Copyright © 2019 by Jamie Lee Grey
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design. www.derangeddoctordesign.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
LETTER TO READERS
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
BOOKS BY JAMIE LEE GREY
Chapter 1
If he stared any harder at that phone, it’d either burst into flames or ring. Nadir Omar Salem Abdullah flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles. What was taking so long?
The moment it lit and buzzed, he snatched it off the desk and strode out to the veranda. He couldn’t risk his father overhearing, or anyone else in the governor’s mansion, either. And although it was quite early on Saturday morning, there were always too many eyes and ears around this place.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Your line is still secure?” Kamal’s anxious voice asked.
“Of course! What is the status?”
“Everything is on schedule.”
“You haven’t had any trouble?”
“No. Before breakfast, one thousand torches will be raised.”
“Allah be praised,” Nadir breathed, as tension seeped from his shoulders.
“Allahu Akbar!”
The line went dead.
Nadir slid the phone into his pocket and pulled in a long, deep breath. His gaze swept over the Sacramento landscape. Before the day was out, California would be on its knees. Before the weekend ended, the Great Satan would fall on its face.
***
Something didn’t smell right. Katie Nelson blinked and rolled over, rubbing her eyes. Sunlight slanted through the windows of the old motorhome.
Campfire smoke? What kind of idiot would be lighting a fire in these conditions? A burn ban had been in place along the California coast for months. Still, there was always someone who thought they were special and the rules didn’t apply to them. Hopefully, the campground host or the park ranger would show up soon and deal with it.
She pushed herself up on her elbows. Zach was gone, probably taking Duke on a run. She climbed down from the bunk over the cab, admiring the way the sun highlighted Timothy’s golden eyelashes. He looked like a perfect angel, lips puckered in a four-year-old cherubic pout. He sprawled across the folded-down dinette, his pillow flung to the floor and his blanket tangled around his legs.
Katie reached to straighten the blanket, but then stopped. It might waken him. Then the angel would disappear and the boy would bounce to life, all hungry and noisy and rambunctious.
No, better to enjoy the few quiet moments while she could. She picked up his pillow, dusted it off, and put it up in her and Zach’s bed.
The acrid smoke smell grew stronger. She pushed back the curtains over the tiny kitchen sink and peered out. The Sonoma Coast campground was still mostly full, and she couldn’t see any tendrils of smoke.
After washing her face in the cramped bathroom, she dressed in jeans and a black tank top, smoothed on moisturizing lotion and a dab of lipstick, then combed her light brown hair into a ponytail. Good enough for camping. Time for coffee!
Just as she lit the propane burner on the stove, the door swung open and Duke bounded inside, his leash draped over his back. The Great Dane plunked his massive head on Timothy’s cushions, staring into the boy’s face. Little blue eyes opened, then a small hand reached out toward the huge black dog.
Zach stepped inside and pulled the door shut.
“How was your run?” Katie glanced his way.
His jaw was set, his lips pinched straight. Deep blue eyes darted around the old RV.
“We need to get packed up.” He pulled Timothy’s blanket off the child. “C’mon, little man. Time to get up!”
“What? Why?” Katie turned off the burner.
Zach lifted Timothy off the dinette bed and looked his wife.
“There’s a fire,” he said quietly.
“Not a campfire? Where? Did you see it?”
“North of here, about a mile. I saw the smoke. Didn’t you hear the sirens?”
She shook her head. “What about everyone else? What about the Coastal Cleanup?”
“At this location, it’s canceled. I sent a group text to our members.” He pulled out clean shorts and a red shirt for Timothy. “Isn’t your phone on?”
“No. We’re camping! I wanted a break from all that.”
“Maybe you’re not the only one. Maybe some of our friends didn’t see my text, either.” He hustled the boy to the bathroom with the clothes. “Get dressed, buddy.”
Turning back to her, he said, “The host said they’re going to close the campground because the wind is supposed to be bad this afternoon and they don’t want to risk anyone getting trapped here if they have to close the road. I’ll go make sure our team knows what’s going on. Would you get things ready to roll?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
As Zach headed outside, Katie grabbed Duke’s dog dish and poured kibble into it. He sat politely until she gave him the okay. Maneuvering around a giant dog in a tiny RV was always a trick, but she loved that dog and refused to board him. She pushed past him to open all the curtains and set up the dinette.
Through the windshield, she saw Zach making his way from one campsite to the next. Twenty members from their church had camped here for the weekend. Close to a hundred California churches were participating in the annual cleanup today, from Eureka clear down to San Diego. The state organized the event and the volunteers, but Zach had been the point man in recruiting the churches.
She sighed. Was theirs the only church that wouldn’t finish the project?
