Whenever she had an upcoming concert, she kept a ticket back. In case he just showed up, as she fully anticipated him to do at any time. She just knew the first time she didn't save a ticket for him, he'd need one.
With a grin, she put the letter into the box in which she saved all of his letters. She had to get to class before she was late, and then meet her coach for warm ups before tonight's concert.
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THE armored vehicles surrounded the crash site. The helicopter had split in half. The fire at the rear of the helicopter would soon force them to evacuate but the blades still spun dangerously overhead. The survivors would have to move into the open away from the blades and that meant they would surely die at the hands of the enemy.
The remaining crew and the lone civilian barely held their positions, firing short bursts from SAWs and M-4 carbines while trying to take cover within the burning aircraft as the enemy bore down on them from all sides.
Nick reloaded for what felt like the tenth time and sighted his gun again, but before he began to fire he watched the pilot lift the copilot to his shoulders in the cockpit across a patch of desert from them. They were very exposed so far from the others. If they didn't get to cover quickly, they would certainly be killed. Nick was wondering why they weren't moving until he saw that the man had no legs.
Dear God, Nick prayed, please protect us, God.
The pilot struggled to lift his copilot in a fireman's carry but it didn't really work out since the copilot's legs had been severed at the knee in the crash. Apprehension overwhelmed Nick, tightening around his neck like a noose. The pilot looked up and met Nick's eyes. Suddenly, he found his strength again. These men needed Nick. Everyone needed to just hold, just keep fighting, until help arrived. Or else they wouldn't survive this day. With a roar that came from his soul, he sighted his weapon and started firing. Training took over, and the scared kid from Georgia became a soldier again.
As the medic leaped out of the helicopter, Nick saw another vehicle carrying enemy combatants coming over another rise. He called for the crew chief to cover him, and unstrapped, grabbing an M-4 as he jumped out of the burning Chinook. As he ran, he fired in the direction of the enemy and heard the loud and ironically comforting sound of the M249 SAW being fired from the helicopter. He reached the medic, who was trying to apply a tourniquet to one of the copilot's legs. "We have more company coming. You need to get onboard now. Do that there," he yelled to them. "I'll cover you."
The pilot helped the medic lift the copilot to his shoulders, and they ran to the broken Chinook. The new group of enemy combatants reached the high ground and started firing. Nick surmised their operational objectives and priorities. They would either kill every American and rescue their prisoner, or else they would kill the prisoner. In either scenario, they were clearly willing to keep trying until they achieved either outcome or else they all died in the attempt.
Nick found partial cover behind the fractured cockpit of the helicopter and returned fire until his clip ran dry. He managed to pick two of them off before he saw the medic and pilots had made it to relative safety. The pilot waved him forward and he reloaded and started to run in that direction.
Suddenly, he felt as if a truck had slammed into his chest. His individual body armor deflected the bullet, but the force of the hit knocked him backward. The impact knocked the breath from his body, but years of living with his father trained him to move even then, and he managed to get back on his feet. Thirty feet to go. Thirty short feet and he was there.
Everything around him moved in slow motion, and the smallest of details seemed so absolutely clear - the brightness of the sun, the insidious grit of the powder fine sand, the acrid smell of the desert soaking up the spilled aircraft fuel.
Then something ripped his helmet off, jerking his head backward, and it felt as if his whole head had exploded. From the corner of his eye, he saw red blood spatter on the ground, and his helmet landed on top of it then bounced away. Was that his blood?
He put his hand to his head — it took hours to reach up and touch his temple — it came away covered in crimson. He didn't feel his knees give out, but somehow he was lying on the ground, watching his helmet roll down an incline. The crew chief fired his SAW again, the noise of the rounds vibrating Nick's chest and throat. Then blackness enveloped him.
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Chapter 5
THE knock on her dorm room door surprised Aria. Her roommate and most of her friends would be in class right now. When she opened the door and saw two officers in military dress uniform, the first thing she thought of was her father.
The very tall black man with the light blue cord around his shoulder spoke first. "Pardon the intrusion, ma'am. I'm Captain Kahan with the 173rd Infantry. This is Chaplain Noble. Are you Aria Suarez?"
The smile melted from her face as her eyes widened. "No, no, no," she breathed, feeling the blood drain from her face.
The Captain looked confused. "You're not Miss Suarez?"
She nodded. "I'm Aria Suarez."
"Miss Suarez?" The Captain stepped forward.
"Daddy?" she whispered. "Is it Daddy?"
The other man with silver crosses of the Chaplain's corps on his shoulders held up a hand and shook his head. The Captain spoke again. "No, ma'am. As far as I know, your father is fine. We have the unfortunate duty to inform you of the death of Sergeant Nicholas Williams."
The roaring in her ears blocked out anything else he might have said. "No," she said again, backing up and holding up a hand. "You can't be right. I just got a letter from him today."
The Captain retrieved a green folder with the U. S. Army symbol embossed in gold leaf on the outside of it. He began to quietly read, his voice low but steady, almost calming. "During Operation Arrow Feather, Sergeant Williams and his unit were sent to Ramadi, Iraq and assigned to train Iraqi Army soldiers. Five days ago, Sergeant Williams was assigned as a machine-gunner on an aircraft transporting a high profile prisoner.
