Chapter 2
Saturday, 0830 HST; 1430 hours, AST (Atlantic Standard Time Zone)
Steve had grown accustomed to military transport many years ago, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the 13 plus hours spent in the air. Neither his backside nor his temperament appreciated the flight. Luckily, he had managed to catch several short bursts of sleep in those long hours, his mind already kicking back into SEAL mode.
He had arrived at Pearl at 1730 and had received both the Intel gathered for the mission and dossiers on each team member. McGarrett then met with his unit, was outfitted with uniforms and arsenal, and after a quick meal, they were airborne by 1900 hours. Once they were in the air, he had shared the details he knew of the situation and took the time to study his team.
He already knew Lt. Grayson and had worked with him on a previous mission. Tim Grayson was well on his way to becoming a SEAL team leader. McGarrett had been impressed with his decision-making skills on their last mission and he knew that he could count on the man's calm demeanor and analytical skills in the heat of battle.
Jackson and Vega were relatively new, even though they both had a couple missions under their belts. Rob Jackson was a Texan, born and bred, proud of it and not afraid to tell any and everyone. He and Vega had spent the first few minutes airborne in a heated argument over which state had the best football team; Texas or Georgia. Grayson had shut them both up when he informed them that Michigan could easily handle the other two teams, which prompted a lot of jeers and laughter. Jackson thought he would have to resuscitate Vega there on the spot. While all SEALs were medically trained, he would be the one to take charge in a medical emergency, having trained as an EMT prior to joining the SEALs.
Paul Vega was a top-notch munitions expert and Steve felt lucky to have him on his team. The young man had many commendations from his two previous missions. Vega was originally from Puerto Rico and had been recruited for the SEALs immediately upon graduation from the Naval Academy. If the young man's dossier was any indication, McGarrett knew Vega had a bright future ahead of him.
The commander awoke from a catnap, listening to his teammates' banter.
"Why the hell do you have a cow tattooed on your leg, Jackson?" Vega asked.
"Vega, are you blind?" Jackson retorted. "Anyone can see that's a Longhorn and not a cow."
"It's a cow with long horns all right," the Puerto Rican agreed.
"Boy, you're just not right," he drawled, his accent prominent.
"I know one thing," Vega shot back. "It's a good thing the folks in Guyana speak English, because if you tried to drawl Spanish with that twang, we'd be in a world of hurt, 'cause no one would understand a word you said."
Their good natured ribbing caused McGarrett to smile, although it gave him a twinge of homesickness; a feeling that was foreign to him. He had been moving from port to port at the drop of a hat since he left Annapolis and he had always been able to leave whatever base he had been in.
But this time was different. He had left behind his home, a job he was proud of, and the friends he counted on, because he knew they always had his back.
~~~H50~~~
Touchdown was 1430 hours Saturday afternoon, factoring in the difference of six time zones. The plane was met by personnel from the U.S. Embassy in Trinidad/Tobago and soon they were at the Embassy in the city of Port of Spain and escorted upstairs into a closed conference room.
"McGarrett." A tall, graying man in his early sixties turned toward them as they entered the room.
Steve immediately came to attention and saluted. "Admiral, Sir. I didn't realize you were on site."
"At ease, men." He motioned for them to be seated. "I arrived late yesterday. I'm more of a hand-on administrator. And I have a missing SEAL team I'm worried about." He sat at the head of the table.
"Yes, Sir. Any news?"
"None. No word of the child, or the team. Now, tell me what you need."
"Transportation," Steve replied. "And a timeline."
"Your transport will be here within the hour. The mission is a search and rescue, both for the little girl and our own team." The admiral nodded to his aide, Captain Anderson, who flashed a slide onto a wall screen. "Our satellite Intel shows numerous people at the compound and we feel this is the place the child is held. It is owned by Ochoa's wife's family. Intel has it that he was there last week, the day before the election. We have a man on the inside who delivers food each week. He said he heard a child cry, but had no visual."
The telephone on the table buzzed and Anderson answered. He listened briefly and then replied, "We'll be there right away." He hung up the phone and turned to the admiral. "Sir, President Sanchez would like to meet with Commander McGarrett."
"Yes, of course," the admiral replied. "This way, Commander. Boys, make yourselves at home. Ensign, make sure the food is ready for them."
Steve and the admiral traveled through a pedway to a smaller structure behind the embassy. Sanchez was waiting for them in a hallway.
"Steve!" Sanchez stretched out his hand to shake McGarrett's.
"Alejandro," he replied, returning the handshake. "Or, should I call you Mr. President?"
"No, of course not. Alejandro, please. And I thank you for coming. If anyone can find my Aliyana, it is you." He placed both hands on Steve's arms. "I know in my heart she is still alive, but that viper has stolen her to retain his corrupt power. But the election and the presidency, none of that matters as long as we get her back. I'll gladly never enter my country again in order to see my child."
They had entered another conference room and Steve glanced around, noting two guards and a couple others talking to the admiral.
"Alejandro." Steve moved closer to the man's side and spoke in a low voice. "Who in here do you trust? In your gut? Is there anyone in your own camp who could be involved?"
Sanchez quickly surveyed the room then turned back to Steve. "I trust you," he stated. "I had never met the Embassy liaison before he delivered the ransom note. Yet, he insisted on coming with us. The guards were not my own. I don't know who is involved. But Ochoa is in charge. I have no doubt of that fact. And he is making comments about the U.S. military and saying I am in your back pocket, so to speak. He is a hateful, vindictive man and will stop at nothing to regain power."
"I remember."
"Please, Steve, I beg you, find her."
"You have my word that I will do my best to bring her home. You know that."
