Chapter Sixteen
arrived at the church not long before the funeral mass was to begin. It had taken the whole cab ride to the Bronx for me to calm down after first seeing Ryan in his full dress uniform. He looked was crisp and professional, and the uniform looked like it had been tailor made for him from the way it emphasized his broad shoulders and cut in slightly at the waist. His crisply creased pants touched the top of his highly shined patent leather shoes, and made me wonder how he'd gotten them that shiny.
On the left side of his chest he wore his ribbons and a pin that looked like a fork going through an eagle, and when I'd asked him about it, he smiled and said, "It's the SEAL trident. I'll be using it during the funeral."
"To do what?" I asked.
"You'll see," he said. "I'd hate to spoil the surprise."
In his uniform, Ryan exuded a silent authority that I hadn't seen before. It was incredibly sexy, and when he gave me the once over before we left the apartment, I felt myself blushing as he nodded his approval.
I'd chosen a plain black wrap dress that showed off my figure but had a respectable v-neck and a pair of black stiletto pumps that were comfortable enough for sitting or standing, since I didn't know how much of either we'd be doing. Around my neck, I fastened a silver chain from which hung a small silver medallion of Saint Philomena that my mother had given me when I turned twelve. I hadn’t worn it for years and figured that if there was ever a time to wear such a thing, this was it.
We didn't talk much during the cab ride. I got the feeling that Ryan needed time alone with his thoughts in order to figure out what he was going to say to John Michael's parents. I left him alone and looked out the window watching the city scenery rushing by and wondering why Ryan had wanted me to accompany him to something so personal and private.
At the church, he got out and signaled to me to wait so that he could come around and open the cab door for me. It was a chivalrous gesture, and one that I wasn't used to, so when he took my hand and pulled me up toward him, I looked into his eyes and felt a wave of emotion sweep through me.
"Thank you," I said as I quickly looked away and then took his offered arm and walked into the church. The outer sanctuary was filled with people milling about as they waited to be escorted to their seats. There were a few other men dressed in military uniforms standing around the edges of the room, and when Ryan entered they gathered together in a small group shaking hands and exchanging stories about where they'd been stationed before returning to New York.
When we were finally escorted into the sanctuary, we were seated toward the back. I was relieved to be able to watch the mass from a distance rather than participating in it. I breathed deeply as I looked at the flag draped casket that sat just below the altar. Inside it was one of many young men who'd lost their lives as they served their country. The tragedy of it was further underscored when John Michael's family was escorted up the aisle to the front pew. His mother wept openly while his father sat in stony silence as the altar boys led the priest up the center aisle to begin the mass.
It was a long mass and by the time the priest got to the homily, I was starting to feel overwhelmed by the low moaning and intermittent sobs that were coming from the front pew. Ryan reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing softly to reassure me as the priest talked about memories of John Michael as a young altar boy and how the Morgan boys could often be found hiding behind the priest's vestments listening to portable radio on Yankee game days. A light wave of laughter ran through the congregation as they acknowledged the tragic celebration of a life ended too soon.
At the very end of the mass, the priest called on the members of the various SEAL teams to come forward. Ryan squeezed my hand one more time before he stood and stepped out into the aisle to join his brothers. I watched as they marched forward in formation, stopped, saluted and then each SEAL took reached up and removed the Trident pin from his dress coat. Then one by one, each man walked up the casket, laid the Trident on top with the pins facing down, and with a strength that came from somewhere deep inside the grief and love, pounded the pin into the top of the coffin with a striking blow of the fist. Like the rest of the congregation, I gasped as I heard the first fist hit, but as I watched each man, I realized that it was an act of love and devotion to brotherhood. I made a mental note to ask Ryan about it later.
When he returned to the pew, he sat down next to me and stared straight ahead as the priest said the final prayers and blessed the congregation. I knew better than to interrupt his thoughts, so I simply walked next to him as we exited the church and waited for him to tell me where we needed to go next. One of the other SEALs signaled to us to come with him, so we hopped in his car and headed for the family's house just a few miles away.
