Headed for Trouble

INTERVIEW WITH TOM AND KELLY


December 2005

This story takes place around the same time as Into the Storm.

“I got the word just before noon,” Tom said, laughter dancing in his eyes as he held his seven-month-old son, Charlie, on his shoulder. “I was no longer needed, so I managed to get a seat on a commercial flight home that left at two fifteen.”

“The assignment was really just saber-rattling,” Kelly interjected, reaching out to wipe their baby’s chin as we sat in Tom’s home office in San Diego.

Well, actually, they sat in San Diego. I was in front of my computer, in my office, writing this scene. But, shhh. Don’t tell them that. I’m not sure they know they’re fictional characters. Tom Paoletti is the former CO of SEAL Team Sixteen and the current owner of Troubleshooters Incorporated, a private security firm. Dr. Kelly Ashton Paoletti is his wife.

Kelly continued. “He was brought in to stand there and look important and, I don’t know, scary, I guess.”

“Am I scary?” Tom asked his son. He made a face that was nowhere near scary and the baby chortled with laughter. “I think that’s a solid no.”

“He can be very scary,” Kelly told me, laughing too. “Don’t let him fool you. Anyway, the point is that he finally called to tell me he was coming home, which was wonderful news. He’d been gone for nearly three weeks. That’s the longest he’s been away since Charlie was born.”

“Yeah, I missed you pretty badly,” Tom said to Charlie. “And I missed your mommy, too.” He looked at me. “But everything fell perfectly into place. Like someone waved a magic wand and made it all easy.”

So okay, I was wrong. Tom clearly knew he was a character and that I was his writer.

Still, I shook my head at his unspoken question. It wasn’t me who’d made things easy for him. I like to challenge my characters, throw them into situations that are difficult—just to see what they’ll do, how they’ll react.

“That seat on the plane—there was only one left, but it was mine,” Tom continued. He obviously didn’t believe me. “I was flying into Germany, where I’d catch a connecting flight to New York, and on to San Diego. Again, I got the last seat on that flight, too. Then when I was packing, the zipper on my bag broke. I was ready to leave everything behind, just take my laptop, but I got a new bag at a store that was right in the hotel lobby. Of course, it was pink, with a picture of Minnie Mouse on it. Thanks so much for that.”

Again, I shook my head. It really wasn’t me. I’d spent the past few months writing Into the Storm, Navy SEAL Mark Jenkins’s story.

“And then there was the taxi,” Kelly prompted him.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “The entire three weeks I’m in Kazabek, it’s impossible to get a cab, but suddenly one’s available. I just opened the door and got in. Traffic was usually terrible, but we made it to the airport early. I checked in, everything was great. I got on the plane, and they were actually giving out free drinks and real sandwiches—when does that ever happen? We had a delay before takeoff, but even that was okay. We managed to make up the time while we were in the air. We landed in Germany, and I had just enough time to make it to the gate and …” He shook his head ruefully. “I didn’t get on the plane.”

“What happened?” I asked, looking to Kelly. But she was watching Tom holding Charlie, her eyes soft. No doubt about it, she loved her two men.

“There was this kid,” Tom said, but then he corrected himself. “A young man. In an Army uniform. Corporal Tyrell Richards. He was standing near the gate, clearly anxious. And he’s looking at me like I’m the grim reaper as I approach. I’m a little late, but I can still make the flight. And as I hand my boarding pass to the man behind the counter, he turns to Richards and says, That’s it, we’re full. No standbys. The look on that kid’s face was …” He shook his head.

“So Tom asked him where he’s from,” Kelly told me. “He says Hartford, Connecticut. He’s only got a few more days of leave. He was trying to get home to see his wife, meet his daughter. Meet. She was Charlie’s age. Can you imagine? He hadn’t been home in a year.”

I shook my head. No, I couldn’t imagine.

“So Tom gave him his seat,” Kelly continued.

I turned to look at him.

“It really wasn’t that big a deal.” Tom was embarrassed.

“It probably was to Tyrell Richards,” I pointed out.

“And it definitely was to Tyrell’s wife,” Kelly agreed.

Again, Tom shrugged. “It was the least I could do. Hey, champ, you tired?”

In his arms, the baby was starting to fuss. He rubbed his eyes.

Kelly scooped him up. “Nap time,” she announced. “It was nice to see you, Suz,” she said to me as she and Charlie left the room.

Tom and I sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other.

