Mason Sinclair extended his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Captain Stevens. We’ve heard many stories about you.”
“Hope not bad, sir,” Grant smiled as he shook Sinclair’s hand.
“On the contrary,” Sinclair replied, as he put his lips to the glass then took a drink.
Sinclair had short, thick, yellow-blond hair, dappled with streaks of gray. He was 5’10”, about the same as Talbott. Sinclair wasn’t as trim as Talbott, though. A slight paunch was apparent beneath his suit, a suit that was black with thin gray stripes.
The three men were all about the same age, in their early sixties, although Young didn’t look his age. What they did have in common was the same expensive taste in clothes and shoes.
Grant tried to be nonchalant as he gave a quick glance down at his scuffed boondockers. He snapped his head up when he heard Young. “Captain, what can I get you to drink?”
“Coke.”
“With or without ice?”
“Ice, sir.”
As Young went to the bar, he said over his shoulder, “Why don’t you gentlemen have a seat. I’ll join you in a minute.”
The three men walked to the L-shaped, brown leather sofa situated about ten feet from the fireplace. Grant went around the oval, walnut coffee table, choosing to sit on the smaller section of the sofa.
“I’m sure Captain Stevens feels he’s been kept in the dark long enough,” Young said, handing Grant a tall glass of Coke along with a cocktail napkin.
Grant reached for both, then answered, “You’re right, sir, but I’ll be the first to admit that you sure as hell have my attention.”
Young sat on a matching leather chair at the end of the couch, facing Grant. “Will you continue to refer to each of us as ‘sir,’ Captain?” he asked with a brief smile.
Grant swallowed a mouthful of Coke. “That’s the way it’s been my whole career, sir. I might need some time to readjust.”
“Understand. And I hope you don’t mind, but we feel compelled to call you ‘Captain,’ okay?”
The right side of Grant’s mouth curved up. He nodded.
“Good. Now that that’s settled, suppose we begin.” Young sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “Captain, do you remember the officer in charge of your Team when you first became a SEAL?”
“Sure. Sure I do. That was Lieutenant… ” He stopped in mid-sentence, staring at Young. He put his drink on the coffee table, then stood up. Keeping his head down, he walked behind the sofa. He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets, while he tried to let the idea sink in.
Young glanced at Talbott and Sinclair before he called softly, “Captain?”
Grant asked with astonishment, “Lieutenant Garrett?! Is that our mutual friend, sir? Lieutenant Matt Garrett?”
“Yes, Captain. It is. But he’s no longer a lieutenant and no longer in the Navy.”
It didn’t happen often, but Grant Stevens was at a loss for words. He slowly came around the sofa, shaking his head. He sat down. “But I haven’t had any contact with him for… ”
Sinclair spoke. “Maybe not, but we have. The Garrett family has been close friends of all three of our families for years. Matt’s dad, Hugh, was in business with Jordan, Clark, and I. We made our fortunes together.” Sinclair finished his drink and put the glass on the table. “I’m sorry to say that Hugh passed away almost two years ago. He wanted to see this ‘project’ through to its fruition. It just didn’t happen for him. But Hugh planned ahead and before he died, he turned everything over to Matt. By the way, Matt wanted to be here, but he’s been out of the country handling business dealings.”
Grant shook his head slowly. “But what does any of that have to do with me? I still don’t know why I’m here.”
“We asked Matt to recommend someone to us. He recommended you.”
Grant started to say something. Young held up a hand. “Just a minute, Captain. Matt has followed your career because he said he saw something in you from the beginning. Something special. And apparently, he was right.” Young hesitated briefly before he continued. “We are also aware that you probably don’t feel comfortable talking about what happened in East Germany.”
Without realizing it, Grant winced, not from pain, just from the memory. His hands balled up into fists, as he asked, “What the hell does East Germany have to do with any of this?”
“Because, Captain, it tells us about the kind of man you are.” Jordan Young stood, then took a couple of steps closer to Grant. Grant looked up at him, waiting for an explanation. “Captain, everything here — house, property, vehicles — all were specifically built and purchased for your use.
“We realize that additional equipment will be needed.” Young gave a half smile. “We know you SEALs like those C-130s, so we’ve got one at an airfield not far from here, as well as a Gulfstream.
“Whatever else you want and need, we’re prepared to pay for it — including your salaries. All of this is completely at your disposal. Of course, all this is predicated on your accepting our proposition.”
Grant stood again, as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to make sense of Young’s statement. His brow furrowed. His confusion was obvious. “I just don’t understand! For my use?! At my disposal?!”
“Yes. At your disposal. You… and your team.”
A sudden thought struck Grant, making his temples throb. He backed away from Young. “I’m sorry, sir, but the word ‘mercenary’ isn’t in my vocabulary. It’s not my game. I hope you’re not expecting me… ”
“Please, Captain,” Sinclair said, patting the cushion. “Sit down.”
Grant automatically stood at parade rest. “If you don’t mind, sir, I think I’ll stand.”
Jordan Young now regretted prolonging the whole purpose of this meeting. Captain Stevens deserved better.
“Captain, we apologize. Sit down and we’ll explain fully.”
Grant reluctantly sat down. Resting his elbows on his knees, he squeezed one fist, then the other. His eyes never left Young’s.
Young took a sip of his drink, then wiped a napkin across his lips before he continued. “Let me start by telling you we all served in the military. We know the differences between military and civilian mindsets.
“About three years ago the four of us came to a conclusion. We needed to organize a group of men, men who could be trusted, who were experienced and competent in covert operations. We’d supply and finance everything needed for such operations.”
Grant finally broke in. “But why? What’s the point when we’ve got SEALs, Green Berets, Rang… ”
“That’s correct, Captain, but there are times when even those teams can’t get authorization for a mission. It’s always political. Somebody’s afraid of ‘stepping’ on someone’s toes. There are also those times when funding becomes an issue. You know those can be the roadblocks.”
“Yes, sir. I sure do.”
“Maybe this will help ease your mind. The government is completely aware of our organization.” He held up a hand. “Let me clarify that. A certain branch of our government is aware. We are completely legal. We have not, we will not break any laws.
“I will also tell you that we will be out of the picture once you make your decision. Your contact will handle everything from then on — missions, equipment, everything.”
“How did you know I’d retire? How did you get all this done in such a short timespan?”
Talbott wiped his mouth with a napkin. “We already had this property and the house. Once we learned of your retirement, all we had to do was make certain… modifications.”