The Recruiter (A Thriller) Page 2

  He sees it and goes past, taking a parking spot at the other end of the lot that affords him privacy and an unobstructed view of the Chevy. He puts his car in park and shuts it off. The engine ticks.

  Samuel turns the ignition far enough to work the electrical systems, and he rolls down the driver’s side window.

  A gust of cool ocean air invades the car’s space, and Samuel breathes deeply.

  Any thoughts of turning back are gone now.

  From beneath the front seat of the Taurus, Samuel pulls a nylon scabbard. It’s big, nearly a foot long, and heavy, weighing a couple of pounds. Samuel holds it tenderly before popping the clasp and sliding out the knife.

  Someone shouts, and Samuel glances up. A group of sailors crosses the parking lot at the end opposite from Samuel. They won’t see him.

  Samuel turns his attention back to the knife. It glistens in the moonlight, and he is tempted to test the edge, but he doesn’t—he knows it’s razor sharp. He worked with it into the small hours of the morning last night to get it so that it would cut like a razor.

  He slides the knife back into the scabbard and stows it beneath the seat. Samuel glances at the Chevy, sees it sitting, quietly waiting for its owner to return.

  At the thought of the truck’s owner, Samuel instantly begins going over his plan one more time. Has he forgotten anything? Is there some minor flaw that he’ll realize at this late moment which will cause him to abort? The machinations go through his mind quickly. He looks at it from every conceivable angle. There are places things can go wrong, definitely. But if things fall into place, he is prepared to move.

  It is a good plan. It is the tactical part that pleases him the most. The other part, the slaking of his thirst for revenge, is just an added bonus.

  That’s what he tells himself.

  But he knows it isn’t true.

  The fact is he’s been shit on his whole life. Never really given a fair break. The cards have always been stacked against him. So he retreated. He withdrew. Told himself that he really didn’t want the things everyone else wanted. He lived a life of denial. Because he was forced to.

  But then they took the one thing that he had allowed himself to desire. The one thing he truly wanted all his life.

  It reminded of the times when his father used to…

  Stop!

  This wasn’t about the old man.

  This was about him. Samuel.

  And the bastard who had hounded him from BUD/S training.

  Nevens.

  Four

  It is Hell Week, and his strength is gone. Not ebbing. Not dissipating. It is gone.

  His muscles have gone from rock hard to soft rubber. He is surprised that they even have the strength to hold his bones together. He is exhausted to the core of his being. Everything he sees, hears, and feels is distorted by bone-numbing fatigue. He has never been this tired.

  Samuel figures he has run at least a hundred miles. He’s been in the water so long that he can’t remember not being wet. And cold. The cold is the worst. He can’t remember the last time he was warm.

  The recruits have been divided into six-man boat crews. Samuel’s crew is one of the worst and has been singled out by BUD/S instructor Nevens, a narrow-waisted, broad-shouldered man, whose face has taken on a nightmarish quality to Samuel. Like the killer who wears the hockey mask in the slasher movies.

  The boat teams have been ordered to carry their boats up and down a series of hills. Samuel is in agony. The boat feels as if it’s on his shoulders alone. He grits his teeth. The burning in his shoulders and chest is intense. There is yelling, and Samuel pumps his legs as they try to climb the hill. The man in front of Samuel trips and falls. The boat sags perilously before the recruit scrambles back to his feet.

  Ahead, the other boat crews have made it. Samuel and his team cajole the boat up the hill and over.

  They are the last group over the hill.

  Before they can rest, BUD/S instructor Nevens is in their faces. Screaming at them. Calling them names. Quitters. Losers. Pussies.

  In the back, Samuel flinches.

  His father used to call him a pussy.

  And then Nevens is in Samuel’s face. Telling him to quit, that he doesn’t belong out here. Spittle stings Samuel’s cheeks. Nevens tells him to go ring the bell. He turns Samuel’s head so that he can see the bell sitting on its wooden platform.

  Waiting to be rung.

  Samuel turns his head and stares straight ahead, but doesn’t really see. He senses Nevens there. He can make out the man’s hatchet face, the crew cut, the blazing eyes.

