by David Holley
Even now, the distant memory fills Evelyn with warmth. “I’ll take it from here, thanks Peg,” she commands as she places her hands on the steering wheel and pulls into the airport garage.
“Auto navigation is now deactivated. Have a good day Evelyn, and please drive carefully.” The car computer signs off.
A nervous twinge of electricity runs through her, as she looks forward to the days ahead, allowing herself to love again and to welcome her hero home with open arms.
Chapter 2
This is no hero’s welcome.
Noah ponders the series of events that have led him to this day — the one failed mission that tarnished the brilliance of his previous campaigns. Though the tide of war is turning in favor of the free world, it comes as a small consolation for Noah, all because of that dreadful night raid in Tora Bora.
He stares into the overcast skies from his passenger window as he heads into uncharted territory for the first time in his storied existence. What had seemed to be such a promising life and career is now filled with uncertainty. After a decade of service, more than half served during conflict, Noah feels relieved that he will control his own destiny from this day forward, now that his formal release from Her Majesty’s Army is complete.
How quickly fortunes change in this world. Just two years prior, he had been awarded the Victoria Cross after he and his squadron held off an enemy offensive for two days, with no air or ground support to speak of. With a garrison of only fifty men, the unit successfully defended a key military outpost in a desolate mountain region of Pakistan. Hundreds of enemy soldiers were killed during the siege and a hundred more were taken prisoner, while his fabled Phantom Nine suffered only three casualties. Noah Lockheart, Captain of the Elite Special Forces, was being groomed for a higher station in Her Majesty’s Royal Command. It appeared to everyone that destiny was calling the young captain; his father was after all none other than Admiral Sir Jackson Leigh Lockheart, First Sea Lord of the Royal Navy.
During his forty-year military career, Sir Jackson became a legend in his own time. A true English gentleman of the highest order, he was beloved by his fleet and heralded by his country. He carried himself with a swagger that commanded attention, yet his alluring charm always seemed genuine and spontaneous. Though as famous as the Queen herself, Sir Jackson had never lost sight of his humble beginnings. The eldest of eleven, Jackson had assumed the role of patriarch after his parents’ unexpected demise. At only sixteen years of age, Jackson was charged with the custodial care of his family and the farm that provided for them. When he turned twenty, he joined the Royal Navy and ascended through the ranks, eventually to Admiral, commanding Her Majesty’s Royal Fleet.
Sir Jackson Lockheart’s shadow was long, but Noah had already begun to forge a career just as extraordinary. He was easily the best strategic mind in the field and played a pivotal role in the turnabout of the war. Having understood the enemy and its asymmetrical approach to fighting, Noah designed a counter offensive that pushed the Knights of Palestine to the brink of total defeat. Utilizing small squadrons of Special Forces, Noah orchestrated night raids, drone attacks, and assassinations of key leaders that caused the KOP to take to their heels and run for their lives. With the end of the war imminent and Noah’s future secure, it came as nothing less than a complete shock when he requested his resignation.
It was accepted, but only under great protest, by his commanding officer, Colonel Donald Strayer. Noah closes his eyes as he recalls the exchange with his CO.
“Welcome back, Captain, you have been sorely missed. I trust you had enough time to recharge and reconnect with your beautiful wife.”
Noah was incensed. Recharge? How can he act like my mandatory leave was nothing more than a brief holiday with the missus? He stiffened to attention. “Yes sir, it was good to be home, sir.”
“At ease, Captain,” the Colonel ordered. “No formalities here, you know that.”
He stepped away from his desk and gave the Captain a closer inspection. Carrying a COM in his hand, he pressed a few keys and then mounted the tablet to a dock on the wall. The lights faded, and the COM projected a wide holographic screen displaying a three-dimensional rendering of five soldier profiles — their pictures and unabridged dossiers scrolled on and on, detailing their service and accomplishments under the constant eye of military surveillance.