We parked a block away from the house and walked to a white two-story home with a neat front yard surrounded by a white picket fence. There were rose bushes blooming in the front yard and the front door was wide open with people spilling out onto the small lawn. We followed single file up the walk, the SEALs holding their dress caps under their arms as we entered the house and found John Michael's mother seated on a settee in the living room. There were women bustling around pouring coffee and pushing food on guests, but mostly they were keeping an eye on Mrs. Morgan making sure her glass was never empty and that she was never left sitting alone. These women knew how to manage grief.
I reached out and took Ryan's arm gently pulling him toward Mrs. Morgan. He looked down at me for a moment and then nodded. I turned to go, but he gripped my hand tightly and whispered, "Come with me, please?" I nodded and followed.
"Ma'am," Ryan began. "I'm Lieutenant Ryan Powell, from SEAL Team Four, I was with your son on the mission."
"Lieutenant Powell, please, sit down here next to me," Mrs. Morgan said as she patted the sofa. Ryan let go of my hand and sat next to her as I stepped back a polite distance and allowed them to speak privately. I couldn't hear what Ryan said to Mrs. Morgan, but I knew that whatever it was it was both upsetting and reassuring as she covered her mouth with her hand and leaned in as Ryan put his arm around her and patted her back as she cried. After a few minutes, an older man with a weathered face and a stoic expression joined them, and Ryan spoke quietly with him, as well.
As I stood in the corner of the room and watched, I marveled at the difference between Ryan on my couch in jeans and a t-shirt, and Ryan in his uniform consoling John Michael's family. The latter Ryan looked like the epitome of the military warrior, and someone you could trust your son to serve with. He stood straight and tall as he listened to the Morgans talk about their son, and never once did he look away.
When the Morgans had said and heard all they needed to, the two men shook hands and then Ryan saluted, turned on his heel and walked back to me tilting his head as he indicated that it was time to go. Ryan headed out to the front yard and stepped into the circle of SEALs gathered there drinking soda and trying to one-up each other with tales of their toughest missions. I stepped back and watched as he talked with each of them for a long time. When they were all through, Ryan worked his way around the circle hugging and backslapping each man before turning to me and nodding.
I pulled out my phone and called a cab to come pick us up in front of the house. As we waited, I felt Ryan reach down and take my hand. I was surprised, but I knew better than to ask any questions. We rode home in silence and when we pulled up to my front door, Ryan handed the driver some money.
"Nah, man," the driver said waving him off. "I know that was a military funeral. Consider it a small thank you for your service to this country."
Ryan nodded, shook his hand and then followed me out the cab door.
It wasn't until he'd changed out of his uniform, grabbed a beer from the fridge and parked himself on the couch that he said, "Thank you for going with me, Echo. It meant a lot to me."
"You're welcome," I replied as I descended from my bedroom having exchanged shorts and a t-shirt for the dress. "Thank you for asking me to go with you."
Ryan didn't say anything else, and as the silence became uncomfortable, I suddenly realized that there might be a message from Dr. Powell waiting in my inbox.
#
" welcome," I replied as I descended from my bedroom having exchanged shorts and a t-shirt for the dress. It was late afternoon, and I suddenly realized that there would be a message from Dr. Powell waiting in my inbox.
I quickly hooked up the computer and pulled up my email program. I hoped that no one had discovered the bug I'd left programmed into my desktop at work because if they had, we'd lose all access to the TriCorp server and Alan's emails.
"C'mon, c'mon," I chanted as I watched the program load. "Open up and show us what we've got, baby."
"Wow, you're really into that thing," Ryan laughed. He'd stepped around behind me and could feel the warmth of his body as he leaned over my shoulder and watched the computer screen with me.
It finally loaded, and I quickly input the requisite passwords needed to access the account, and slowly but surely the account loaded. Soon we were looking at a brand new email in my inbox. I clicked on it and up popped another note from Dr. Powell.