  For a brief moment, Samuel sees his father yelling at him. Cursing him. Beating him.

  And then Nevens is gone.

  Samuel’s boat crew is put on Nevens’ goon squad: meaning by finishing last they are given extra running and pushups to do while the other boat crews rest.

  Samuel knows that if they continue to be on the goon squad, they’ll never make it through Hell Week.

  He does his pushups. Sand is in his mouth, and he grinds it between his teeth. His jaws are clacking from the cold.

  Nevens is wrong. He’s got the fire, he’s got the heart. And right now, that flame is being molded into a pure, cold hatred for Nevens.

  Samuel’s got the heart.

  He wonders, does Nevens?

  Five

  It is nearly two in the morning when Samuel hears the sound of a woman’s high-pitched laugh. He glances in the direction of The Outer Bank’s front door and sees what he has been looking for.

  BUD/S Instructor Nevens—Larry to his friends—is walking out of the bar with his arm around a big-haired blonde. Samuel’s heart quickens. He’s seen it before; the last three weekends, in fact, Nevens has come to this bar and picked up one of the local floozies. They’re easy pickings to him, Samuel thinks, just like the SEAL recruits.

  Samuel watches Nevens open the door for the blonde. When he steps back to let her by, she puts her arms around his neck, and they kiss. Nevens grinds his pelvis into her.

  Perfect, Samuel thinks. He’ll be good and distracted.

  The Chevy starts up, and Samuel follows the little black truck out of the parking lot, its SEAL bumper sticker mocking him every inch of the way. Fuck you, Samuel says to the bumper sticker.

  The lights of the strip fade in Samuel’s rearview mirror as Nevens takes Fourth Street toward the beach. It’s a route familiar to Samuel, as he’s followed Nevens here twice before. Samuel has to be careful to hang back far enough so Nevens doesn’t spot him. Samuel knows that Nevens has most likely had a lot to drink. In a previous reconnaissance mission, Samuel watched the BUD/S instructor toss down ten beers in a little over an hour and a half. But Samuel knows that he still has to be careful.

  Samuel is feeling good. He’s got it back together. It was natural, he tells himself, to feel a little nervous taking that first step. But now he’s had time to adjust, to let the realization sink in that he is now operational. And he’s not dead tired now. He hasn’t been beaten into submission by fatigue and extreme cold.

  How will Nevens handle him now?

  Nearly a half mile ahead, Nevens turns onto the small two-track that Samuel knows he favors. This is bimbo-fucking territory. Where Nevens chooses to deflower his plenty-times-deflowered women.

  Samuel casually drives past the entrance to the beach without even bothering to look. He knows what he would see: Nevens and the blonde making out in the front seat of the truck, then breaking free, and Nevens grabbing the blanket from behind the truck’s bench seat along with a stash of beer or a bottle of booze.

  Samuel pulls ahead into the parking lot of a strip mall that houses a grocery store, drug store, real estate office, and a dentist’s office. There are enough cars in the parking lot, especially near the grocery store, that no one will remember seeing a white Ford Taurus.

  Samuel parks the car, retrieves the knife, and walks across the street to the sidewalk that runs parallel to the beach. There is a slo
pe of sand with tall grass that hides the beach from the road. When there is no traffic coming from either direction, and when he is beyond visibility of anyone in the parking lot, Samuel scrambles over the rise and scurries to the bottom.

  He pauses, lets his eyes adjust to the darkness, takes in the reflection of the moon off the ocean. It’s a bit choppy out there tonight, a stiff wind coming in from the water.

  Samuel relishes the moist air. He’s always loved the ocean, the water.

  He takes the knife from its scabbard and slips the scabbard onto his belt, pushing it toward the back so it will be out of the way.

  He has chosen this area carefully. There is another small rise in the sand, and on the other side of that will be Nevens. Samuel remembers watching Nevens fuck a cocktail waitress in the same spot last weekend. She was loud, a screamer. And Samuel remembers with revulsion the sight of Nevens’ bare ass, even more pale in the moonlight, on top of the woman, moving in a slow rhythm.