“So it took me three days to get home,” he told me. “All that good luck? Instantly gone. I missed my connecting flight to California out of New York, ended up in Dallas for twenty-three hours, two of ’em spent sitting on the runway. Wasn’t that fun? Still, it was worth it. We got the nicest note from Tyrell’s wife.” Tom’s smile widened. “I also got something of a hero’s welcome home. Have I mentioned that nap time is my new favorite time of day? I just wish Charlie’d stay asleep a little longer. And I think he’s starting to teethe, so he hasn’t been falling asleep as quickly anymore. Hint, hint?”

I laughed. Message received.

“That was just the funniest thing,” Kelly said as she came back into the room. “Charlie fell right to sleep. He never does that. Although, sometimes babies reach a certain age, and they suddenly nap like clockwork.”

“He’ll probably sleep through the night now, too,” I said.

“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It certainly will be,” Tom said with a smile, pulling his wife onto his lap.

“Hey!” She laughed, glancing over at me.

“Suz was just leaving,” Tom told her. He kissed her and snapped his fingers, and the scene faded to black.





TRAPPED


Early 2006

This story takes place shortly after Into the Storm, and before Force of Nature.

Nachtgarten Army Base, Germany

CHAPTER ONE

“So,” Jules Cassidy said, as he tried to cover his best friend and former FBI partner Alyssa Locke more completely with his body. Her leg had been broken in the blast that had trapped them here, and she drew in a sharp breath at the contact, but otherwise didn’t complain. “I finally got some last Thursday night. Go, me.”

She laughed her surprise, her voice rich in the pitch darkness. “Get out of here.”

“Sweetie, I would if I could, and I’d take you with me, too.” Jules quipped as he flipped on his flashlight, because … why not? It was possible their lives were going to end before its batteries wore out. Might as well enjoy the light while they still had eyes with which to see.

“Ben?” Alyssa asked.

“No,” Jules said tartly. “Some stranger that I picked up in a bar. What kind of slut do you think I am? Of course, Ben. God.”

“About time, my no-longer-celibate brothah,” she said.

There was both pain and worry in her eyes, and Jules knew he should continue to try keeping things light, for both of their sakes, but …

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m feeling … oddly ambiguous about the whole thing.” Especially after the surprise weekend visit from his mother.

“Ben’s really sweet,” Alyssa commented from beneath him.

“Yes, he is.” He’d pulled her as far as he could into the corner of this shallow subterranean room that seemed to be the most structurally sound, behind a pile of bricks and rubble as they waited for the bomb’s timer to count down the last ninety seconds of a five-minute delay.

Please, sweet baby Jesus, don’t let this be their final last ninety seconds. If this didn’t work, if they died here tonight, Alyssa’s husband, former Navy SEAL and total Texas cowboy Sam Starrett, was going to follow Jules up to heaven and kick his ass—right in front of St. Peter and God and Jimmy Stewart and whoever else saintly and pure was standing beside the pearly gates.

And please, Jesus, as long as Jules was making a list of demands, let Sam survive the altercation with the terrorists who’d planted this bomb that was about to explode. Wherever the cowboy-booted one was, please keep him safe, too …

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jules admitted to the woman who’d been one of his best friends for years, because although light banter was preferred at times like this, an honest heart-to-heart was better than silently wondering about the fate of the other members of the Troubleshooters team. Sam wasn’t the only one out there—Tess, Sophia, and Lindsey were in potential danger from the bad guys, too. “Why haven’t I fallen madly in love with him? The whole time we were … together—and it wasn’t just Thursday, it was Friday night, too—I was … I don’t know. Waiting for the choir of angels to start to sing.” He laughed his disgust. “Have I mentioned that Ben’s into country music? Some of it’s not awful—I’ll admit that. Some of it’s … Okay, I’ll be generous and use the word good. But some of it …? Kill me now.”

That was probably not the right thing to say while waiting for a bomb to go off, but Alyssa either ignored it or didn’t notice.

“Okay, so he’s not perfect,” Alyssa said. “No one is. Sam’s certainly not.” She swore sharply. “If he gets himself killed tonight …”

“Sam’ll be all right,” Jules reassured her with a hug—careful, though, of her leg. “He’s probably going insane, wondering where we are. So tell me this. If Sam’s so imperfect, what would you change about him to make him better?”

Alyssa shook her head. “Nothing,” she admitted.

“Sometimes imperfect is perfect,” Jules philosophized. “It’s a personal thing. Sam, with all of his imperfections—things that would drive me mad—is perfect for you.”

“So what would you change about Ben?”

Jules didn’t have to think about that one. “His parents don’t know he’s gay,” he reminded her. “And then there’s that whole don’t ask, don’t tell bullshit …”

Their entire relationship would have to be secret. Jules had worked hard his entire life to be open and out about his being gay. This would be a significant step backward—right into Ben’s closet. And the man didn’t even have a walk-in.

