"Have they started clearing the property?"
Adler rocked the chair back. "Not yet. We had to have plans drawn up, then approved. With that behind us, we finally lined up contractors. We're meeting with them next week."
"You're not using the whole 200 acres, are you?"
"We've portioned off about 50 on the east side. Matt did most of the calculations, so that should be enough."
"You've got a helluva job ahead of you," Tom added.
Grant responded, "In the end, it'll be worth it. We're all looking forward to helping young men challenge themselves, maybe give them a new direction and outlook in life. And we'll be adding another chapter to our lives."
"How much do you think you'll have done before winter sets in?"
"We're hoping to get the roads cut and areas cleared where the Quonset huts are going. But the first major job is to install electric fencing where the property was divided, and add additional security cameras."
The phone rang. "I'll get it," Adler said as he started to stand.
"No, Joe. Stay where you are," Tom said. "You and Grant relax. Finish your iced tea. You both need to get more fluids in you." He headed for the living room.
Grant reached for a clear glass pitcher. "Refill?" Adler slid his tall glass across the white, enamel top table. Droplets of moisture fell from the pitcher as Grant poured the tea. "Now I know where you got your love of food. Your dad's a great cook."
Adler squeezed a wedge of lemon in the honey-colored liquid, then dropped it in the glass. "He and mom always cooked together. It seemed to be a ritual. They… "
"Hey, Grant," Tom called as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his hip. "It's for you."
"It must be one of the guys. Thanks, Tom." Grant pushed his chair back, then walked into the living room, as he gulped down a mouthful of iced tea. He picked up the receiver. "Stevens."
"Grant. It's Scott. Don't ask questions. Call me back using the secure number." The line went dead.
"Shit!" Grant mumbled, already worried. He dialed, heard a series of beeps, then brief silence.
"Mull… "
"What's going on, Scott?"
"There's a mission … "
"A mission?! C'mon, Scott! We'll be back in Virginia in a couple of days. You know we've got a helluva lot of work to do on the property. We're expecting contractors to … "
"I know. I know."
"Then why us?! Why not a Team from Little Creek or Coronado?!"
"You've been hand-picked," Mullins laughed.
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
"Does the name 'Torrinson' ring any distant bells?"
"Admiral Torrinson?!"
"He's the one. He requested that the President send you and the Team to the Preston. It's floating around somewhere in the Indian Ocean."
Grant covered the mouthpiece, and called, "Joe!"
Adler pushed his chair back. "Be back shortly, Dad."
"Take your time, son. The dishes aren't going anywhere." He cut another piece of apple pie.
Adler hustled into the living room. "Wait until you hear this!" Grant cautioned.
"Oh, and by the way," Mullins continued, enjoying the hell out of the conversation, "the President sends his greetings."
"Say what?!"
"You and the Team have been called back to serve… temporarily, of course. It was the best way Admiral Torrinson could get you aboard with the least amount of questions."
Grant mumbled, "No crawling up a hawes pipe this time."
"What'd you say?"
"Tell you some other time. So, I guess we don't have any choice in the matter."
"Listen, you can't tell me you'd turn this down under the circumstances."
"You know me too well, my friend." Grant looked up at Adler. "Hope your uniforms still fit."
"Huh?!"
"Fill you in as soon as I find out more. Okay, Scott, lay it on me."
Twenty minutes later, Grant had the Team's new mission. "Who's the CO on the Preston?"
"Hold on." Mullins sifted through papers. "Captain Jim Conklin. Sound familiar?"
"No. Listen, have you notified the Team?"
"Will leave that up to you. Any idea if you'll fly back here or…?"
"Too much wasted time. Do me a favor. Contact Matt first. You've got his numbers. Brief him then he can call the guys, and have them meet at Eagle 8. Once he's done that, tell him to call us here."
"Will do. What about supplies?"
"We all did an inventory before Joe and I left, so we should be good. If I know Matt and Rob, the Gulfstream's already fueled. Tell them gear is the same as last op, but add all diving gear, camies, and a set of uniforms. Christ! They're gonna go apeshit hearing 'uniforms.'"
"I'll break it to them gently. Anything else? How about money?"
"More than enough in the accounts. Matt knows what to bring. Dammit! And you'd better ask him to call the contractors and tell them to stand down. Oh, one more thing. Find out if there are any COD flights scheduled to fly to the carrier. Maybe we can hook up with one."
"Outta where?" Mullins asked as he continued writing notes.
"It depends where the carrier's steamin' in the Indian Ocean, but I'd say either Diego Garcia or Cubi Point."
"And if no COD?"
"The admiral's got the 'pull' to send anything. Brief Matt."
"Okay. I'm on it. What timeframe are we talking?"
"By the time the guys arrive here, I'd say we'll be on our way between 1800 and 1900, Tulsa time."
"That should give me enough time to get authorization for you to land and refuel at Elmendorf and Atsugi. Anything after those will depend on that COD flight."
"Okay, Scott. Firm up those stops with Matt." Grant glanced at his submariner. "Look, you've got more to do then us right now, so you'd better get started. We'll wait right here for Matt to call. The next time I call you will be when we're ready to depart from Tulsa. Unless you have anything else… "
"I know. I'll talk with you later, buddy." End of conversation.
Adler scooted toward the edge of the couch. "Just hearing one side of that conversation didn't give me a warm and fuzzy, especially the part about uniforms!"
Grant managed a half smile. "Our favorite 'uncle' has called us back, Joe."
"Huh?! Wait! You'd better start from the beginning!"
Grant relayed the details about the drugs, deaths, and ended with, "Torrinson thought there'd be fewer questions if we boarded in uniform, but I doubt we'll be staying long. When somebody finally pinpoints where that shit's coming from, we'll be gone." He glanced toward the kitchen. "Hope your dad won't be too disappointed that we're cutting our visit short. I know we promised… "
Adler gave Grant's shoulder a light punch. "Don't worry. He'll understand. Besides, we got the roof done!"
"And tell him not to worry about phone charges."
"Roger that."
As Adler stood, Grant said, "C'mon back when you're through. Need your input before Matt calls."
"You realize that we've gotta cancel dinner tonight with Jackie and Olivia — and cancel plans for tomorrow. That should get their adrenaline pumpin'!"
Grant shoved the phone at him. "Here! You make that call. I'll go give your dad our apologies."
"Chicken shit!" Adler chuckled.
"Whoa! I am not related to Chicken Shit … maybe Jack and definitely Bull, but not Chicken."
"Would ya please just go talk with dad."
"Grant, we'll be taking off in fifteen," Matt Garrett reported.
"That should put you here 1700 my time."
"That's what I calculated. Confirm we're to land at Tulsa International. There's an overflow airport at R. L. Jones, Jr."
"Tulsa International. Guess we'll be flying the Great Circle Route."
"Affirmative. Scott confirmed refueling at Elmendorf and Atsugi, with landing authorized. He's working on authorization from Diego Garcia and Cubi."