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“Ready.”
“Coming up.”
“Clear.”
“Ready.”
“Coming up.”
“Clear.”
Over, and over, until finally they had word that the team was successfully on the ridge. Then it was Renzo’s turn, and he’d done plenty of climbs, but he was more tired and dehydrated than he let on.
The rescuer was a by-the-book guy, insisting on three attachments for each rope, using small progress-capture pulleys and other equipment to safely ascend. He was a nice guy, chatting about his kids and grandkids as they climbed, but he wasn’t interested in any shortcuts Renzo knew from SEAL climbs.
He’d had spare gloves for Renzo, but still, his hands burned and he was sweating profusely when he finally reached the ridge, late afternoon sun beating down on them. A helicopter was waiting with the rest of the team, and all Renzo wanted was to launch himself at Canaan, see for himself that he was safe.
But the medic on the rescue team insisted on checking him over first, and then, assured that neither of them needed immediate transport to a hospital, loaded them onto the helicopter while the team gathered their gear. About five people separated him and Canaan on the helicopter, and his skin crawled with the need to be with Canaan, to touch him, talk to him.
Not that there was much talking over the roar of the helicopter, which took them back to Flagstaff, where the search and rescue crew was based and where they’d apparently be reunited with the rest of their group, which had been brought back earlier in the day. They gave official statements to the necessary people before one of the rescuers drove them to the same hotel they’d set out from Friday morning. Freaky that it was only now Sunday afternoon. Felt like a lifetime had passed. They exited the SUV and headed to the lobby.
All he needed was to get a room. And then finally, finally, he could be alone—
“Canaan!” Suddenly they were mobbed by over a dozen people, the guides from their trip, band members, and even two reporters, one of whom had a camerawoman with her. Renzo wanted nothing to do with a reporter, knowing the navy would not want him to give a statement or draw attention to the fact that he was a SEAL. To that end, he slipped away from the horde of people in the lobby and went outside, using his remaining cell power to call the senior chief.
“You sure know how to take a vacation, Bianchi.” The senior chief did not sound the least bit amused. “I said R&R, not search and rescue. You injured?”
“No, sir. Nothing some fluids and rest won’t fix.” He took another drink from the water the search and rescue team had pushed on him. “Thank you for getting involved from there.”
“I was prepared to fly there myself in the morning if you weren’t found today. You’re too big an asset for us to lose,” the man said gruffly.
“It was a situation, sir, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I’ll be ready for duty next week, no problem.” He paced away from the hotel, away from the lobby where everyone was still crowded around Canaan.
“See to it. And Naval PR is going to be in touch as well, I’m sure. You let them handle any official statement from you, okay?”
“Will do.”
“I’ve already informed your family and the rest of the team that you were found safe, but you’ll want to call your mother directly.”
“Oh f—” He started to curse then remembered who he was talking to. He sat on a low rock wall to collect his thoughts. “Sorry, sir. Just hadn’t thought about my folks knowing. I’ll call them next.”
“You do that. You going to be fine to drive back or you need me to arrange transport for you?”
The senior chief’s wife worked in travel, so he had the connections, but Renzo declined. “I’ll be fine. See you next week on base, promise.”
“Counting on it.”
After the call wrapped up, the older of the two hiking guides came over and of course wanted a whole debriefing on what had happened. He told Renzo a room had already been arranged for them and gave him a key card. By the time Renzo finished with the guide, he really did need to call his mother who, while not hysterical, had to be talked down as he minimized the risks. He managed to make it seem like she’d been bothered over something small while he apologized over and over for the worry and promised to call her for a longer talk when he was back in San Diego.
Surely by now Canaan was free, right? Key card in hand, he headed back into the lobby, only to find Canaan in a chair in the lobby, frowning into his phone. Jules and Cindy from the band were on either side of him, like twin sentinels, but most of the rest of the crowd appeared to have drifted away.