“I’m hungry.” Timothy emerged from the bathroom with his shirt on backwards.
“Good morning to you, too, Sunshine!” She pulled off his shirt, turned it around, and put it on right.
There was no sense in waiting for Zach to return for breakfast. He’d be in a hurry and want to hit the road. Katie handed Timothy a banana and a granola bar.
“At the table, please.”
Timothy scooted onto the bench seat and peeled the banana.
“Did you ask a blessing?”
He bowed his head. “Thank you, Jesus, for my food. Amen!”
The boy took an amazingly huge bite and gave her a triumphant look. Duke finished his kibble and sniffed at Timothy’s banana. The kid broke off a piece and fed it to him.
“Don’t feed the dog at the table! How many times do I have to tell you?”
Although her words were meant for her son
, the dog responded to her reproving tone by slinking away from the dinette, gulping his piece of fruit.
Katie rolled her eyes. Between that dog, that boy, and that man, her hands were full!
She quickly cleared the countertop, putting all the food and dishes away and latching the cabinets. Then she lowered the vent cover and scanned the RV for anything that might fly or fall while they traveled down the road. She secured items in the bathroom, turned off the water pump, and double checked in the fridge. More than once, she’d left an open can of sparkling water in there, and found it all over everything when they stopped at a rest area.
As Timothy worked on his breakfast, she went outside and rolled up the awning. Then she unplugged the solar panels. Zach could put them in their case when he returned. She grabbed the tablecloth off the picnic table.
Maybe she was imagining it, or maybe the smoke smell was getting stronger. She definitely was seeing a faint haze, but that could be fog from the ocean.
A light breeze fanned her face as she glanced over their little Minnie Winnie. It was almost twenty years old. Zach said it looked dated, but she found it charming. Plus, it’d been affordable, and hardly gave them any trouble. They weren’t hooked up to water or electric, so all they’d need to do before taking off was remove the tire chocks, drive off the leveling blocks and stow them in their bin.
Minutes later, Zach returned, his thick blond hair glowing in the sunlight.
“You ready to go?”
“Except for the solar panels and the chocks, yeah.”
As soon as Timothy was buckled into his car seat on the dinette bench, they finished the final chores and pulled out of the campsite.
“I’m so bummed about the cleanup day.” Katie was disappointed about their week-long camping plans, too, but didn’t mention that.
“Everybody is.” Zach eased the motorhome over a speed bump.
It looked like half of the campground had already emptied out. As the Nelsons drove by, other campers bustled around their sites, gathering up their things and preparing to leave. Katie rolled down her window and waved to her friend Monica, who was rolling up her tent.
As they approach the highway, Zach turned to her.
“Well, we still have the week off. Where do you want to go?”
Katie frowned. It was the middle of September, and the weather was perfect. They’d been all set to spend the whole week at the coast. Where could they possibly find a campground that wasn’t booked up?
“Left or right?” Zach glanced her way as he pulled up to the stop sign.
“Uh… right.” They’d be headed south, towards home. But all of the coastal campgrounds would certainly be full for the weekend. Maybe they could go inland somewhere, camp along a lake or something.
Timothy was being uncharacteristically quiet. Katie glanced over her shoulder to check on him. He was letting the dog lick granola crumbs off his fingers.
“Ugh, gross, Tim!” She unbuckled and climbed out of her seat, grabbed the container of hand wipes, and went back to clean his hands.
“Curve!” Zach called from the driver’s seat.
Katie steadied herself as the RV rounded the bend. Then she returned to the co-pilot seat and buckled in.
“I’m going to text the newspaper,” she said. “Just in case anything comes of that fire.”
“It’s just a little brush fire on the beach. Way up north. They’re not going to care clear down in San Rafael or Mill Valley.” Zach applied the brakes as a car whipped onto the highway in front of them. “Sheesh!”
“You never know. Sometimes those little fires turn into infernos that kill people and destroy communities.” She fired a text off to her editor, then turned to her husband. “Besides, they were planning to do a piece on the Coastal Cleanup Day. Now it will be more interesting.”
“Uh huh.” Zach turned on the radio to catch the top of the hour news. National news came first, with nothing unexpected – some old rock star Katie had never heard of had died during the night, the President was golfing over the weekend, authorities in Boston had picked up a suspected terrorist, and the stock market was heading into another shaky week.
Then the regional news came on… the big wildfires near Yreka and Eureka were still less than fifty percent contained, and the highways remained closed south of each town, restricting the primary access points to Oregon.
“I’ll bet that makes the Oregonians happy,” Katie groused. “They hate us.”
“They love taking our money, though,” Zach said.
“Not when we drive up their real estate prices.”
“Depends on whether they’re trying to buy or sell.” He grinned at her.
