Read Online The Recruiter (A Thriller) by Dani Amore - Free Book Online Page A

dummy. Not the real thing. Sir.” He can barely hold back the smile that’s fighting to get out of his throat and spread across his face. What’s wrong with him? He’s gotta keep things under control. Focus, he tells himself. Focus.
    “Are you being a smartass, Ackerman?”
    “No sir.”
    “Good.” He backs away from Samuel. “Come on, let’s see you do this right.”
    Samuel turns back to his task, as do the others, and snaps the clasps, locks the ordnance in place. It is a simple task. The only reason he didn’t do it right the first time is because he was daydreaming.
    Imagining his return to the beach in Coronado, California.
    •
    The small meeting room is stark and bare. A table and four chairs sit under a single light fixture. There is a wastebasket in the corner.
    Seated at the table is Petty Officer Third Class Wilkins.
    “Sit down, Ackerman.”
    “Yes sir.” Samuel takes a seat across from Wilkins. He sees the black man’s brown eyes, a little bit yellow in the corners. The black man eases back in his chair and smiles at Samuel.
    “Any idea why I called you here?’
    “No sir.”
    “I checked your ass out. You couldn’t handle BUD/S, could you?”
    Samuel doesn’t respond.
    “I read up on you, boy. Know you wanna be a Navy SEAL. Put it right down when you first joined the Navy. So let me ask you again. You wanna be a Navy SEAL?”
    “Yes sir.” Samuel’s face is getting hot. But inside, an icy cold has sunk into his body. He sits absolutely still.
    “I was just wondering about you because you don’t seem to be too impressed with what we do in ordnance. Maybe you’re thinkin’ that in comparison to that bullshit out in California that you think this ordnance training is a bunch of little piddly shit. That right, Seaman Ackerman?”
    Dead on , Samuel thinks. The icy feeling is washed away by Wilkins’ words. The anger returns. Seeps back into his blood. Heats it.
    “No sir.”
    “No?”
    “No sir.” Samuel’s head is pounding. He stares straight ahead, over Wilkins’ shoulder. Instead of seeing the wall, he sees long rows of missile drones. The large bombs hanging from thick chains. The pulley rack with its many nip points.
    “You know I can scrub you from this program?” Wilkins leans forward, getting in Samuel’s face. It reminds Samuel of Nevens. Wilkins’ teeth are yellow, the front one chipped. His breath smells like stale coffee.
    “Yes sir.”
    “You get scrubbed enough, maybe you get your ass scrubbed right out of the Navy.”
    Samuel stares straight ahead, but says nothing.
    “Bye-bye, Navy SEAL.”
    “Yes sir.” The words come from his mouth, choked.
    “Keep it in mind. Are we clear?”
    “Crystal, sir.”

Twenty-Five
    The last rays of the day are gone, replaced by the first stars of the night as Samuel walks to the on-base fitness center. He opens the glass door to the fitness center and steps inside. Like everything associated with keeping sailors fit, it’s state of the art. It’s a huge room, over three thousand square feet. Treadmills, elliptical trainers, rowing machines, stationary bikes, free weights, Nautilus equipment, all of it new and impeccably maintained. Samuel walks through the doorway, the blare of televisions and treadmills filling the air. He has on shorts, tennis shoes, and a gray Navy T-shirt. Wrapped inside the towel is another T-shirt, blue, a naval baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses.
    He glances around the giant room and sees that most of the bikes are being used. Samuel asks the woman behind the desk, a stern-faced, tall woman with black hair, for the bike form. The fitness center allows 60 minutes per machine, longer if no one’s waiting. Samuel signs his name clearly and puts the time next to it.
    He crosses the room, glances back over his shoulder and sees that the woman behind the counter has turned her back on him, and he quickly veers away from the exercise bicycles and slips into the locker room. There is a mist in the air