Dear Miss Frost,
If you are receiving this message, then things are rather dire and I may not be coming back. I don't wish to alarm you, but I do want to warn you that whatever information I am passing on to you for safekeeping should never, under any circumstances, be shared with Julian Baines. He is my business partner, but we have a distinct difference of opinion as to what should be done with my research project and how it should be allowed to be used. I am completely opposed to Julian's belief that we should sell it to the highest bidder as this project was designed with the intention of securing peace, not destroying lives.
You are most likely wondering what is in the file I sent you twenty-four hours ago as you will not have been able to decipher it. I will not be giving you the key via email, but when the time comes, please know that the decoded files are on a hard drive waiting to be turned over to the proper people.
I have hidden a set of keys to my lab in my office. These keys are the only way you to gain access to the lab as I've set the door on a system that will permanently seal off the lab if anyone tries to break into it. No one, except for you, knows this. You will find the keys where sentient beings display empathy.
Please store these files somewhere safe and secure as I'm sure you've done with the previous files I sent you. Again, under no circumstances is Julian Baines to have access to any of these files! This is of the utmost importance, Miss Frost.
Regards,
Dr. Alan Powell
Attached to the email was a file folder full of papers that were labeled with the author's last name, article title and publication date. I began clicking on them and reading the abstracts on the first page of each.
"Oh my God," I murmured.
"What?" Ryan asked as he tried to follow my rapid clicking through page after page. "What did he mean by where sentient beings display empathy?"
"I don't know, he didn't explain it," I said as I pulled up a paper that Dr. Powell had written several years prior entitled "The Man in the Machine: Sentient Computers." The abstract detailed the ways in which biochemical properties might be able to be combined with logical programming to create a machine that could actually function in a human like manner. As I read, I was confused.
"Ryan, this makes no sense," I said.
"What?"
"It makes no sense," I repeated. "Why would any one do research on something that can't possibly exist? Computers can only do what we tell them to do. They can't function like humans. That's the whole point."
"Maybe he had some new idea?" Ryan suggested.
"It's possible, but it doesn't make any sense why he would pursue something so out of the realm of possibility," I mused. "Maybe if I can get the codes from the previous files translated it'll give us some insight into what this is all about and where the keys to his lab are hidden."
"I don't have a clue," he replied as his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and then said, "Gotta go. Sorry. Not sure when I'll be back, so don't wait up."
I turned around in time to see Ryan grabbing his keys off of the counter and heading out the door.
"Where are you—," I said as he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the photos hanging on the wall. I thought about running after him, but decided against it. I wasn't going to step into my mother's role of helping someone who wasn't willing or able to ask.
I would not repeat her mistake.
#
waited up for Ryan for as long as I could, but it had been a long day and the discovery of Dr. Powell's newest set of files has sent my brain spinning as I tried to figure out where I could hide the files so that Julian Baines could never get ahold of them. I considered buying space on a cloud server, but there was no way to ensure that he wouldn't be able to figure out the document path and figure out where they were hidden. The only way I was going to be able to keep the information safe was to download it from the server and erase all traces of it, but that meant I'd have to sneak back into TriCorp to erase the bug I'd left on my computer.
The problem was that I had no way of knowing how many files Dr. Powell had set up to send. If I went in too early, I'd fail to gather all of the materials and I'd leave something on the server for Julian to find. If I went in too late, he'd know that there had been a breach of the security system and that I'd been the last one to have access to it. I was working within a limited window of time and I needed to get back into TriCorp to scan the server. If I could do that, then maybe I could find all of Dr. Powell's encrypted files and remove them from the server all at once. I began plotting out ways to get back into the office without being seen, but by ten, I was worn out, so I headed up to bed.
A few hours later, I heard keys in the lock and the front door opening and closing. I waited until I heard Ryan lay down on the couch and then debated about whether I should say anything.
"Ryan, are you okay?" I called softly. "I was worried."
"Fine," he replied gruffly. "Sorry."
"You want to talk about it?" I asked as I lay on my back staring up at the ceiling wishing that her was up here laying next to me. The only problem was that if I was honest, I would admit that I didn't really want him up here talking.
"Not especially, but if you need to talk, I'll listen," he replied.
