Mullins pondered the question. “You know, that’s interesting you should ask. Right now, I can’t answer, but let me see if I can find out.”
Grant remained quiet for a moment. So far he hadn’t been asked to sign anything. Since that was the case, he’d tell his men — his new Team — everything. They had a right to know as much as him. If there was such a document, they’d all sign.
His next question was probably the most important. The answer, even more so. He leaned forward, staring at Mullins. “I want you to answer me straight up. What happens to us if an op goes ‘south’ and it turns into one big ‘clusterfuck’? What happens if we can’t get out — for whatever reason? Will we be ‘hung out to dry’?” Without hesitation Grant held up a hand and added, “Ya know, Scott, on second thought, don’t bother trying to answer. I don’t want to put you on the ‘hot seat.’ The decision would most likely come from higher up anyway.”
“Look, Grant, I’m officially your contact — your only contact — wherever you are in the world. No matter what happens, as long as you can reach me, I’ll do my damnedest to get you home… by whatever means I can come up with. That’s a goddamn promise.”
“You sure sound a helluva like Tony!” Grant laughed. But then his expression changed, and he turned serious again. “I want you to promise you won’t do anything foolish, Scott. I don’t want you to end up… ”
“Like Tony?” Scott interrupted.
“Yeah. Like Tony.” Grant finally gave somewhat of a grin, as he stood up. “Let's take a break. How about some brandy? I’ve got a new bottle just waiting to be opened.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Ten minutes later, Mullins asked, "Have you thought about who you want on your team?"
"Joe and I put together a list. We’ve worked with each of them at some time or other over our careers.”
“Have you contacted them?”
Grant shook his head. “It might take too long for us to track them through BUPERS. Is there any way you can facilitate the process?” (BUPERS is the Bureau of Personnel.)
Mullins put his briefcase on a cushion next to him then opened it. He removed a legal-size notepad, and handed it and a pen toward Grant.
“No need for those,” Grant said, as he reached for a piece of paper on the end table, then handed it to Mullins. “The last we knew, six of them were stationed in Coronado, four in Little Creek. We’re pretty certain they’ve either retired or finished their tours, which could mean they went back to their hometowns.”
Mullins glanced at the page, noticing a “C” or “LC” next to each name.
“There are ten names, Scott, but for now, we'll only choose five men. The extras are just in case any of them turn down the offer, and if we decide to expand the team at a later time. Once you get the info for those ten, Joe and I'll make the calls.” Grant leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, as he added, “They’re all good men.”
Mullins dropped the paper into his briefcase. "Have you come up with a team name?"
"Yeah. Team Alpha Tango."
Acknowledgements
Navy SEALs and all SpecOps — Thank you for your service and dedication in keeping America safe, and protecting anyone, anywhere, anytime when called upon. You make us proud!
BTF — Your encouragement, editing assistance, on target suggestions, and sense of humor, continue to be more than I could ask for. Carry on!
L. Panoutsos — For the hours of reading, editing, enthusiasm! Thanks!