Ocean City HQ

The Ocean City shore abounded with hefty waves creating a merge of crashing roars as the white foam spumed its way up the sand. Each wave moved steadily and was unstoppable in its progression to go as far as it could over the peninsular land mass that was Ocean City, Maryland. The tide was relentlessly coming in. Dakin was in knee-length Navy issue shorts and a “Go Navy” sweat shirt. He was shoeless. Dakin loved to walk at the water’s edge where the fine sand was firm and packed. He’d alternate jogging, running, and slow down to a meditation walk. It gave him a serene time to think and process what Captain Spada had told him.

Spada had called a meeting of the select SEAL Teams now dealing with internal US Islamic extremists. “Wilson, your initial assignments have been to take out single jihad operatives. You’ll have one or two more of those targets. In the very near future the twelve SEAL operatives like yourself, will by necessity incorporate additional SEALs for missions focusing on jihad cells here in the states. There will soon come a time when we’ll form such Teams for whole cell takedowns. These teams will be comprised of sufficient SEALS with tactical experience from Middle East missions. The Navy SEALs you’ve already met will, like you, be a lead Team officer.”

Dakin listened with eager anticipation. He knew what was coming next. The verbiage was almost like his original letter to the Navy SEAL Bureau of Operations suggesting formation of a domestic SEAL division.

“As you and a few of your comrades have pointed out, the structure of the cells infiltrating our country are stereotype al Qaeda with slight modifications for the Taliban and ISIS.” Spada gulped some black coffee.

Dakin lightly touched his clear plastic bottle of spring water and moved it around in both hands. “The cells are not large from what we gleaned from our Middle East interrogations, sir.”

“Some go as high as twelve imported terrorists trained in the field, and most have been under fire.” Spada leaned forward to touch both elbows on his desktop. “When we activate you for a cell strike, we’ll have picked out the rest of your team. You’ll have two days with them to confirm their tactical readiness.”

“And while I’m eagerly anticipating such assignments, I hope I’ll be more than writing my novel and worrying about suspicious civilians like Virginia Adams.”

Captain Spada sat back and pulled a folder from his right lower desk file drawer. “I’m glad you brought her up. One thing we’ve absolutely ascertained is that all terrorists practice their religion. They do not fake being Christians and never Jews. As you know only two percent of Muslims are of the terrorist ilk. However, some may have relatives who, although not crossing the line to jihad practitioners, might provide assistance. This might be due to a sense of family loyalty or overt intimidation with non-compliance by such a terrorist suggesting harm might come to a family member still living in the Middle East.”

“And you’re telling me this because you think Ginny Adams could be one of those jihad agents aiding the Islamic extremists here in the US?”

Spada smiled. “I’m glad I got you thinking like that. But no, your Virginia Adams is still a mystery. So far we can’t find any link between her and terrorist infiltration.” He moved forward again opening Adams’ file. “We’ve traced her to Miami from a change of driver’s license. The name on the driver’s license was Virginia Adams but we’re sure it’s an alias. Right now we have no former Miami address for Ms. Adams. What’s more, the Florida driver’s license was manufactured not issued.”

Dakin pondered this information. “Captain, she must be hiding, running from something or someone. The fact that she was able to get expertly forged identification changes and documents could mean two things. One, Ginny Adams is an agent of some kind from another country. Or two, she’s hiding a nefarious background and doesn’t want to be found out.”

Spada slapped his hand on Adams’ file. “Exactly, Wilson, and today the information we have leans away from her being a foreign agent.”

“What should I do on my end?” Dakin shifted his weight in his uncomfortable chair.

“Let’s continue to probe Virginal Adams. You must always keep your mission assignments primary and in focus. Your life depends on it. If we find any connection with what our Navy SEALs are doing with embedded terrorists and Adams, we’ll get in touch with you immediately. When you get back to Ocean City you can continue to cultivate a platonic friendship. Any more hints at where she came from or who she really is, you feed to us for processing.”