"I was just wondering what it was that you guys did at the funeral this morning," I said recalling the way the SEALs all pounded their Trident pins into the casket.
"You want to come down here and talk?" he asked. I recognized it as an invitation rather than a question, so I pulled on my nightgown and went downstairs where I found Ryan sitting on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
"You kind of rough, sailor," I said smiling. "Can I get you something to ease the pain?"
"There's nothing strong enough," he said shaking his head. "Believe me, I tried."
"Gotcha," I said as I sat down next to him and slowly rubbed his back. Soon he was humming with pleasure as I slowly ran my hand across his back in circles. "I'll just do this, if that's okay."
"Better than okay," he murmured. "You asked what we did with our pins."
"Yes, I was curious."
"The Trident is the insignia of the SEAL," he explained removing his shirt and showing me the tattoo of the SEAL insignia on his chest over his heart. "It has the anchor because we are Navy only people. The Trident is because we come from under the water. The first SEALs were bomb crews whose job it was to dismantle the bombs left in the water around the beaches during World War II, they were called Frogmen. The weapon is an old time revolver, which is not intended for self-defense, but only the defense of others. The eagle is the only recognized eagle form in America where the head isn't above the wings because SEALs attack."
"That's a lot of history and meaning in one insignia," I said as I ran my fingers over the tattoo tracing each element he'd described. I knew that to do this meant I was playing with fire, but I couldn't stop myself. I wanted to touch him. "So, why did you pound your pins into John Micheal's casket?"
"Pounding the Trident into the casket is part of the ritual," he said as he watched me trace the design. He didn't move a muscle as he explained. "Part of the reason we do it is because we don't want any of our brothers to be buried alone. Pounding our pins into the top of the casket means that part of us goes with him, and that he isn't being buried without his weapons or armor. It's symbolic, but we SEALs thrive on symbols and ritual as much as we do on the real world missions we carry out."
"That makes sense," I said looking up at his face. He was staring at me with his amber eyes flashing as he watched me touch him. "Does it help you?"
"I guess it helps knowing that I'm not alone," he said. "That if I die, the other SEALs will be with me, too. That's probably why we actually do it."
"Why?"
"To comfort ourselves," he said running a hand through his dark hair. "Rituals really are for the living."
"Is that what you told the Morgans when you talked with them after the funeral?" I asked he leaned forward again and I resumed rubbing his now bare back.
"No, I just listened mainly," he admitted. "I told them that their son had died a hero and that his last thoughts were about them."
"What did they tell you?" I asked as I slid my hand lower and rubbed his lower back. I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn't stop myself. I wanted to feel his skin and if I was honest, I wanted more.
"They told me about Opie as a kid, how he had always wanted to be a SEAL," he said quietly as he rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. "They told me about how he had planned to use his GI Bill money to become a certified electrician and that he wanted nothing more than to settle down in Woodlawn and raise a family with his girlfriend, Lydia."
"She was the pretty little redhead who sat with them, right?" I asked.
"Yeah, she's still in high school, graduates this year," he said then stopped and covered the back of his head with his hands as he breathed deeply for a few moments. "It just fucking sucks."
"But you guys know that's what you sign up for, right?" I asked as I stopped rubbing and just let my hand rest on the small of his back.
"We do, but I think most of us also think that it won't ever be us," he said shaking his head before lifting it and looking up at me. "We think somehow it's always going to be some other guy, someone we don't know, someone whose not part of our squad. We never think it's going to be us."
"Isn't that the way most humans operate?" I asked as I stared into his amber eyes and noticed the flecks of gold that were scattered in his irises. They were mesmerizing.
"Maybe..." he said as he sat up and reached for me. I knew I shouldn't do this, but the feeling of his hand brushing against my cheek and pushing my hair back so that he could stretch up and kiss me was more than I could resist, and so I gave in to the need that had been slowly burning its way through my body since the moment he'd first held me in his arms.
I wanted to lean forward and press my lips against his and feel the warmth of his hand on my cheek. Instead, I sat down on the couch and patted my lap as I said, "Here, come lay down and let me rub your head."