Grant pulled a chair from under the table. "Have a seat."
As Mitchell sat down, he laid his ball cap in his lap. "Mind if I ask you something, sir?"
"Shoot."
"Have you had much chance to use your Russian, I mean, like, in Russia?"
"Between you and me, right?"
"Roger that, sir!"
"Da," Grant responded with a half grin. The young man simply nodded in understanding.
As Grant held the paper, he asked, "Have we … ever met? Maybe it was in San Diego."
"No, sir. Not that I can remember. And this is my first trip to the East Coast." The right side of his mouth curved up. "Before this, the farthest east I ever got was Great Lakes."
"Bet you sure as hell enjoyed your time at the DLI in Monterey after that!" (Defense Language Institute)
"Yes, sir! Quite a change."
"Let's get started. Can you tell me why you wanted to come here?"
"Well, sir, I'm due for PCS soon (Permanent Change of Station), and I've put in my request to attend OCS (Officer Candidate School) for the LDO Program (Limited Duty Officer, not requiring a college degree.) Whether that works out or not, I'd like to become a SEAL. But I want to give myself a 'leg up' and prepare myself the best way I can." He lowered his voice, and gave his head a slight shake. "I don't take failure very well, sir. It's not an option for me."
"We all feel the same, Luke." Grant rocked his chair back. "If you do become an officer, and go to BUD/S, you'll still be crawling around in the mud, freezing your ass off in the ocean, receiving the same miserable treatment as everyone else. You do realize that, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, sir! That's the way it has to be."
Grant smiled, while inwardly thinking, Joe was right.
"One more thing, sir. I… I heard about you and your Team. My impression was that it was more than just scuttlebutt, sir."
Grant couldn't hold back a grin. "Curiosity brought you across the country?"
"Oh, no, sir!"
"Look, how about we finish up here, and then maybe we can have a one-on-one another time."
"I'd like that, sir."
Grant perused the form. "I see that you're a California boy."
"Yes, sir. I was born in San Pablo. My mom and I lived there until I was about three, then she married my step-dad, who legally adopted me."
Grant tapped the paper with his pencil as he scanned the application form more closely, looking for a date of birth, then the next of kin information. Something caught his attention. Mother: Angie Mitchell. Angie? He snapped his head up, staring at the young man. Angie! Holy shit! It can't be. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but where was your mom from?"
"Oh, she was raised in Jenner. That's about 75 miles north of San Francisco, near the Russian River. Her maiden name was 'Collins' if that means anything. Did you know her?!"
Grant's heart thumped against his chest. A cold sweat formed on his brow. He nonchalantly swiped it away. How the hell do you answer that, Stevens?! He couldn't. Instead, he just gave the slightest shake of his head, then continued. "How 'bout we get back on track. Looks like you've done quite a bit of traveling, even before you joined up."
Mitchell had noticed Grant's change of expression, and wondered why … and why he didn't reply to the question. He cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. My dad was a project manager, so we'd move every four years or so."
"You've lived in Japan and South Korea."
"Yes, sir. South Korea was his last assignment before we moved back to California, just before I started high school."
Grant perused the paper. "Your GPA and SAT scores were outstanding. Didn't you consider going to college?"
Mitchell shrugged his shoulders. "Hard to say why I didn't, sir, except something inside me made me want to join the Navy asap."
"You know, you had a good chance of being accepted into the Academy."
"You're probably right, sir, but at the time, I think my decision was the right one for me."
Grant's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "Something tells me your mom didn't want you to join, and you signed up before telling her, right?"
Mitchell couldn't hide his surprise. "How … how'd you know, sir?!"
"You're an intelligent young man, Luke. I guess it was a reasonable explanation for passing up college." Mitchell gave an almost imperceptible nod. Grant thought it was time to move on. "I understand. I salute you for following your dream."
"Thank you, sir. If it's all right, I have another question for you." Grant nodded. "I know you'll be running this program for a while. I'd love to be part of your teams. If I don't make it through BUD/S, and when my tour is up, do you think I can come back — as long as I do okay here?"
"I have a feeling you'll do fine here and in BUD/S. But either way, you contact me." Grant silently wondered whether that was a wise response — if his assumption proved to be correct.
"Thank you, sir!"
Grant stood, then offered his hand. "This has been a very … uh, enlightening interview, Luke."
Mitchell's grasp was strong as he shook Grant's hand. "For me too, sir."
"You'd better get some rest. Tomorrow we'll start putting you through your paces."
"I'm looking forward to it, sir! And spaseeba!"
Mitchell turned to leave, when Grant said, "Tell Lieutenant Adler I'd like to see him."
"Yes, sir." Mitchell left.
Grant's shoulders went slack. He still couldn't believe it. He walked into the living room, and went to the front window. Resting his palms against the glass, he lowered his head, as his mind flashed back in time. He and Angie Collins went through high school together. Unofficially engaged during their senior year, they planned to marry after he graduated from college. Then Grant received his final letter of acceptance into the Naval Academy. She voiced her disappointment after counting on him attending UC at Berkley or Stanford. He tried persuading her to make the move with him, but she refused because a life in the military was unacceptable to her. She broke off the relationship.
Sure, he had some guilt, but deep inside him, he new the Navy was his future. It was as if he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, living a Navy life. Once he received his Letter of Assurance, he would have been foolish to pass up an opportunity to attend the U.S. Naval Academy.
He hardly heard the door open and close, as Adler walked into the room. "Well, what'd you think about that kid?" Grant remained motionless and silent. Adler walked closer, and tapped his shoulder. "What's wrong?" Grant finally turned around. In all the years they'd known one another, it was the first time Adler had ever seen him so visibly shaken. "What the hell's wrong?!"
"Christ, Joe! Luke. He's … I think he's my kid."
Adler's eyes went wide, as he stepped back. His rugged face showed obvious surprise. "Say what?! Your kid?! How do ya know?! Did he tell you that?!"
Grant shook his head, as he slowly walked to the couch and sank down on it. Sitting there, with his head lowered, he continuously rubbed his hands along his temples, as he murmured, "Nobody ever told me. Over 20 years, I never knew."
Adler sat on the coffee table in front of him. "Tell me! How do you know?!"
"The next of kin named on his application was his mother, Angie Mitchell."
"Yeah. I saw that. So?"
Grant proceeded to repeat his conversation with Luke, then his relationship with Angie.
"Jesus, Skipper."
The two sat in silence for several minutes, until Adler finally said, "But you know, there was something familiar about him. Now it makes sense. He does kinda resemble you, and he's got your build, mannerisms, even his voice sounds like yours! Think about how he answered your questions. Just about everything about him is—you!" Grant remained quiet. Adler realized what he'd just said didn't really matter for the time being. "Look, I can't begin to imagine what you're feeling, but you've gotta admit, he seems like a good kid. He's got his head on straight, and he knows what he wants."