CHAPTER NINE

Chipper touched down with the chopper at the private airstrip outside of San Francisco. He loved nothing more than flying these amazing men and women around the country, sometimes around the world.

"I'll be right here when you get back, boys. But if you need me to, I can land on that damn carrier. Just make sure they don't shoot me out of the sky."

"We'll be alright, Chipper. Take a break and grab some chowder in a sourdough bowl," smirked Patrick.

"I might just do that," he grinned.

The boys took a taxi to Oakland and then to the shipyards. Christopher and Patrick boarded the Yosemite under the pretense of visiting with the SEAL team on board. Both men were in their uniforms, the trident gleaming on their breasts. C Jordan and P Jordan. Identical in every way. It didn't go without notice as they walked down the halls, all eyes turning to stare at the extremely tall men, blonde hair with just hints of a reddish color. Both men made sure that the females could see their wedding rings.

"Captain, nice to see you, sir," said Christopher.

"Bullshit, but it's nice to see you, too," he smirked, shaking hands with both men. "I've gathered the team in the captain's mess. I told them that you two might be rejoining this team, and one of you might be the new commander."

"How did they react?" asked Patrick.

"They wanted to know what happened to Quinn. At least, most of them wanted to know. They asked if he was coming back, and one of them said it wouldn't matter. Can't say I like that boy much."

"Wouldn't matter? What did he mean by that?" he asked.

"Don't know. That's your job. But if any of those guys are dirty, I want them off my boat. Clear?"

"Clear," said the men in unison.

They followed the captain to the mess and walked inside, ducking nearly in half to get through the doorway. As they stood, the men stared at them wide-eyed. Looking around the room, they knew the faces. The men were in casual attire, no uniforms, so no names. But they knew. They'd seen their photos and knew the names of every last man there. The brothers set their cell phones on the table, one of the men sliding his a little to make room.

"Good afternoon," said Patrick. The men stood, saluting, and they waved them off. "No salutes. We're here informally to check on the team."

"Where is Quinn?" asked Johnson.

"He's getting better every day, from what we hear. We're just trying to ensure that everything continues as needed with his team." William squirmed, and Christopher gave his brother a look.

"Something you want to say?" he asked the man.

"Uh, no. No, sir. I was just thinking that, usually, they would put one of us in charge. Just wondering why they didn't do that." The brothers noticed the immediate glares of the other men on the team. They all knew something was wrong and didn't like it one bit.

"Fuck that, William," said Johnson. "He's not dead. He's just injured and healing. What the hell is your problem? Quinn is the best commander I've ever had. Asshole is always looking for his next opportunity."

"Shut up!" yelled the other man. "Just because I want to better myself, improve myself, doesn't mean I'm an asshole. Maybe you enjoy being on a team with an inferior leader, but I don't." The entire team stood, leaning toward the man.

"You want to repeat that?" asked Christopher. William looked up at him, not saying a word. "Come on. You have something you want to say, say it. I don't appreciate subterfuge. Spit that shit out. How was Master Chief Quinn an unfit leader?"

The man said nothing, taking his seat once again as his teammates did the same. They glared at him, then looked at the identical men in front of them.

"Let me warn you that if you spew allegations of unfit for duty at a man like Master Chief Quinn again, it will not end well for you," said Patrick. "Just because you've got your dick hard to become a team leader doesn't mean it will happen."

"He was the best leader we've ever had," said Johnson. "I've never met a man that cared more for his teammates, his team, than Quinn. I would follow him anywhere, and I would ask to be removed from duty if I had to answer to William."

"I agree," said a man named Dieter. "He was compassionate, smart, instinctive, and the best fucking athlete of any of us. I'd want him at my back any day."

The two brothers nodded, then looked toward William who said nothing, looking down at his folded hands.

"You still have the same opinion?" asked Patrick.

"Doesn't matter," he said, grinning at the other men. "Doesn't matter shit to me."

Christopher slammed his fists onto the table, the rumble making everyone in the hallways stop and stare, then move on. The men at the table sat back, knowing where his anger was placed.