Four men and one woman, all new recruits for a squad that Noah wanted no part of. The audacity of his CO to assume that he could just dust himself off and carry on had him fuming.
“We want you to get started rebuilding the new Phantom team,” Colonel Strayer began, “and we have five worthy...”
“Excuse me, sir, but I must stop you before you brief me any further. I came to request a discharge from my post after my tour of duty is complete.” Noah handed his superior a legal envelope confirming his intention.
His revelation was met with a look of shock and disapproval from Colonel Strayer. “Nonsense! Surely you must be joking.”
“I’m not, sir,” Noah stated defiantly.
Furious, the Colonel leaned his imposing six-and-a-half foot frame toward his subordinate. With his eyes fixed on his resigning Captain, he softened his tone even as he piled on the rhetoric. “Noah, I realize that recent events have taken their toll on you; but did you honestly think you could walk away from this mess unscathed? This is a bloody war, for Christ’s sake. Your record is outstanding regardless of what happened in Tora Bora. It may be only a short time before I’ll be calling you ‘sir.’ You can’t just walk away, not now. For the sake of your Queen and country — we need you.”
“I appreciate your counsel on this matter, sir, but in the best interests of my family and me, I respectfully disagree. The Knights are all but wiped out. It will not be much longer before they are defeated. I have dedicated over ten years of my life to this army, and I feel it’s time for me to pursue other interests.”
“Other interests?” The Colonel let the words settle around him. He knew too well that Noah’s actions were always calculated. There was more here than he was letting on and that did not sit well with the Colonel. “You are aware that there is a full military investigation into the matter at Tora Bora?” he began. “Those soldiers who died will not have died in vain. I can assure you of that, Captain.”
The remark fell flat on Noah, who wanted none of it. The idea that a military tribunal could right what went wrong only served to anger him more, fortifying his position. “Yes, I am aware. I have three months of active duty remaining. What are my orders, sir?”
Colonel Strayer said nothing for a long while as he weighed his options. He knew better than anyone the futility of arguing with Captain Lockheart. Having butted heads with him on several occasions over the years, the superior officer had remarkably been on the losing end of most of those confrontations. As infuriating as the brash Captain had been at times, the Colonel always respected him. He was the best officer, by far, he had ever seen; and there was no one in this army or any other who could convince Noah to change his mind.
“You are dismissed for now.”
Noah gave him a sharp salute and spun toward the door. Before he exited, the Colonel made a parting shot. “Did you know I knew your father? I can’t imagine how disappointed he would be by your resignation.”
The statement stopped Noah in his tracks, but made little impression — everyone had known his father. He flashed a wry smile. “Disappointment is for the living, sir.”
Even though Noah was certain about his resignation, he felt less sure that he would ever uncover the truth of what really had happened that night in Afghanistan. From the moment he was briefed on the mission, Noah had reservations about carrying out the command. Now, with the luxury of time and having the burden of his command lifted, Noah had meticulously traced every detail of the operation, searching for answers.
Time and time again, cycling through the planning phases to the night of the raid, he comes to the same conclusion: It was
a setup. So artfully constructed and so shrewdly disguised that his commanding officers never saw it coming — until it was too late.
Everything had seemed plausible during the debriefing led by the MI6. There appeared to have been a minor gaffe in the communication stream between two suspected members of the worldwide terror network known as the Knights of Palestine. It would have been overlooked had it not been learned, just days earlier, that the leader’s codename was Eisa — information that had been obtained via the capture and subsequent torture of a high-ranking Knight. The official story was that the man had been killed by a drone’s bomb; his charred remains were even sent to his family, proof that the man was in fact dead.
The truth was, the Knight was very much alive, albeit missing a left arm and in the custody of British Intelligence. After weeks of detainment and torture, he finally gave up the name the entire free world had been searching for since the beginning of the war.
