SEAL Team 13 (SEAL Team 13 series) by Evan Currie Read Free Book Online Page B

can’t talk about that, Sal,” Leland said with an easy smile, then shrugged. “Besides, the oil companies use their own security for most things. I’ve only heard what you have.”
    “There’s been talk about shutting down some of the wells.”
    “Unless they’re running dry, I don’t expect that’ll happen. Relax, Sal, things will be just fine,” Leland said reassuringly.
    He knew that in a small town like Barrow anything became big news quickly—it was just the way of things. Part of his job was to keep people from blowing every little hiccup out of proportion, scaring the pants off the folks he had to look after.
    “Well I heard—” Sally began, only to be shut up midsentence when a scream sounded from down the street.
    Leland spun in place, his eyes seeking out the source of the noise, and froze for an instant when he spotted the figure stumbling down the street.
    “Oh my Lord…,” Sally trailed off, hand coming to her mouth.
    Leland rushed around the front of his Tahoe, approaching the man, “Hey there, partner, you look mighty wet, and I’ve got blankets back in the truck, so…”
    He paused, realizing that it wasn’t water coating the man’s body. Just then, the figure began to collapse. Leland lunged in, caught him, and looked down into a face he suddenly recognized.
    “Mitch?” He blinked. “Jesus, man, what happened to you?”
    Mitch Sanders, one of the local oil workers, looked up at him with a face coated in blood. “They’re coming this way.”
    Then he slumped in Leland’s arms, who staggered slightly as he started to drag him back to the Chevy.

CHAPTER

    CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
    The men were shifting slightly in their seats, like they couldn’t get comfortable in their own skin. Hawk could sympathize, as he felt that same itch whenever he was in a new place. It was a combination of things, really. The training they’d all received from their government, a sort of instilled paranoia that kept them alive in the field, compounded by the realization that they were always, always, in the field.
    “These are the boys I was able to shake loose, Hawk,” Rankin said from where he was leaning against the wall in the corner. “I might be able to get a few more in a couple weeks, when they come off mission.”
    Hawk Masters nodded, accepting that. Few military people who’d crossed the veil lived as he did—most tended to throw themselves against more understandable problems until those “easier” things laid them out on a slab somewhere. Especially operators.
    These five men were an example of that, from what he’d read in their files.
    Jack Nelson. Career lieutenant, if Hawk was reading the file right. His credentials were stellar, but he’d die on a mission long before he was considered for promotion. Sniper school, Ranger tabbed, spent a year sunning with the Brits’ Special Boat Service. Commendations up the yin and down the yang.
    But Hawk could read between the lines as well as any military man. Nelson had problems with authority, stemming from a disastrous mission three years ago. Sole survivor. Since then, he’d become a “less than exemplary” officer. Hawk wondered what he’d done to earn that comment, since it had to be pretty bad, but not quite bad enough to toss him out on his ass.
    Robbie Keyz was next. It was a miracle he wasn’t dead already, given the missions he’d been sent on over the last five years. When he was out of the field, however, his record read like a squad leader’s nightmare. Drunk and disorderly, insulting superior officers, reckless behavior—the list went on and on. The real miracle was that his superiors hadn’t put a bullet in the petty officer themselves. There weren’t too many officers in the navy, or out of it, who were in love with the idea of a demolition specialist who genuinely seemed to be insane.
    Especially not one as good as “Keyz to the City.” Hawk had heard about some of the man’s more unorthodox mission solutions,