"Seems to me you should care. You should care a fuck lot about who your commander is, how he leads, what he does. Because it affects every last one of you and whether or not you stay alive. I know Master Chief Quinn. I know that he's one of the best SEALs in the teams. So, knowing that, I have to wonder what the fuck is wrong with you."

There was an eerie silence in the room, the sounds of engines and machines running in the carrier. No one said a word, staring at the lone man of dissent.

"I need to take a leak. Sir." He stood, staring up at Patrick and Christopher, looking from one to the next as if to try and see some difference. There was none.

"Fine. Go take a leak," said Christopher. "Don't forget to wash your hands."

William left the room, and the twins turned to stare at the others. Patrick gently closed the door to keep prying ears and eyes away from them.

"Someone want to tell us what that was all about?" he asked.

"Master Chief has been watching William for a while now. We all think he's got some shit happening that could be affecting us. Dude had money problems, women problems, kid problems. He's got it all. I don't give a shit about any of that, but Quinn felt sure that he was dirty, and we agree."

"Baby mama drama?" asked Patrick.

"Oh, hell yeah. Three women, four kids, never married. He bought a brand-new Land Rover, fully loaded. Do you know how much that costs?"

"I know," said Christopher, frowning at his brother.

"Not just that, he moved from a shitty apartment off-base to a four-bedroom ranch. Dude is flush with cash all of a sudden. They were going to send in IA, but Quinn wouldn't let them. Said he'd handle it himself, and I think he was."

"Was there anything strange about what went down in North Korea? Any reason to believe he was involved?"

"Definitely," said Dieter. "When the North Koreans were coming toward us, William wanted us to split up. He wanted him and Quinn to go one way, the rest of us another. Quinn refused, sending all of us into hiding and to the pickup point."

"What did William say?" asked Christopher.

"Nothing. He did send a message to someone on his phone, but no clue who. When I asked him about it, he said it was none of my fucking business and that it was personal." Patrick tapped his comms.

"Got it. Checking now."

"When they said he was captured, we all lost our shit. Wanted to go back for him. But William said it was part of the deal. That we all knew it might happen, and we needed to move on. I'm telling you, that fucking dude is dirty, and I hate to say that about a teammate," said Dieter.

"Is master chief really okay?" asked Johnson.

"He's great. Truly. He'll be back at it in no time. First, we have to find out who sold you boys out in North Korea," said Patrick.

"Well, I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count," said Johnson. There was a knock at the door, and Christopher opened it to find one of the captain's aides.

"Sir? Captain said to let you know that your cuckoo bird just flew away."

"What?" frowned Patrick.

"William, sir. He grabbed a bag from his rack and took off. Left the ship and got in a taxi. Do you want me to notify the MPs, sir?"

"No," said Patrick. "No. We'll find him."

"Yes, sir." The man left, Patrick and Christopher staring at one another. Shit. Now, they had their primary suspect on the run.

"Sirs, would you like us to find him?" asked Johnson. "I'd be more than happy to. Believe me." The brothers smirked at them, giving a little chuckle.

"Actually, boys, William doesn't know it, but while he was sitting here, my phone linked to his, giving our team access to everything on it. We know exactly where he's going." The men stared at the twins, then at one another. It suddenly all clicked for them. All the things they'd heard, all the legends on the teams. Two were standing in front of them.

"Shit. You're THE Jordan brothers, aren't you?" asked Dieter.

"Well, we are the Jordan brothers," said Patrick. "Not sure if we are the Jordan brothers."

"Then it's true," said Johnson. The twins stared at him, waiting for him to finish. "Quinn's uncle is Rory Baine, his grandfather is Titus Quinn, dad is Dom."

"I think those are questions for him," said Christopher.

"Sir, you said you knew where William was going," said Dieter.

"Yep. He's headed to San Francisco airport. If I had to bet, he's going to catch a flight to Korea."

"North or south?" asked one of the men. Patrick stared at him.

"Doesn't matter. He's a dead man."