"Hello," he shouted into the empty building. There was a slight echo as his voice bounced off the tiled floor and undecorated hallway.
"Down here," a voice shouted from a corridor to his left.
Six followed the sound and found his best friend and former kindergarten carpet partner, Cabe Moss, on his knees underneath the table, fiddling with wires running into the floor.
"I swear to God your ass gets uglier and uglier," Six said, walking into the room.
Cabe crawled from underneath the table. "And I swear to God, your face gets uglier and uglier. Better my ass than your mug." He jumped to his feet and hugged Six. "How've you been, Viking?"
Six laughed at the old nickname. A family project during high school had uncovered the origins of his tall frame and blond hair. His family was descended from the original fierce raiders. And though the guys had always teased him about it, knowing that fighting was in his blood had been a source of incredible motivation in the hours before getting the go on a mission.
"Glad to be back in San Dog. Spent most of the weekend on my board instead of unpacking. Surfing Seaside was one giant welcome home."
"Well, I'm glad you're here, finally. We've got shit to do, man, to get this place ready for business. Let me show you around."
Six followed Cabe out of the room and into a wide-open space the size of a small plane hangar.
"Fitness center is over there," Cabe said, pointing toward a bank of strength-training equipment and some cardio machines. Two treadmills, a rower, a couple of spin bikes, and a recumbent. Six had plans for those later. "Showers are down the corridor to the left. There's a dorm with three bunks in it to the right. Can double as medical. Got basic supplies in there for now."
The guys had obviously been busy. "We doing training in here too?" he asked. The space would be great for it.
"Yeah, folding desks and chairs are in the storeroom over there. And we can project onto this wall over here. Black out blinds and shit." Cabe lifted his chin to the narrow windows that ran along the upper wall. "For when we need to do briefings, unit level training, specialty training, etc."
Six could see it. Teams, missions, debriefings. Their own chain of command, with them ultimately in charge. "Did we end up hiring any of those resumes I screened?"
Cabe led them back down the hallway they'd come from. "We got five on the books and a couple more starting over the next week, including an ex-SAS guy from the UK. Will intro two of them later. Mac took three of them with him to Mexico to retrieve the child. The job only needed two, but he wanted to test them out."
"Good plan," Six said as they stopped in front of a steel cabinet. "Armory?" he asked.
Cabe nodded. "Electronic code lock. The date Brock died, followed by the date we enlisted," he said quietly, entering the number on the keypad.
They didn't talk about Brock often. Especially not with Mac. But the two dates went together, one having led to the other. It had been Brock's dream to become a SEAL, but when he'd died in their final year of college, everything had changed, even their own career aspirations.
"We look a little light because the guys flew out privately with their weapons. Had to fight to get all the permits. We should have set up in the OC. Would have been easier. Or somewhere we're allowed automatics as well as semis."
Six could only imagine the paperwork Mac had had to take care of, and he felt shitty that he hadn't been there to help out. But their separation dates were never going to line up properly, especially with different quantities of terminal leave due, so he'd done what he could from Virginia. "It's good to be home, Cabe."
Cabe looked at him and grinned. "Sure as hell is. Over there you've seen. It's a conference room for meeting with clients. One that still doesn't have reliable Internet. And we also have a smaller one that's completely blacked out for security," he said, taking them down a small corridor. "This is my office, and Mac's is next door." Cabe pointed to the left of the corridor. "And this side is the secure conference room. And, finally, your office."
A sign hung on the door. SIX RAPP.
A phone rang in the distance. "Gotta get that," Cabe said, heading back down the corridor. "But you and me, security detail tonight at a big fundraiser. I'll catch you later with the details. Settle in for a while."
Six stepped into his office. Black shelves and cupboards lined one wall. A large glass desk with chrome legs dominated the space. On it were two large monitors and a laptop with a sticky note.