. "Even Spetsnaz."

"Is it making love to that beauty behind you?" A olive-skinned, black haired member asks.

This sends a ripple of chuckles from the rest. A photo of Hope walking into Helen's shop earned the comment.

The standing speaker sighs giving the soldiers time to compose themselves.

"You see behind me," photos of the Bristol Cove Project's main participants flash across the screen. "These individuals are your mission."
"You mean they killed our brothers in that ridiculous action in California?"
"Silence!" Springing from a seat in the front corner of the room, an older man with gray hair exhales through flexed nostrils. His position of power over the Spetsnaz Team becomes evident, as a hush blankets the room.

"Please, it's alright." The distinguished speaker tells the heavy-set man in the corner.

"We must possess each and every one of these targets." He continues. "They are in some way connected to a weapon that will change undersea warfare forever." He inhales after the words.

"I don't understand." Asks the blond, he leans back on the cushioned folding chair and lights up a Camel.

"You will take them to a waiting submarine. Your transportation to the extraction point has already been arranged by contacts in America." The blue suited man at the podium states.

"And if they do not want to go on this little trip to Mother Russia?"

The voice comes from a stiff-looking team member. His rigid posture in the chair causes a well-developed chest to protrude through his form-fitting underarmor heat top.

"I know. I know." The olive-skinned soldier laughs through the words. "Like in that movie, Gregor." Turning from his blond headed colleague, he scans the table and speaks to the other seated soldiers.

"Terminate with extreme prejudice."

The statement brings a round of chuckles and snorted laughs from the men circling the table.

"Even her?" The picture of Hope, which had captured the attention of the darker skinned soldier in the beginning of the presentation now steals his concentration once again.
The speaker stops the screen showing a snapshot of Ryn, Ben, and Hope holding an infant.

"This photo was taken a few months ago." He licks his lips. "If we cannot have them. The Americans cannot." After the directive, the well-dressed speaker casts his vision downward.

"What's the problem? Like we never eliminated an enemy to the State before?" The blond called Gregor asks.
Disgusted blasts of air fill the room. The Spetsnaz members curl their lips or look with a sneer in the direction of the podium.

"That blond teenager is a beauty. Is the baby hers?" Gregor asks.

"Why you wanna give her another one?" A voice from the back erupts. Appearing to be the youngest, the baby-faced soldier runs long calloused fingers through his black wavy hair.

The portly man in the corner stands and walks to the lectern.

"Enough!"
Silence slices through the room.

"If you can not capture them. All those in this picture." A finger looking more like a thick piece of sausage points at the family photo.

"Starshina!" The olive-skinned Russian stands. His expression is one of shock.

"Anton, if your eyes widen any further your pupils will explode. Now, sit down." The Starshina, or Sergeant Major continues.

"Everyone in this photo must be our property…or they die."

"Starshina, who dies?" A look of disbelief covers Anton's dark skin.
The Sergeant Major's thick finger touches the screen under the smiling face of Little Ted.

"All of them."


Notes to the reader:

Well if you think things are heating up, internationally?

Wait till you get a birds-eye-view of the goings on at Ryn and Ben's.

Thanks for your support

Especially to my loyal friends in Romania and Argentina