“I think it’s a good thing then,” Alyssa decided. “A sign of maturity. You know—that you’re being cautious with him. You’re taking things slowly. You’re not just giving your heart away indiscriminately.” The way you usually do. She left that part unsaid, because she knew she didn’t have to remind him.

“So … you’re advocating casual sex?” Jules needled her. “Ow!”

She’d pinched him. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s kinda obvious your thing with Ben is serious—it has been for a while—even as … sex-free as it’s been. Up to now. But there’s no law saying that you have to plan to spend the entire rest of your life with every single person that you … make the magic with.”

“I know,” Jules said. And he did know. The concept, however, was easier for him in theory. He’d been friends with Alyssa for a long time, and she was well aware of his tendency to start planning a lifetime commitment ceremony within moments of a new relationship’s first intimate encounter. He was a romantic. A hopeless one. In some circles, though, that was considered a strength, not a weakness. “I’m just … I’m tired of not being a we. And here’s Ben, who’s made a point of making sure I know he’s looking for something real, and …”

So what did Jules go and do after spending a few very we-ish nights with the man? He ran away to Germany to help Alyssa and Sam with a Troubleshooters Incorporated op that was probably now going to get them all killed.

All but Ben, who was back in DC. For now.

In a matter of months, his Marine unit was heading back to Iraq. And wouldn’t that move their relationship to an entirely new level of crapitation? Provided, of course, that Jules survived the next few seconds.…

“What are you looking for?” Alyssa asked him.

But before he could answer and say that he didn’t know—which wasn’t really a lie—the timer buzzed and the bomb went off.

CHAPTER TWO

An hour earlier …

As far as distractions went, this was working.

Mostly.

Slogging through an ancient drainage pipe beneath a military installation made it very hard to think about anything besides the horrific smell.

At least they weren’t up to their ankles or knees in water. There were occasional puddles, but it was mostly just mud beneath their feet. At least Jules hoped it was mud.

He crept along, just in front of Alyssa, who was team leader for this little Troubleshooters Incorporated op, venturing into the bowels beneath a U.S. Army barracks that had been built here in Nachtgarten, Germany, just after World War II. The barracks had been built then, that is. This drainage system looked—and smelled—as if parts of it dated back to the days of the Roman Empire.

On point was Lindsey Jenkins, a tiny slip of an Asian American woman with mad tracking skills and a total kickass attitude—thanks in part to her years with the LAPD. Apparently, she’d committed to memory the blueprint of the maze of tunnels, and she moved surely and silently, leading the way through the dimness, proving to the world that size didn’t matter.

Which was something of Jules’s own mantra, since he was no hulking giant himself. He still sometimes shopped in the teen boys department in order to find T-shirts that fit him snugly enough to wear clubbing—not that he’d actually gone to a dance club in the past few years.…

But here and now, compared to Lindsey, who could move as if she had a note from her doctor excusing her from the laws of gravity, he felt oafish and noisy.

And freaking envious.

Lindsey was the relatively recent bride of Petty Officer Mark Jenkins, an adorable Navy SEAL who’d gotten leave from Iraq in order to meet her here in Germany. Her new husband’s transport flight had been delayed, however, and he’d shown up at their hotel just as the entire Troubleshooters team had met in the lobby for breakfast.

Needless to say, Lindsey and Mark had not joined them for the meal. The SEAL had soul-kissed his spouse, right there in the lobby, thrown her over his shoulder, and carried her into the elevator—and that was the last anyone had seen of either of them until they’d all met for this op at 2300.

But no one had teased her about it. Too many of them knew what it was like to have or be a spouse in the military. Time with one’s partner was precious—and too-often infrequent.

And that made Jules think of Ben, which was exactly what he didn’t want to be thinking about …

Wait, Lindsey hand-signaled now, then vanished ahead into a part of the tunnel that didn’t have dim moonlight shining in through heavy cast-iron drainage grates.

Two other Troubleshooters operatives, curly-haired computer specialist Tess Bailey and elegantly blond Sophia Ghaffari, who was clearly in training or at least a bright green rookie, hung back, obeying Lindsey’s command, while Jules and Alyssa continued to guard their six.

Even though it was unlikely that there was anything down here to guard them against.

Their mission was to prove that the Nachtgarten barracks were vulnerable to terrorist attack via these ill-protected tunnels that wound beneath the entire city. Because—as if the idea of tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the military base wasn’t enough of a threat—there was also a no-longer-used, buried and long-forgotten massive oil tank that sat, still two-thirds full, just beneath the facility’s main housing.

