Diary of a Bro-caster

Ever since he was young, Zach liked to ask questions. At seven, asking his parents about the language the next-door neighbors spoke (it was Vietnamese) led to a fascination with foreign languages, and later studying Arabic in university. Asking a professor what companies hire students fluent in Arabic, led to him learning that without a geology degree, not many, but try the government. Asking every government department he could find if they had any job openings (multiple times a week) led to an HR person complimenting Zach on his tenacity, which could be a useful asset, and to him working 8 years at the CIA.

When he asked his manager at the CIA what he should do next after resigning, he hit a brick wall. He would have to figure it out by himself.

His wife, perhaps as a joke, or tiring of all the questions, told him to start a podcast “so he’d get paid to ask questions”.

Six months later, Zach paced his new professionally built podcast studio, nervously reviewing the things he would ask his fourth-ever guest, Glenn: questions about his childhood, SEAL training, the Bin Laden raid. A friend from the CIA told him ninety percent of former Navy SEALs and Tier 1 operators live in the Washington to Norfolk corridor and have a lot of good stories and time on their hands. Zach realized he was lucky to live in the DMV. Lots of potential guests for The Bullpen.

He knew Glenn had a terrifying reputation, But if he wanted to keep his channel's engagement high, he couldn’t afford to softball the interview. He needed to ask the tough questions. But Glenn was driving up the four hours from Virginia Beach and bound to arrive wound up tight.

***

Glenn did not ask questions. He preferred to tell people what to do. Having served 8 years in the Navy SEALs had taught him how to lead men in combat, but like Zach, it didn’t teach him what to do after he left.

He rolled out of bed, wincing from the lingering nerve pain in his shoulder where a slug hit him in Marawi. Endured a dull three-month stay at Walter Reed to patch that up, with the only upside of making a few friends there. And meeting Janice, which had been a mixed bag to be honest.

As he walked into his kitchen, Janice was waiting. “The landlord called. Why haven’t you paid our rent this month?!”

“Must be a problem at the bank…”

“That’s what you said last week”

He checked his watch, dodging her stare. “I don’t have time for this; I need to drive up to DC for that podcast I told you about.”

“That podcast, are they paying you anything?”

Glenn glowered. "It's a chance for a promotional spot. For Bro-Glo."

“So, you’re burning a full tank of gas, which I paid $75 dollars for, for your hobby.”

“A Navy SEAL always succeedsJanice.”

“Succeeds?” She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "The only thing you've succeeded at is fooling me into going out with you. You sank our entire savings into that stupid startup."

He tuned out. He'd survived worse ambushes than this. He’d been through this before. He fixed his eyes on the tactical American flag on the wall, determined to ride out the storm.

The moment she grabbed his shoulder to make him look at her, his control snapped, and rage took over. He pushed her against the wall. "I'm leaving."

She watched him as he put his coffee cup into the sink as if nothing happened, and then retrieved his Glock 19 and put it into his concealed waistband holster.

"You're taking that to a podcast?"

"I take it everywhere."

He went to his garage, filled with unsold boxes of Bro-Glo, and got into the car. His objective was clear: drive to DC, do the podcast interview, promote his product, and complete the day’s mission. His hands were trembling at the wheel; he needed that under control. Today's podcast was a big break and he needed it to work.

***

Zach watched Glenn saunter into the studio, looking like everything he imagined from a Navy SEAL: huge biceps, tattoos, a bundle of nerves. Zach wished these spec-ops types could wrestle an alligator out back to burn off some adrenaline before the interviews began and be ready to answer questions without feeling they were under hostile fire.

Zach jumped out of his chair. “Welcome to the Pen,“ he grinned, extending a hand, “Bet you’re glad for an excuse to get out of the house today?”

“You have no idea,” Glenn said.

A good start. Build rapport.

“So, part of the gimmick here is that we’re completely locked in for the next two hours,” Zach explained, grandstanding a bit as he theatrically snapped a padlock onto the studio door. On the rare occasion his bladder betrayed him mid-show, he just had his editor, Dimitri, cut it out in post.

They settled into their respective mics.

“You’re sure you want to be locked in a room with a guy like me?” Glenn asked. His eyes systematically swept the sealed space like an operator clearing a kill-house, before finally dropping his anchor on a glowing piece of decor. “Nice Jameson neon.”

“Pour you a glass?”

“Yep.”

Zach poured a generous measure of Jameson. Glenn took a long sip before sinking heavily back into his chair.

“Sorry, Glenn, but I’ll need to ask you to keep your mouth pretty close to the mic.”

A sneer flashed across Glenn’s face before he leaned forward. “Sure thing, bud.”

Zach felt Glenn’s bulk shift forward. As a CIA-trained analyst, he lacked about a hundred pounds of military-trained muscle that Glenn was currently using to swallow up his chair.