“Hold on!” She turned up the radio. The announcer was saying something about a coastal fire, but she’d missed part of it.
“…and a third fire reported this morning south of Santa Cruz, which is predicted to grow rapidly in high winds this afternoon,” the announcer concluded.
A commercial came on, and Katie turned down the dial. “There were three new fires this morning?”
“Sounded like it.” Zach pulled into a gas station. “We’re getting a little low. And we need to decide what we’re going to do with our week.”
Katie took off her seatbelt. “I think we should head east, maybe the National Forest? But let’s stop at home and pick up a few things first. I only packed beach gear.”
“Home isn’t exactly on the way there, Katie.”
“It’s not that far out of the way.” She flashed him a smile. “Besides, it’s our anniversary, so you’re supposed to make me happy.”
***
Vice President Alana Mills turned over a pen in her bony fingers as agitated voices buzzed around her. The impromptu meeting in the Oval Office had stretched much longer than she’d anticipated. Now it was already after 11 a.m. Eastern, and she’d been planning to be on her way out of town an hour ago. She touched her hair, brushing the black curls away from her silky white collar.
“The Israelis are furious, Madam President!” Hank Wilford, ambassador to the troublesome little Middle Eastern nation, scooted to the edge of his chair.
“They’ll get over it.” President Basilia Hernandez rose from her desk. “Besides, they won, didn’t they?”
It was a rhetorical question. The Israelis had trounced the Russians and the contingent of Muslim countries that had invaded in April. They’d killed so many of their enemies, they were still finding and burying the bodies. In September!
“At what cost? Do you know how many Israelis died in that war?” The man coughed, then continued. “And the way they see it, you’ve double crossed them!”
“That was the previous administration. Not mine.” The president fixed the man with an icy stare.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The lone man in the room, he was outnumbered, not just in gender, but in opinion. Alana studied him with a critical gaze. He was one of the last vestiges of the patriarchy. Papery white skin, thin grey hair, bifocal glasses in front of old blue eyes.
She, for one, wouldn’t be sad when he retired. Or resigned, which might be what this was all leading up to. Maybe that’s why President Hernandez had asked her to be present for the meeting, instead of flitting off to enjoy the beautiful autumn weather in Vermont.
The pause lingered. The ambassador was clearly scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t offend his boss.
“You were the vice president in that administration, and the way the Israelis see it –”
“What I want to know is how you see it.”
“It makes no difference how I see it, what matters is how they –”
“It makes a difference to me!” The new president rounded the desk in one fluid motion, her glossy black hair cascading over her shoulders. Some people thought Siberian Callahan had chosen Basilia as his running mate because of her beauty, but in reality it was so much more than that. True, she was a stunning Latina, tall and trim, with piercing black eyes and high cheekbones
that evidenced her youth.
But under all that, she was cagey and brilliant. She had a way of convincing people to get on board with her ideas, or get off the boat. And nobody wanted to get off the boat these days.
Especially not Ambassador Wilford.
Alana crossed her arms, leaned back into the sofa, and watched the show. Too bad she didn’t have any popcorn. This was about to get good.
“I can see both sides,” the diplomat hedged.
“Then you need to get them to see it our way.” The president settled on the couch beside Alana, directly across from the ambassador. “That’s your job.”
“Easier said than done, Madame President. Per the agreement your predecessor negotiated, they gave up land for a Palestinian state. But when trouble came knocking at their door, we reneged on President Callahan’s promises. May he rest in peace.”
Alana’s fingers tightened around the pen she’d been fidgeting with. Did he rest in peace? President Callahan had died a terrible death, so shocking and tragic. And so soon after the Israeli war. Some old rabbi in Jerusalem had famously laid a curse on him on the day Israel was attacked. Less than a month later, Siberian Callahan was dead.
Maybe it was just coincidence, but it was eerie and it made Alana’s skin crawl. It began with a debilitating stroke, then got worse from there. He’d never had the chance to celebrate his fiftieth birthday.
Still, that was how she’d become vice president of the United States of America. Basilia had been sworn in less than an hour after Siberian’s death in May, and she’d chosen Alana to be her V.P. The senate had confirmed her at the beginning of August. And now, here she was, watching the minutes tick by on a clock in the Oval Office on a beautiful Saturday morning.
The fragrance of Basilia’s perfume wafted over Alana. The president maintained perfect posture as she crossed her ankles and rested her carefully manicured hands in her lap.
“So what? It’s all done and over,” the president said. “They were attacked, they won, good for them.”
“They’ve lost countless sons and daughters! They’re in national mourning. And they see it as our fault. Your fault.” He leaned forward, his voice low. “They are about to expel me. And put curses on you.”
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