Eisa, as he is known to KOP insiders, is universally known and feared by another, more infamous moniker: the Blue Devil. He serves as the face of evil and the beacon of terror, with no known country of origin. This shadowy figure is the unquestioned leader of the highly sophisticated and well-funded Knights of Palestine. Seen only in a few grainy surveillance photos, the enigmatic prophet’s most distinguishing characteristic is a blue turban. His eyes remain concealed behind dark sunglasses and his face is always shrouded by a thick black beard. So little is known about this notorious figure and his motives that a special unit was formed within the MI6 the day he and his syndicate unleashed a series of terror attacks around the globe. Those attacks plunged the world into war for the third time in a hundred years. Bent on the total destruction of the free world — or so it seemed — the Knights of Palestine waged the war to end all wars.
To kill the elusive Eisa would not only extinguish the darkest knight, but signal a swift end to a reign of terror unlike anything man has witnessed in millennia. For the brass of the United Front, the enemy of the free world was too big a prize to pass up, and they pressed Noah and his squadron to carry out the mission known as Operation Blackout. With only two days to prepare, and the target constantly on the move, intelligence had confirmed the presence of what appeared to be a high-value target in a fortified compound in Tora Bora.
Noah’s orders were simple: He was to lead his squadron into the fortress, kill anyone who resisted, and sweep the area for assets before demolishing the stronghold. Unfortunately, those orders were never met, as his elite squadron was ambushed just moments before they were to strike the target. In just a few, furious minutes of fierce fighting, Noah’s entire squadron was all but wiped out. One of the finest special operation units in the world had been destroyed, along with Noah’s extended family. Men and women he had handpicked and trained to fight since the war began — now gone, in one failed mission.
That failed mission notwithstanding, something else had awakened in Noah that he could no longer ignore. After years of fighting, following the code of duty as his father had, he feels an overwhelming desire to return to the life he had started with Evelyn years before. After being forced apart for more years than they had been together, there is still time to enjoy a life with the only woman he has ever loved. This recognition brings Noah back to the present, and he becomes painfully aware that he is the only passenger who has not yet exited the plane. He notices the stares of two pretty stewardesses, smiling nervously and hovering near the exit aisle. Embarrassed, he smiles back at them.
“I’m sorry, I was lost in my thoughts.”
“No problem at all, sir,” replies the taller of the two stewardesses. Her golden hair is pulled tightly in a high ponytail. “I hope you had a pleasant flight,” she says with a smile that exposes two long rows of unnaturally white teeth.
Noah, smart in his military dress uniform of dark blue and crimson, cap in hand, hurriedly grabs his duffel from the overhead compartment and quickly exits the plane. As he crosses the terminal’s threshold, Evelyn stands before him with her arms open wide. Her pale blue eyes glisten as she gazes upon him and she wears a smile of satisfaction Noah hasn’t seen for longer than he cares to remember. Her sun-kissed auburn hair dances past her shoulders, much longer than he remembers it being only three months previously. She is draped in a camel-colored three-quarter-length coat left open to reveal a patterned wrap dress with a plunging neckline. The fine silk scarf Noah had given her for her thirty-eighth birthday earlier this year is tied snugly around her neck, perfectly coordinated with beige T-strap heels.
The mere sight of her sends blood surging to his head and rekindles the fire in his eyes. He tosses his duffle aside and flings his cap on top of it. Evelyn rushes toward him, jumping into his arms as he pulls her into him. They share a passionate kiss. After a moment of silence, staring into each other’s eyes, Evelyn murmurs, “I was starting to wonder if you were even on that plane.”
Noah smiles sheepishly. “I was alone with my thoughts, but the time was not wasted. I had an epiphany, Eve. I know what we need to do.”
“Of course you do,” she teases. “So what now, my love?”
Noah kisses Evelyn again, softly, and with his eyes closed, he whispers, “Let’s get lost in New Zealand.”