Zach started easy. “So tell the listeners what SEAL training is really like. A lot of guys romanticize it: determination, brotherhood, all that. What is it really like?”

He felt Glenn loosen up. Operators loved to talk about training. “It's not glamorous. You’re cold, wet, and tired all the time. In BUDS, only 20% make it through, for the ones that do, the brotherhood is real, until you get out. Then a lot of those guys disappear.”

Good, Zach thought. Authentic. The audience eats up this stuff. Clip that line about “the brotherhood is real, until you get out” for Instagram. It ties into Glenn’s current controversy. The Bin Laden raid. Debates raged for years on whether O'Neill or Bissonnette had fired the kill shot that smoked Bin Laden. Then, last year, Glenn said they were both lying, and it was actually his shot. The backlash from the community had been swift and brutal.

“So, any deployments stand out?” Zach asked.

Glenn’s face tightened. “Marawi was real, man. In the Philippines. Urban warfare house to house taking out jihadis. Didn’t even make the news.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “When are we going to get around to talking about Bro-Glo? My product.”

Zach smiled, keeping his tone light. “We’ll get there. Listeners want to know the brains behind the product. You ever miss it? The teams?”

A dark shadow crossed Glenn’s face the instant the phrase ‘brains behind the product’ left Zach’s mouth. He had hit a nerve there

“Miss the SEALs? Every damn day,” Glenn mumbled. “Out here it’s just bills and bullshit. No one tells you what to do.” His leg started bouncing under the table.

He’s unravelling fast, Zach noted. Keep pushing. Unfiltered military rage is gold on the internet.

Zach leaned in. “Now, tell me, man to man, did you really smoke Bin Laden? Your ex-teammates have expressed some doubts.”

“The mission was classified. I can’t get into details.”

Zach felt a rush of frustration. “I know what you did there,” he said. “Telling me it's classified. When it's ‘classified,’ you can say pretty much whatever the fuck you want as it's unverifiable, right? O'Neill says you weren’t even on the helicopter. That you never even shot anyone ever.”

Glenn stared at him, eyes flat. “Bro… trust me, I killed someone.”

“Any details on that that aren’t classified?”

“I killed someone just now.”

Zach chuckled, way too loud. “That’s a bit over the top, even for this podcast.”

Zach was already mentally editing the final cut. He needed at least forty-five minutes. He couldn’t have Glenn storm out now. Sure, the door was locked but that wasn’t going to stop someone Glenn’s size. Slow this down, then pivot back to his supplement.

“Let’s slow this down. I’ve been trying to work out. I bet you bench, say, at least 200?”

Glenn looked confused by the change of topic, but replied. “250.”

“I can barely handle 100, looks like I need some type of supplement. Which brings me to Bro-Glo. Bro-Glo contains creatine. How would you say it's different from other products on the market?” The interview contract said Zach needed to say ‘Bro-Glo’ at least ten times during the podcast.

“Bro-Glo. Bro-Glo. Bro-Glo. Some say Bro-Glo is just an overpriced scam. How do you respond?”

“No comment.” Then, under his breath: “You sure like asking questions.”

“Sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to get closer to the mic again.”

Glenn moved in again, grasping the mic with a tightened hand that looked set to crumple it like an empty beer can. “You sure like asking questions.”

“I’ve been told that,” Zach said, and then mumbled softly to himself. “Doesn’t like to talk about his own product…”

Glenn heard. “What the fuck did you say?”

“Nothing. Nothing, just talking to myself.”

Glenn’s eyes changed. A cool settled over him. Good. A professional; they could be freenemies for a podcast. CIA and pec-ops guys never exactly see eye to eye but can work together.

“Nice studio,” Glenn said quietly. “You built it yourself?”

“Yep, took 4 months.”

“Soundproof?”

“Yeah. Completely.” Zach's gaze went to the desk drawer where the key for the door was. He wondered how fast he could grab it and unlock the door.

“How long you been doing this?”

“A few months now.”

“And it's just you here all day? Must be nice not having to deal with other people.”

“Yep. Just me.”

The last thing Zach saw was Glenn reaching under his shirt. And then the sound of a loud snap like a firecracker. Nothing loud enough to be heard outside all the soundproofing that had just been installed.

Glenn got close to the microphone, exactly as Zach had instructed.

“This podcast has been sponsored by Bro-Glo. Bro-Glo is the twice-a-day supplement that will restore your vitality and energy. Rebuild your confidence. Trust me as a Tier-1 ex-Navy SEAL operator. It really works.”

He switched the podcast mic off, then glanced around at Zach's monitor. He recalled he was livestreaming this. Reactions and comments were flying up. “Best episode ever!” "Is this for real?"

Glenn calmly packed up his gear and stepped out onto the quiet suburban street in Arlington.