Cry Baby

 

“Close your mouth, Cry Baby, or you’ll catch flies,” Xavier “Heim” Spencer joked.

“Heim, you say anything I’m going to knock your teeth out and stuff ‘em down your throat,” James “Cry Baby” Alvarez said. Not that it really mattered, Cry Baby knew better than to think he’d ever get a free hit on his Team Leader.

“Yeah? Want to lose your balls while you’re at it?” Viktor “Snake” Franklin, second only to Heim, asked. His silver gaze cut to Cry Baby through a black and green painted face. For a moment Cry Baby blinked, trapped in that gaze.

“Cut it out Snake,” Heim told his second, and then gripped Nestor by the neck to get him into position.

“What I do?” Snake asked, looking away, and Cry Bay could take a breath. The bastard.

There was something to be said about the bullshit karma that made Snake look like a fucking walking billboard advertisement instead of some barrio kid, like Cry Baby. Cry Baby never had to deal with not having his pick of any woman, but beside Snake, he probably looked like midnight snack instead of a full course meal.

“He does that to us all,” Oh “Glitz” Byung-Lee, the team’s explosive expert, told him as he passed. Cry Baby grunted, not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

“Who was the babe?” Thomas “Welsh” O’Connor asked and that was the real question.

More than securing that son of a bitch Nestor, Cry Baby wanted to know about the fiery beauty who’d obviously been here for a reason—and that was saying something. For the last four years, since Heim’s wife, Katya, had first been kidnapped, their SEAL team had one mission: find out who supplied the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria—or ISIS—cell based in Qatar and eradicate them. Within those years Akwasi, Snake’s wife and mother to their young son Kondo, had been taken, along with eight intelligence family members from CIA and FBI. The cell struck hot and fast, in many counties around the world, and hadn’t stopped with the supposed leader, Hakeem bin Mohammed Tahib. Even after his death, the only thing the SEAL team had stopped was him. Tracing leads had led them to Nestor, a Russian contact with the cell, and it was imperative they brought him in for questioning. Cry Baby didn’t get his focus interrupted.

The woman had been a surprise.

And what a surprise the secretive woman had been. Wild curls framed her face and almond shaped eyes drew him in. And that mouth of hers, Dios mio, the things he could do with her mouth. Even beaten and tied up she’d appeared regal and strong, and the perfect aerial her lithe body preformed to get out of her chair told him training was in her past.

“You hear her accent?” Cry Baby asked, thinking back.

“British, for sure. We’ll find out more. Let’s get this asshole home and then we can get briefed,” Heim ordered.

“Hooyah!”

 

*

 

“Why were we called to stand down, sir?” Heim asked the Commander. Cry Baby paced, agitated beyond all measure. First, when they’d returned to base, their prisoner was taken. Then they had their clearance and access to him revoked, and then they find out that Nestor, their first real lead in over eight months, was off to some undisclosed location.

“Your team has been moved to a mandatory vacation time of six months. Due to the threats, that will still require you to stay within two hours of the base.”

Vacation. Mandatory. But they’d have to stay within on-call distance. It didn’t add up, and it didn’t make sense.

“Nestor Ivanov—” Cry Baby began.

“Is now none of your concern, SEAL. I’ve briefed you on what you need to know, and now you can go home and spend time with your families.”

Cry Baby didn’t like the way any of this smelled. SEALs weren’t taken off missions. They were pulled when it was personal like this. SEALs took care of their own, and Nestor had a hand in the operations, they all knew it. Snake clenched his fists tight on the table in front of him and his silver gaze whipped with anger. Glitz paced back and forth, Welsh stared into space, and Eric “Hawk” Standing, their intel expert, leaned against the wall with murder in his eyes.

They’d all played a part in this dance to find Nestor, and, they hoped, a clue into the affluent terrorists out of one of the wealthiest places in the world. Hawk had worked with John “Tex” Keegan, intel and red-tape cutter extraordinaire, to even find out about Nestor for over a year, and Heim and Snake had a personal reason in it all. Though Hakeem had died, it was thought that Nestor was the mastermind behind Katya and Akwasi’s transport to their holding sites.

“Who’s taking over Nestor’s interrogation?” Heim asked.

He was pushing it. They’d always had a close connection with their Commander, but he was still their superior. He could have all their asses in the ringer if Heim didn’t back off a bit.

“That’s a need to know, Sailor, and you aren’t within the need to know,” came the response.

“My wife—” Heim began.