  Now, Samuel creeps toward the same bluff. He moves softly, not sure which way Nevens will be facing. The last two times, Nevens was facing away from the ocean, as they start on their backs looking toward the ocean, and then when he climbs on top, he’s facing the other way.

  Samuel crawls toward the top of the small bluff and now he can hear them. The woman is moaning. There is a grunting noise, and the sound of a metal can hitting another metal can. Nevens, polishing off another beer, Samuel thinks.

  At last, he reaches the top and peeks through the long grass. The woman and Nevens are both kneeling, Nevens behind her, both facing the ocean.

  Samuel slowly sinks back down and works his way around the bluff. He must approach Nevens from behind as well.

  It takes him nearly ten minutes to get into position. All the while, Nevens’ thrusting has never stopped. That’s good, Samuel thinks. He’s helping cover any noises I make.

  Samuel pauses at the top of the bluff.

  There is only one way to accomplish this.

  Quickly, and without hesitation.

  His knife is in his hand. His heart is beating wildly. His mouth is dry. There is a pounding in his head, and pain radiates from a spot above his right eye. He absentmindedly rubs it.

  He has to do it. With Nevens out of the way, he’ll make it through BUD/S the next time. Nevens hated him. Had it in for him.

  Samuel remembers what his father did to him, and how afterward, he vowed he would never let another man do that. And Nevens had. He’d humiliated Samuel. Demeaned him. Stopped him from achieving the thing most precious to Samuel: his dream of becoming a Navy SEAL.

  And now Nevens was going to die for it.

  Samuel starts forward with his knife gleaming in the moonlight.

  Six

  He is sitting in the water. His teeth are chattering. His body is shaking. He has never been this cold in his life. It feels as if all of the heat has been sucked from his body and Freon poured into his guts. His head spins, and he is completely disoriented.

  The waves come with maddening regularity, like big roundhouse punches that are impossible to avoid. They hit him in the face, and the last bits of his spirit are washed away with each onslaught.

  He no longer remembers who he is, where he is, or why he is sitting in frigid water with a body that is screaming for the abuse to stop. His arms are linked with other recruits, the ones who have steadfastly refused to quit. He doesn’t know why they are still here. He only knows that his strength is gone, and that his mind is following.

  Samuel is a ghost. His face is pale. His jaw hangs open. The doctors periodically check him for shock.

  He sits in the water because he cannot move. He couldn’t get up if he wanted to. They all sit and wait, their heads bowed as if in penance, the waves slapping them with impunity.

  Water goes up Samuel’s nose. It makes him gag and cough.

  Nevens hears him.

  Suddenly, Nevens is in Samuel’s face. “You! Get the water out of your mouth. It’s not a cock or your mommy’s tit, boy!” Through half-lidded eyes, Samuel can make out the vague shape and color of Nevens’ face. Samuel is too fatigued to be furious. He only senses the anger. The hatred.

  His mother did protect him, and to hear Nevens talk about her…

  Suddenly, Samuel’s arms fall free of the men next to him, and he leans forward just as a wave crashes into him. He topples over and briefly goes underwater. When he comes up, Nevens is in his face, yelling at him, calling him more names. Samuel hears a whistle, and the others are getting out of the water, but Nevens is telling Samuel that he has made a goon squad of one and that now he, Samuel, must run.

  Nevens yells and suddenly Samuel is in front of the bell. He doesn’t know if he crawled there or if Nevens dragged him. But he is there, and his hand is on the rope. His head is pounding and he hears voices. His father’s. His mother’s. The other recruits telling him not to ring the bell. But Nevens voice is the loudest. It’s telling him he’s a quitter, a weakling who doesn’t have the guts to be a Navy SEAL.

  And then Samuel rings the bell.

  When the medics carry him from the beach and after he has been placed in a warm bed to sleep, Samuel thinks the clanging of the bell was the actual sound of his soul shattering.

  Seven

  Just as Samuel starts forward, Nevens groans and shifts position. Samuel drops back down into the grass and waits, his heart threatening to beat its way out of his chest. Sweat is exploding from his body. His stomach is clenched like a fist.