"That is all I can ask. But Marisol wishes to see you. Could you please come with me?"
"Of course."
"The doctor wants to keep her on bed rest, but she is too nervous to stay down. Did you know my wife is six months pregnant?"
"I didn't know," Steve replied as they walked down the hall and up a stairway. "This can't be good for her."
"No, it isn't. The only time she sleeps is when the doctor gives her something. And she fights that." He nodded to a guard and opened a door to a suite of rooms and found his wife seated in a chair, another guard on duty inside the room as well.
"Steve, you remember Marisol, don't you?" he introduced as she struggled to get up.
"Yes, of course," Steve said, moving quickly to keep her seated. "Please don't get up," he told her, kneeling in front of the chair. "I am so very sorry for these circumstances, Ma'am. You have my word that I will do all I can to bring your daughter home."
Her eyes were swollen from tears and she nodded, "Please. That is all I can ask of you. Our baby girl just celebrated her fourth birthday," she told him, picking up a picture to show him. She held one hand on her mouth, a tear falling down her cheek. "I know she is scared. Oh! Alejandro, could you please get Flopsy? He's on the bed. I'm sorry, Commander, but I'll explain."
Sanchez entered the bedroom of the suite and returned with a six-inch stuffed pink rabbit that he held tenderly in his hand, explaining, "Steve, meet Mr. Flopsy. Aliyana carries him everywhere. We…" his voice cracked as he sat on the arm of his wife's chair and handed the rabbit to her. "He was found in the bushes beneath her window the night she was taken."
Marisol held the stuffed animal to her chest, another tear following the trail down her cheek. "It would mean a great deal to us if you could take him to Ali," Marisol told him, holding out her hand.
Steve reached for the toy. "Of course," he offered an understanding smile. "I'll be Mr. Flopsy's personal escort."
She smiled. "Thank you."
"Would you mind finding your way back into the embassy?" Sanchez asked. "I think I'll sit with my wife for a while." He looked down at her, his arm around her shoulder. "Maybe I can persuade her to take a nap."
"Not a problem," Steve replied, standing. "And I will be in touch as soon as I can." He held his hand out to shake the president's once again, and spoke in a voice the guard could not hear. "And as for others you can trust, Admiral Farris is top notch. Don't hesitate to talk to him if you have any concerns or problems."
The men shook hands. "God speed, Steve. Please…"
"I will do my best," McGarrett assured him. "Please take care of yourselves and let me and my team handle the rest."
~~~H50~~~
Another military aircraft. This time a Chinook. And thankfully, not a long ride.
After Steve's return to the embassy, they had eaten and had been briefed by Farris and the Guyanese Embassy Public Affairs Officer, Alan Chavez. The embassy's director had resigned two months ago and Chavez was the acting director. He was an 'in-your-face' kind of guy and McGarrett had had enough of the man's face and voice after two minutes of discussion.
Chavez had been very specific in his details of the coastline, pointing out on the satellite map what he considered the best position to make landfall. The plan was for them to drop line on the beach just after dusk.
That was Chavez' plan that he imposed on them; it was not necessarily the one McGarrett was willing to use. The fact that Chavez continued to check his watch during the meeting had also set off warning alarms in Steve's head.
A man was innocent until proven guilty; but a man was not trustworthy until he had proven himself. In Steve's mind, Alan Chavez had a lot of proving to do.
On the chopper ride, Steve was reviewing the topical and satellite views of the compound when he was interrupted by the pilot.
"Commander, the admiral is on Com 2 for you."
Steve toggled the switch on his headset and spoke. "McGarrett."
"Commander." Farris' voice was low and gravelly. "Your mission has now changed."
"Sir?" He glanced up at his team, all three members watching him. He frowned and shrugged his shoulder while slowly shook his head, letting them know something had changed.
"We just sent a photo to your SAT phone," the admiral continued. "The message was received shortly after you went airborne."
Steve took the phone from his pocket when he felt the vibration. Accessing the photo, he stared at it, then closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the frame of the chopper, his face hardening in anger.
"Shit."
"I feel the same way," the admiral admitted.
He sat back up, his first insane thought being Mr. Flopsy who was stowed in his backpack. McGarrett handed the phone to Lt. Grayson to share the photo with the others. Grayson stared at the color photo of Aliyana Sanchez, her throat slit, blood covering her pajamas. He shook his head and passed the phone to Jackson and Vega.
"Commander, are you still with me?"
"Yes, Sir." Steve took a deep breath and looked at the men around him.
"Your mission is now one of search and destroy. Use any means at your disposal to do so. And Commander?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Get these S.O.B.'s.
"Yes, SIR!"
Steve commed his mic again. "Lieutenant?" he called to the pilot.
"Yes, Commander?"
McGarrett checked the coordinates on the satellite map once again. Seeing the picture of Aliyana, dead, set off warning bells that told him something was definitely not right. And if nothing else, Steve's experience had taught him to trust his gut instinct.
"Change of plans. Take us off course two degrees east of the drop site. From here on, we rely on our own Intel…not something handed to us."
"Yes, Sir. ETA is 23 minutes. Should I re-work the flight manifest to show this change, Sir?"
"If you could refrain from doing so for a few hours, I would greatly appreciate it," McGarrett replied. "I'd like to get in and get the upper hand here."
"Understood, Sir."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Steve reached for the pot of face paint and slathered it on before passing it to his team. With his face half covered in black, the mask was in place. There was no time for emotion, no time for regret at the parents' loss. This was a time of action, therefore, the harsh image on his phone was blocked from of his mind.
He had a job to do.
~~~H50~~~