Aberlour nodded. “Got—dicey, for a second, but we managed it,” he shrugged.
“How many bottles did you fill before you found the boat?” O’Reilly asked, amused again.
It took Aberlour a second to catch up, but he snorted when he did.
“SEALs—too fucking special to piss in a bottle,” he said, shaking his head.
“Marines! Bunch of goddamned animals,” O’Reilly responded, tit-for-tat, wearing a big smile.
O’Reilly was fairly attractive when he was smiling. Like he was no longer carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. For a sudden, wild second, Aberlour almost told him so. But then he imagined the right hook he’d get if he told this huge Navy SEAL he should smile more often, so he decided to keep it to himself.
“The brass had a hissy fit when you didn’t radio in—almost made us stand down.” O’Reilly seemed to be choosing his words with care.
“The insurgents took an axe to the panel—the radio was shot to shit—had to improvise,” Aberlour replied, refusing to take responsibility for the inability to communicate with his commander.
“That’s what we figured,” O’Reilly said with a nod. “I assumed even dumb-assed Recons would manage to recall all the steps to a two-step mission.”
Aberlour had the distinct impression he was being baited—or maybe tested.
“How generous of you,” Aberlour replied with a knowing smile. “See,wewere genuinely impressed when you managed to find the cargo ship without requiring us to hold your hands. So glad your mom and dad let you come out to play, anyway.”
“It was a challenge—but we managed it,” Captain O’Reilly shrugged, playing along.
Aberlour admired the keen intelligence in his gaze. He wanted to keep shooting the shit back and forth until one of them surrendered to the other. Oddly enough, Abe had no doubt he’d be bested by the SEAL, but he wanted to pursue this anyway. Wanted to be tested and forced into submission by this mountain of a man.
He didn’t get the chance—thankfully.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” a cookie-cutter, perfectly groomed, paper-pusher greeted them as he entered, carrying a stack of files, a laptop, and mug of coffee. After setting everything down at the head of the table, he opened his computer and with a smothered yawn gave a decisive nod.
“Shall we?” he asked, fingers hovering over the keyboard just like an over-eager student at a class lecture.
It was all Abe could do not to roll his eyes.
The debriefing lasted several hours. It was a laborious, tedious process. By the time they were done, Aberlour felt likethe only way he’d be able to recover from the brain drain briefing was to slam back a scotch while standing in a hot shower. A fuck might work, too—but it wasn’t really in the cards for him at the moment, so he’d have to settle for some good ole smuggled Johnnie Walker.
“Staff Sergeant Aberlour!” O’Reilly called out, just as Aberlour had started walking down the hallway. He’d stayed behind for a minute to talk with paper-pusher but was now coming up behind Aberlour.
Aberlour turned to look at him inquisitively.
“Captain O’Reilly?” Abe replied cordially.
“Just Shawn—we can drop the bullshit now, can’t we?”
Aberlour huffed and shrugged.
“Then I’m Abe.”
“Not Gavin?”
“Never Gavin,” Aberlour declared with a sneer. He hated his given name.
Shawn smirked like it was funny, Abe wasn’t sure why.
Shawn reached for his back pocket and took out a piece of paper that had his phone number scribbled on it. He offered it to Abe, who plucked it from his hand with two fingers.
“Major General Dockland asked to see me when I got back—wanted to know what I’d thought of your team.”
“And you told him that we’re poorly trained dogs who pissed all over your carpet?” The crude words echoed around the hallway.