  The woman rolls onto her back and pulls Nevens toward her. The two lay together as Samuel waits. When he is sure he hears the sound of soft, alcohol-induced snoring, he starts forward.

  The waves crash softly on the beach, and Samuel makes no sound as he walks forward. His head is throbbing, and his hand goes to the spot above his right eye. He freezes for just a moment, and the sheer enormity of what he’s about to do washes over him, like one of the ice-cold waves during Hell Week.

  He is moving quickly toward Nevens, his knife out, his left hand free, ready to grab Nevens’ head, pull it back, and use the knife to slit his throat. But in his approach, he kicks a small dash of sand forward, and it sprinkles Nevens’ forehead.

  Samuel watches in disbelief as Nevens, even though he’s drunk and in a post-sex slumber, reacts with astonishing speed.

  Nevens is almost on his feet when Samuel thrusts the knife forward. Samuel’s mind screams that Nevens can’t be moving this fast, that this wasn’t supposed to be how it would go. And a part of Samuel’s mind wonders if this will be the final failure, if Nevens hounding him out of Navy SEAL training was the second-to-last straw. That maybe Nevens and the rest of them were right—that Samuel doesn’t have what it takes to be a SEAL.

  But Samuel pays that voice no mind. He is on Nevens, ramming the knife into him. He pulls out the knife and thrusts it in again. He’s got an arm around the instructor and rips the knife up. Nevens screams, and they both fall over the woman, who is struggling to get to her feet.

  Before Samuel knows what’s happening, Nevens is on top of him, throwing punches of incredible force. Samuel feels pain in his ribs.

  How can this be? Samuel wonders. He springs to his feet and rushes Nevens, who sidesteps him and lands a vicious karate chop on his forearm. The knife drops into the sand.

  Both men freeze.

  The knife seems to glow; a fractured image of the moon dances along the blade’s edge.

  And then they dive for the knife. Nevens gets to it first, but Samuel grabs Nevens’ hand, and they roll on the sand, fighting for position.

  With one great heave, Nevens rips the knife away from Samuel and slashes wildly. The tip of the knife catches Samuel on the side, and he feels a flicker of pain. Nevens comes toward him.

  “You,” Nevens says. His eyes are shining brightly. Too brightly, Samuel thinks. He looks at Nevens’ body, sees the blood pumping from his chest where Samuel opened several deep gashes.

  Samuel crouches, warily circles Neve
ns.

  “Why?” Nevens asks.

  Samuel can see the light starting to go out of Nevens’ eyes.

  “Because I’m going to be a SEAL.”

  The knife begins to lower and Samuel can see Nevens’ legs sway. Nevens laughs and then falls forward.

  Samuel waits, thinking it’s a trick, and only then does he realize that the woman is screaming. Her shrill voice spurs him into action. He pounces on Nevens, rips the knife from his hand, and slits his throat.

  The woman is sobbing now, on her knees. Samuel advances on her. He puts down the knife, takes her long hair, and bunches it around his fist. She flails her arms at him uselessly. She is sobbing when Samuel grabs her jaw with his other hand and twists his body with all of his strength. The woman’s neck breaks with the sound of a muted snap.

  The water is cold, and it reminds Samuel of Hell Week. But tonight it doesn’t bother him. He welcomes it. He has his arm around the blonde and is pulling her out to sea, out to the cross rip that starts a few hundred yards from shore. The blood is washed from Samuel’s clothes, and he swims with power.

  At last, he feels the tug of the current, and he lets go of the blonde. He treads water, fighting the current until he sees that she is being taken out to sea. He then turns and kicks hard for the shore, breaking through the current after several minutes of hard swimming.

  It has taken him farther down the shore from where Nevens’ corpse is, but he makes it back, and emerges from the water reborn. It has cleansed him. His breathing is normal, and he feels strong. Powerful. Like a God.

  Samuel drags Nevens to the blanket where Nevens and the blonde had been having sex. Samuel looks down at the fallen BUD/S instructor. The pride, the pieces of his soul, all re-forming inside him.

  The pain in his head has subsided.

  He has killed a Navy SEAL. And now, when he goes back to BUD/S training in eighteen months, there will be no Instructor Nevens to defeat him.