Page 1 of Building Courage
Prologue
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Standing at the stern of the Saudi-supplied dive ship, Tiniyn Albahr, or in English, Sea Dragon, Petty Officer Tucker Giles shook his head and cursed under his breath. “What a fucking mess.”
A petroleum-scented scum floated on the surface of the water directly over the site. The rising sun peeked over the sandy bank, refracting the oil into a black mother-of-pearl sheen. The lazy waves caused by passing craft pushed against the sunken trawler and the twisted metal just visible beneath the surface, trumpeting a sad wail almost painful to hear.
They had no business taking on this job. They were SEALs, not technical divers. But word had come down from on high, and the powers that be were hoping to bank some goodwill for later use with the Saudis.
He’d spent days mapping the wreck and the shelf on which it sat. If they could blow away enough of the shelf, the fishing trawler would tumble down into the depths and clear the way for the large oil tankers. Currently, the commercial fishing vessel was too shallow to keep one of the tankers from possibly snagging the wreck and causing an expensive snafu.
When the oil tanker had collided with the trawler, it had ripped a huge hole halfway through the smaller boat, killing three of the men on board and sinking her. They’d already recovered the dead—a gruesome task.
The oil tanker, many times the size of the trawler, had sustained little damage. After a two-day investigation to discover who was at fault, the tanker had gone on its way to empty its tanks.
The fishing vessel had settled on the shelf and become hooked on chunks of debris, nets, garbage, and even a car left behind by thousands of other ships.
To ensure both halves of the ship went down and took the debris with them, they’d have to set some charges along the hull to finish what the tanker had started and blow her in half, so the two pieces fell independently and dragged everything with them.
He’d dived some famous wrecks on the East Coast. It was dangerous business—a thrill—but dangerous all the same. Working in pitch black with only a dive light to guide the way, it was easy to get disoriented in the spaces inside a sunken ship and, once lost, run out of air and drown. Or a diver could get trapped beneath debris, entangled in electrical wiring…because once a ship was mortally wounded and sank, things never stayed in place. Everything inside the ship got churned up and twisted.
He’d be the one inside the vessel while the others had dealt with the exterior charges. Now, a dozen dangerous scenarios played through his mind. With an effort, he locked the thoughts down hard. He wouldn’t let what could happen psych him out.
The other team members had never dived and entered a sunken vessel like this. His past experience was probably why this dive had been dumped on them. With a sigh, he turned to go below.
The Saudis knew how to deck out their equipment and had the money to do it. He passed the recompression chamber mounted to the deck on the starboard side of the vessel. A refill station for the scuba tanks was secured in a storage bay on the port side. He’d already gone over the emergency medical equipment, and his team had done practice dives and mapped the wreck. They’d done everything they could to make this mission go smoothly.
Denotti, Swan, Squirrel, and Arrow sat at one of the mess tables eating a breakfast of eggs, dates, bread, cheese, and vegetables. It was all washed down with rich, dark coffee. Lieutenant Sam Harding sat at the next table on the right with Bullet and Beck.
He was confident in his team. They’d had some upheavals with Book’s jump accident two years ago and Squirrel’s unexpected transfer right after. But they were smoothing out and falling back into a familiar rhythm.
Rosenburg, aka “Squirrel,” was back, but Elijah Ashe “Book” would never be a SEAL again. These days, he drove a wheelchair while the rest of them were still taking down terrorists or training others to do it.
Lieutenant Sam Harding motioned for him to join them, and Tucker got a bottle of water from a glass-fronted fridge and wandered over to fill a plate and eat. Even though Harding was their team leader, he’d given Tucker full control over this mission since he had the most experience diving wrecks and was a certified dive specialist with experience in salvage diving. Harding was a good team leader and never let his ego get in the way of the mission.
“You’ve done an excellent job preparing us for this, Gilly. We have it down. Relax and eat. You’ll need the energy.” Sam said as he bit into a date and popped out the pit.
“I’ll relax when the mission is over, and we’re on the flight home, LT.” He dished up some of the same fare the others were eating and tore loose a chunk of the khubz, a flatbread baked fresh by the cook on board.
Harding turned the bottle of water in front of him before taking a drink. “I’ve told the others, but you were busy when the word came down. My father took the plea deal, so Morgan won’t have to testify.”
Tucker didn’t bother to tell Harding he already knew. He kept in touch with Owen Morgan because he felt the guy had gotten a raw deal witnessing a murder and being suspected of killing his wife all in the same timeframe. Morgan had transferred to another platoon for the fresh start he’d hoped to have with their team.
In his opinion, they’d failed the guy.
“I suppose it’s a relief for you to have that settled,” Tucker said.
“Yeah, for my mother and brothers. It hasn’t affected me. I’m here, and my life is separate from all that.”
Thomas Harding had murdered a guy in cold blood. Jesus! LT had been smart to cut him out of his life at an early age. It surely made the whole thing easier for him, knowing he’d done the right thing. But still…the guy was his dad. It had to hurt.
Tucker was glad he’d called his dad the night before, just as he did before every big mission. If something happened and he hadn’t called him…to let him know he was good, focused, and doing what he needed to do…. Well, he wanted no regret to linger for his family.
“What’s Moira working on these days?” Tucker asked to shut out the conversation in his head.
Harding’s expression lightened at the mention of his wife. “She’s working on a one-woman show at the gallery and doing her day job.”
“Good for her. She deserves the recognition. Got any pictures of the work?”