“Your personal issues in this matter are clouding your judgement, Heim. I gave you a direct order and that is all. Nestor Ivanov will be passed on to the judicial body that has jurisdiction and your team will be on leave from mission for the next six months.”

Heim shot to his feet and Cry Baby gripped his arm. “Cool your shit, Boss, or you’ll have hell to pay. Think of Katya,” Cry Baby said urgently.

“I am thinking of Katya,” Heim argued. He swung his gaze back to the Commander. “I’ve been a SEAL for over twelve years, sir, and I’ve never ignored an order. I’ve never come home without completing my mission. We have asked to continue our mission in the fight against ISIS by going after the cell that attacked out families—no time off, not breaks, no life. I am only asking why, sir.”

Commander closed his eyes for a moment. Cry Baby had never seen the Commander so agitated either. As a former SEAL, he’d ridden with them through every battle, gave them support when they needed, and a righteous chewing out when it was warranted. Cry Baby and his SEAL team had some of the highest security clearances possible. There shouldn’t have been a need to know that could be beyond them.

“When the time comes, Heim, I’ll look out for your team. Trust me,” Commander told him. Heim nodded, but it was to thin air. The Commander had already left and the team sat in the command room in confusion.

“Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Heim asked.

“Think and clarify,” Hawk said. “Three years ago, Katya Spencer, then last name Anderson and daughter of Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, was kidnapped out of Dubai and transported to Qatar by the ISIS cell run by Hakeem bin Mohammed Tahib.”

“It took a week, but we were able to find her location, along with Matthew “Wolf” Steel’s SEAL team, and bring her back, along with other refugees,” Glitz continued.

“Two years later, Akwasi Onwuachimba was reported assassinated while on a USO Tour in Kuwait and was transported to Bahrain. Six months after her capture, Akwasi got word out to Tex and we extracted her. Just two months after that Hakeem came to California to kill her within her home, after sending Intel on a wild goose chase that he was back in Dubai, but was eradicated at the scene,” Welsh offered.

“And in between that time, on foreign soil, three SEAL teams have gone dark and eight more extended members have disappeared, with no news, bodies, or sign of what happened,” Cry Baby finished.

“Correction, in the last five years, outside of the instances that you just described, there have been twenty-five assassinations, kidnappings, or hit attempts on the world intelligence community around the world, and you’ve only been looking at one facet of it all,” a woman said.

Cry Baby spun, and came face to face with the bombshell trapped in the warehouse in the Balkans. She looked different, with her hair pulled back in to a puffball to the back of her head, black yoga-like pants, and a long sleeve black shirt. Her small feet were in black tennis shoes as well. Right then he’d describe her as small and fragile, her face a mask of indifference and slight marbling bruises for her time with Nestor. She ducked her head outside the room then back in.

“Because I understand, now, why you went in there, I’m going to give you a bit of slack. Hakeem bin Mohammed is small fish in the pond, and you didn’t see it.”

“Who are you?” Cry Baby asked.

“Tiffany Cannon, SIS.”

SIS, Secret Intelligence Service, or MI6, Cry Baby thought.

“What does British Intelligence want with Nestor Ivanov?” Cry Baby asked.

Tiffany shook her head. “You ruin my operation, you don’t get answers. The only reason I told you anything is because I found out that you were directly affected by the ISIS cell Hakeem masqueraded as leader for. That does not make us friends.”

But I want to be. Cry Baby tried to block the thought from his head, but it sped through his mind anyway. Stupid really, when now wasn’t the time, and her job, typically, kept her across the sea. Still, it didn’t stop his gaze from roaming over her body. But the bruising on her face irritated him.

“Does it hurt?” he asked. “Head to medical here, if you need pain medication.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “I can take a punch, Water Boy. Can you?”

“Dammit Cry Baby, she got you there,” Welsh said.

When Cry Baby saw Tiffany look to him and then fight to hold in a laugh he closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was not going to kill his teammate. He was not going to kill his teammate.

“Cry…Baby?” Tiffany asked.

“Aye, he’s the baby of the bunch. Not grown in to those big ears yet, but he will,” Welsh continued.

“Welsh, I’m going to dance on your grave tonight,” Cry Baby threatened.

“I think you’ll need to worry about yourself, Cry Baby,” Tiffany said. “Who’s your team leader?” Her question cut him off from arguing with her. He felt the tips of his ears heat with embarrassment.

“I am,” Heim said.

“I’ve told you what I could, but if I can find out anything else, I’ll see what I can do. Can I ask a favor though, in return?”

Heim nodded. “If I can swing it.”

“Someone is getting their ass kicked for messing up my mission. Which one of you will it be?”