With some correctly placed C4, aided by that enormous tank of oil, any terrorist with a little Internet-acquired know-how could create an explosion that would take down the multistory building and make the Khobar Towers bombing look like child’s play.

And as far as the Internet went …

Alyssa and Sam, acting as agents for the country’s most elite personal security team, Troubleshooters Incorporated, had written and submitted a detailed report on this installation months ago. They’d outlined, quite specifically, the dangers of what they believed to be a serious threat, due to that very oil tank.

But after the powers-that-be thanked them for their time, absolutely nothing was done to safeguard the lives of the thousands of servicemen and -women quartered at the base.

And then, a few short days ago, Jules had found out that Sam and Alyssa’s top secret report had actually circulated the White House via nonsecure email—which meant that the barracks at Nachtgarten were now even more vulnerable. The report, which mentioned the long-forgotten oil tank, had floated about on the Internet for a solid week before anyone noticed it contained classified information.

Jules had taken the news of the leak up the chain of command to his boss in the FBI, Max Bhagat, who’d been furious about the security breach—enough to get Admiral Chip Crowley involved.

Crowley, a Navy SEAL himself, was a man of action, and before Jules had even left Max’s office, a task force had been formed and Troubleshooters Incorporated once again had been hired. This time they were to play the part of the “red cell” in a mock attack of the military base.

Their job was to get, covertly, into Nachtgarten and once again find said oil tank—which was supposedly “too costly to locate and remove,” and, also according to the geniuses in charge, “too difficult to locate to create any real threat to the army personnel housed therein.”

Yeah, maybe it had been too difficult to locate until some bureaucrat wrote an email about it, attached Sam and Alyssa’s report, and then freaking sent it to all their friends …

God. Nothing pissed Jules off more than stupidity.

Hopefully, after tonight’s exercise—complete with weapons that fired only rubber bullets, and Hey, Nachtgarten security teams, you think that might be a hint that some war-gaming might be going on tonight?—the stupidity would finally end.

There was, of course, no guarantee of that.

But the Troubleshooters red cell had been ordered to plant a “bomb” atop that oil tank—which would hopefully help wake people up. They weren’t going to use real explosives, of course. Instead, they would affix to the tank an electronic device that was the equivalent weight of the C4 needed in an attempt to take down the building. With this device and a nifty computer program that would receive and read the box’s signal, analysts would be able to accurately measure the amount of oil that remained in the tank, as well as the effect of an explosion on the barracks above.

Jules had seen this particular computer program in action before. It would create a simulation of the size and strength of the fictional blast, as well as estimate damage and predict body count. It would also—nifty little thing—translate it all into an outrageously huge dollar amount for those bottomline thinkers who believed that removing an obsolete oil tank was a tad too costly.

But all of that was going to happen after the team found the tank and slogged their way back to the much fresher air of the decaying riverfront warehouse, where they’d accessed this gross-as-shit drainage system.

Yes, this was so much fun.

Lindsey must’ve returned from her scouting trip, because Tess signaled them forward and they began to move into a part of the tunnel that was pitch-black. It seemed endless, but finally, ahead of them, was another stretch where the moonlight shone in.

And okay, yeah, actually? If he could ignore the malodorous stench? This was kind of fun in a twisted way. Jules wasn’t quite sure if the idea was Alyssa’s or that of the Troubleshooters CO, Tom Paoletti, but one thing he certainly was enjoying was the fact that this particular red cell was manned only by women.

Well, except for Jules, who was really only there as an observer.

Still, it felt very Charlie’s Angels, which appealed to his inner 1970s-era pop-culture-loving child.

As for his role of observer, he was here because Alyssa had insisted. She’d known how completely freaked out he’d been by his mother’s weekend visit. Lys had wanted both to hold his hand and to distract him from the craziness that had gone down last Saturday and Sunday.

The funny part of that was that Jules hadn’t yet told her about last Thursday’s and Friday’s drama. God, had that all really been just a few short days ago? He glanced at his watch. It was currently early A.M. Wednesday. Which meant it was now only two days until Friday—which was when he and Ben had planned to hook up again.

Yikes.

And wasn’t that just peachy keen?

Jules should have been feeling anticipation. He was a fan of anticipation when it came to things like food. And sex.

Instead, what he felt, felt an awful lot like dread. And guilt. Yup, the guilt sure was a nice touch, swirling around on the top of his mix of emotions about the entire fiasco—last weekend included.

Jules had actually taken the weekend-in-question off because his mother had called to say she was coming to DC to see him. She and her second husband, Phil, lived in Hawaii in a house overlooking the ocean, and Jules usually went there to visit. That was a no-brainer. In the vacation boxing ring, Hawaii could take out DC with one solid uppercut, every single time.