Chapter 3
Mia paces the floor, staring hopelessly at her COM. Six calls in and still no response from her brother, Max, whose wanderlust and penchant for tardiness is about to shatter all of his previous records. She stares at a picture on her phone of her brother and father standing at the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. The two of them sport huge toothy grins set against wind-burned faces. The call dumps into voicemail and Mia ends the transmission. She pans across the terminal and observes her parents sitting next to one another, her father nodding off to sleep, an empty martini glass on his armrest.
Her mother yaps incessantly to no one in particular, but Mia notices the icy glares of several people around her. She lets out a long sigh and releases the lock on her phone to extend it to three times its size. The base of her COM is constructed from woven titanium fibers that allow the device to expand and contract into an array of dimensions. Its mechanics are akin to the aperture of a camera lens, enabling the user to maneuver across communication platforms seamlessly. Turning her back to her parents, she plops into the nearest chaise and begins furiously typing. Her hands dangle slightly above the screen where holographic keys register at light speed and then just as suddenly disappear. Her typing is interrupted by their flight’s boarding announcement. She clenches both of her fists.
“What the actual fuck, Max?” she hisses, her voice barely audible above her breath. She tries to remain calm, but inside she feels nervous and worse, alone.
She sighs again and minimizes her COM before striding over to her parents. Mia looks as if she could be a pharaoh’s daughter, with smooth caramel skin and long, shiny black hair. Her beguiling pale green eyes give onlookers the impression that she is much older than her eighteen years. She wears a sleek black-and-white striped dress that falls effortlessly off one shoulder to reveal a black tank top. Her thick black belt fits snugly around her waist, and her long bare legs end in an expensive pair of red leather wedges.
As Mia heads toward her parents, she sees her mother perusing the flight menu. Without making eye contact she asks, “What are you thinking about for dinner tonight?”
“Uh, I’m not really thinking about dinner right now, Mom, sorry.”
Her mother smiles. “Japanese sounds good, right? You think your brother would want that too?”
Mia stares out at the massive Phoenix shuttle that they should be boarding. A fierce looking flying dragon is painted in red and gold across the hull, and underneath in bold red block letters are the words MEI LONG.
“Sure, Mom.”
A loud crash unsettles the room and without even looking behind her, Mia knows it’s her brother making yet another grand entrance. Max picks himself up, laughing loudly as he apologizes to the poor man he had run into and he
lping him to gather his things. He gives the stranger a soft pat on the back as they separate before scanning the terminal to see his mother waving him over. He casually strolls toward them, smiling his wicked smile that always reminds Mia of a hyena. His dirty blonde locks are a nest of cowlicks, and his face is unshaven and covered in dark stubble. He looks as if he dressed himself in the dark, with an assortment of obscenely clashing patterns and plaids. Even his shoes are mismatched hiking boots. The overall effect is more akin to a homeless person than the lone son of the affluent Sinclair family.
Mia steps in front of her mother just before Max greets her and looks him dead in his eyes. “You look like shit!” she announces.
Max, still smiling, retorts in a fake Cockney accent. “’Ello sis! How are ya luv?” He gives her a big hug and then kisses her softly on her cheek.
“You’re an asshole,” she whispers.
Spinning away from Mia, he grabs his mother and lifts her into the air while she giggles and demands to be put down right away. “Hello Mum!” he sings. Putting his mother down, he greets his father as he always does — with a loud slap of a handshake followed by an awkward hug that lasts less than a second.
His dad inspects him from top to bottom before shaking his head and concluding: “What a fine mess.”
“Disappointed?” he asks, still in his fake accent.
“Why are you talking like that?” Mia demands in annoyance.
“When in Rome?” Max responds snidely, still in character, to which Mia responds by rolling her eyes.
“She’s right!” snaps their father abruptly, changing the mood in the room.
“Right about what?” demands Max, finally breaking character.
He looks sternly at Max. “You really do look like shit!” He unleashes a hearty laugh that spills across the others in a glorious roar.