"The aircraft was attacked in flight and forced to crash land. During the subsequent engagement with enemy combatants, two crewmen were killed. The copilot was badly injured. Sergeant Williams ran into the open while under continuous insurgent gunfire to help rescue his injured comrade. He personally engaged ten insurgents in that fire fight, killing four and injuring six before he, himself, was shot and killed. Due to his valor and selfless sacrifice, his comrades survived and were subsequently rescued.
"We're very sorry, Miss Suarez," the Captain concluded.
The Chaplain stepped forward, "Ma'am, I know this is a shock. Do you have any questions at this time? Is there anything we can do for you? Can we call someone?"
"He can't be dead." Aria said. "He just can't be. I know he isn't dead. This isn't right."
Chaplain Noble nodded and said, "Miss Suarez, his remains will arrive in Dover tonight and he will be interred at the National Cemetery of your choosing. In his last will and testament, he specifically asked that you accept his honors. Sergeant Williams was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart and the Silver Star for his service in Iraq. He was also awarded the Bronze Star for his earlier service in Afghanistan.
"Were you aware that he left his Soldier's Group Life Insurance entirely to you? You are named as the sole beneficiary. Do you understand?"
Aria's head spun. "What?"
Chaplain Noble handed her an envelope. "He wrote this before he deployed. It was also in his proof of life kit. It's for you."
The letter was addressed to her in Nick's hand writing. There was no doubt. She tore it open and could not read beyond the first line. It said, "Aria. If you are reading this that means I am dead." She fumbled behind her for her desk chair and collapsed into it as the world in her peripheral vision turned gray.
¯¯¯¯
THE sun streamed bright through the trees that shaded the ceremony spot at the National Cemetery. Aria's mind whirled with the last several weeks … the visit from the captain and Chaplain, finding out sh
e was the benefactor of Nick's will and his life insurance, making the funeral arrangements. She had no idea what to do or how to do it, and spent the time relying on her mother to help her with the arrangements while desperately trying to finish the school semester.
Now she sat at his graveside surrounded by her parents, her friend Carol, and a few JROTC friends from high school. In a large military town, it had become almost a common occurrence for a military funeral during the war. Nick Williams was the first combat death from their school, their class, and it hurt now that it was so personal. She watched as if from a distance while the military burial team went through the ceremonial motions.
Aria couldn't believe it. For five years, she'd pined for Nicholas Williams. Now all she had left of him was the urn of ashes she was having interred at the National Cemetery and the precious memory of a few stolen kisses.
Thinking back to their graduation day almost exactly two years ago, she felt her heart twist before actual physical pain from her chest overwhelmed her. She sat on the little folding chair next to her mother and accepted the flag from the uniformed man, feeling sobs well up from deep inside her. "On behalf of a grateful nation, we present this flag in memory of Sergeant Nicholas Williams."
She bent, clutching the flag, and rested her forehead on her knee, her whole body trembling as grief completely overtook her. The officer who had presented the flag came to rigid attention and rendered a parade ground perfect salute. The instant his fingertips touched his temple, seven rifles fired in unison. The loud noise made Aria jump in absolute shock. Then the rifle team fired yet another volley and she let out a little cry. Her mother patted the back of her hand as the third and final volley was fired.
No sooner had the echoes of the twenty-one shots died on the hot summer breeze than a lone bugler began to play the long, slow, mournful notes of Taps. A deep sob surprised her and she choked her emotion back.
When her dad put his hand on her back at the conclusion of Taps, she pulled herself together and sat up. Everyone milled around now, talking about high school Nick because no one present ever knew soldier Nick.
Her mother encouraged her to stand. All she could keep thinking was, What now? Until this moment, when the reality of Nick's death washed over her, she'd always hoped and prayed that her future would be their future. What now?
She saw a man enter the courtyard and her breath caught in the back of her throat. Could it be? Was it Nick?
She rushed toward him, but as she drew closer, she realized that it wasn't Nick but rather an older version of him. Only — darker, angrier. He wore a gray mechanic's uniform stained with black grease, the front unbuttoned to show a dirty and ripped white T-shirt. His unshaven face sported a vicious scowl as he scanned the crowd, then honed in on Aria, the woman in the black dress carrying the folded flag.
As she approached, he drained a beer bottle and tossed it on the ground. The shattering of the glass on the concrete courtyard silenced the crowd around them.
"And who are you, then?" he yelled at Aria, approaching quickly. She held her hand up in an almost defensive gesture and heard the sound of her father and brother, John, rushing toward them. "Who are you that you get what's mine?"
"I don't understand what you mean," she said.
"I mean," the man said, grabbing her upheld hand and twisting it painfully, the smell of beer on his breath so strong that it made her gag, "that I'm Nick's father, and any money you got from that no good fer nuthin' boy ain't yours. It's mine."
Aria yelled aloud as pain rippled up her arm. "You're hurting me," she gasped.