And yet his mother had flown all the way to the East Coast, nearly out of the blue and completely Phil-less, which made the trip seem all the more odd. But when everything was said and done, odd wasn’t even close to describing the weekend.

Jules’s mom had completely caught him off-guard with her news that she and Phil were getting divorced.

And—although she didn’t put it into such glaringly harsh plain-speak—their split was because of Jules. Phil had finally admitted to feeling that their relationship was strained due to his discomfort with Jules’s sexual orientation. He’d actually sent away for literature on a variety of ex-gay ministries—programs that Jules could enter to be “fixed” and turned straight.

Linda Cassidy—she’d kept Jules’s father’s name, even after remarrying—had immediately “fixed” her ailing marriage by lancing the two-hundred-pound boil that was Phil.

Jules had never really liked the guy, but it had broken his heart to see his mother cry. Especially when she admitted how much she missed his father, who’d been dead now for close to twenty years.

Alyssa touched Jules now—just a hand on his shoulder. They were being silent, so she didn’t say anything, but it was clear that she knew exactly where his thoughts had gone.

She shook her head, as if to say Don’t you be thinking about that right now …

Jules forced a smile as he met her eyes in the dim light. So … I finally had sex with someone who’s not Adam. How about that? About freaking time, huh? What was wrong with him that he finally got the courage to confess that breaking news to his best friend now, when they both needed to remain completely silent?

Yup, he was a total headcase, no doubt about them apples.

But then Tess, who was in front of them, lifted her hand, signaling stop, quiet and then down.

Crap.

Jules faded back with Alyssa, even farther into the shadows, getting even more intimate with the stankariffic dankness that hugged the tunnel’s sides and floor.

They waited there, silent and still—until Lindsey beamed herself back, directly in front of them. And okay, it was probable that she hadn’t actually used Starfleet technology to get from point A to point B. She’d probably used her feet and walked it, but she’d done so both silently and invisibly. It was damned impressive.

She crouched next to Alyssa, and, as soundlessly as possible, gave her report.

“We’re not alone down here. Someone else came through, maybe an hour ago,” she said. “Five of ’em, probably all male, carrying heavy packs and all going in the same direction. They came in via a different tunnel, but merged with our route about twenty feet back from where we are right now. I followed their trail for about half a klick and the good news is that they went past the turnoff to the oil tank. They either missed it or …” She shook her head.

“The bad news?” Alyssa asked.

“The way they went? It dead ends. There’s no access to the surface—no way out of here.”

Which meant, whoever they were, they were down here still.

“Is it possible they’re a second red cell?” Tess asked. She and Sophia had approached in order to hear Lindsey’s report.

Alyssa shook her head. “We’re not the ones being tested here. Tom would’ve told me if he were going to do that.”

“Could it be a security patrol from Nachtgarten?” Sophia asked.

“If so,” Alyssa asked, “why not guard the tank?”

“They may not know where it is,” Jules reminded her.

She looked at him sharply, and it was clear from the expression on her face that she was having a big eureka moment. But being Alyssa, she could tell from wherever she was in A-ha! Land, that Jules hadn’t yet reached the same thrilling conclusion. So she explained. “They’ll know exactly where the tank is after we lead them to it—and put what’s essentially a homing beacon directly on top of it.”

Jesus yikes. That would be very, very ungood.

“Break radio silence,” Alyssa ordered Tess, who was carrying their radio. Being a red cell, i.e. a group of make-believe and not necessarily wealthy terrorists, they’d been outfitted with less-than-high-tech gear. Instead of equipping each of them with radio headsets, they’d been given a single crappy Vietnam-era radio.

Tess fired it up, but then frowned. She fiddled with it, then frowned again. “Signal’s being jammed.”

Shit.

It was looking more and more likely that their unexpected company hadn’t come down here to play games. It was probable their mystery five had real C4 in their backpacks, and real bullets instead of rubber ones in their guns.

And the consequences of their actions would result in real, horrific death and destruction as opposed to the computer-simulated kind.

Alyssa reached for her cell phone—they all did. Jules’s phone had zero bars. No signal. Not down here in the first level of hell. “Anyone?” Alyssa asked. Tess, Lindsey, and Sophia also shook their heads after checking their phones. Nope.

Alyssa met Jules’s gaze. “Fall back,” she ordered. “We’re going out the way we came in. Lindsey, take the radio and run ahead. As soon as you can get a signal, I want an order going out to evacuate the barracks.”

Lindsey vanished as Alyssa looked at Jules and the two remaining Troubleshooters operatives. “Let’s move.”