"You don't know what hurt is," he said, twisting. The crack of bone sounded like it echoed around her louder even than the rifle shots from before. The pain sent her to her knees just as her father tackled the man.
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Chapter 6
PORTLAND, OREGON
PRESENT DAY
Aria made the mistake of watching the morning news. The lead story was about a military transport that had crashed just outside of Joint Air Base Lewis-McChord, killing all thirty-one American service members on board. The flag draped coffins on her television screen had instantly taken Aria back to that terrible day ten years ago when she had buried Nicholas Williams. That day had changed the very course of her life in so many ways. Thoughts of how her life had changed and what lay before her filled her mind during her morning run.
She jogged up the street to her little bungalow nestled in the trees just a block away from the Willamette River. She always felt a sense of calm and relief when she saw her home. The stress of work, the demands and pressures of a project, it all melted away when she curled up on her front porch swing and listened to the birds cry to each other from high above. An easy walk or jog down to the waterfront could provide shopping, food, entertainment, people, or solitude — anything she could wish for. Even her church was just two short blocks from her door, built out of beautiful cedar, and tucked away in Oregon greenery.
Aria pulled the key out of her arm band and opened the front door. She'd spent three years worth of weekends remodeling and redecorating her home. Hardwood floors gleamed in the bright sunlight streaming through the big bay window of the main room. Where a wall once separated that room from the second bedroom, now one large room housed a baby grand piano that sat on a platform in a nook. Against the far wall, a small couch and wing backed chair surrounded a low coffee table in front of a stone fireplace. A small, delicate desk was against the wall opposite the door, and her laptop sat closed on top of it.
She moved through the room and into the kitchen. It was long and narrow, the length of the house, with a large wooden table at one end. The entire wall was glass and looked out at the woods behind the house. The small kitchen sat at the other end of the room, with white cabinets and white counters. She reached over the bar and pressed the button to start the coffee, grabbed the bottle of water she'd left out prior to her run, then left the kitchen and headed for her bedroom. A glance at her watch told her she only had about an hour before she had to be at work. She had a ten o'clock meeting, and still needed to review her notes prior to it. Since nothing could leave the office, she didn't have the ability to work from home in any capacity.
After she got out of the shower, she powered on her computer. While her laptop booted up, she went back to her room and quickly threw on a blouse and skirt.
She returned to the front room and sat at the computer. She activated the program she had written to hide her IP address and the MAC address of her computer. She knew that whomever was on the other end of the e-mail she sent would be able to eventually trace her, but she didn't want to make it too easy.
She accessed the e-mail account she'd set up under a ghost name and her hand shook a little on the mouse when she saw that she had incoming mail. She opened the mail folder and pulled up the message.
We need proof of your suspicions before we can proceed.
That was it? It had taken her two months to get up the courage to do this, it took them a week to write her back, and this was the response that she got? She clicked the icon to reply and sat there with her fingers poised over the keyboard. What did she say now? Inspiration struck her, and she typed the message and sent it before she could change her mind.
I have proof. You have to meet me in person to see it. You don't want to pass this up.
Aria sat back in her chair and stared at the computer screen for a few minutes. What if they called her bluff? She had hard proof, but national security didn't allow her to take anything in or out of the secure facility where she worked. She'd hoped she could be interviewed in some clean conference room by some suited agents of the government and they could go collect evidence. What could she do? She then leaned her head back and closed her eyes, offering a quick prayer for continued courage and a touch of wisdom or inspiration. She was nervous and more than a little scared. What happened next had the ability to affect her entire career.
She rubbed her wrist, trailing a finger ov
er one of the fine scars left behind by a talented surgeon. Then she shook her head and pulled herself out of her reverie. Speaking of her career, she had a meeting in too short of a time to be sitting there staring off into space. She pushed herself out of her chair and gathered her purse and car keys. As she left her house, she paused to look back at her main room, her eyes trailing over the piano sitting in the corner. Releasing a heavy sigh, she shut and locked the door, then raced to her car.
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"HEY Benson. How's that new grandkid of yours?" Aria asked. She had pulled up to the security gate leading to the main parking lot of NWT, Inc. She had just celebrated her fourth anniversary with the company. The acronym stood for Northwestern Technologies, but the common joke around the cafeteria was that it stood for Nuclear War Trappings or NitWiTsIncharge.
"Pretty as a picture, Dr. Suarez. I tell you, after three sons, granddaughters are like a breath of fresh air," Benson said, taking her ID badge and scanning it. The little handheld device gave her clearance, so he returned her badge and stepped back away from her car. "Have a good day, Dr. Suarez." Proper procedure would have him look in the trunk of her car, but he didn't. Aria was counting on all the little skips in security procedures.
She smiled and waved back at him, then drove into the parking lot. The clock on her dash told her she didn't have time to go to her office before the meeting, so she called her secretary, Julie, from the parking lot and asked her to bring her laptop to the administrative building. She tossed her phone onto the car seat, locked the car, and headed in the direction of the security building that provided a gateway into the facility.
An Aria for Nick (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Song of Suspense) Page 4
