Skystorm (Ryan Decker)

by Steven Konkoly

  “First things first,” said Decker. “Riley is out on the patio flying a drone over the valley with Mazzie. They’re looking for coyotes. We hear them all night but have yet to see one.”

  “Even with fourth-generation night vision?” said Brad.

  “They’re crafty. Mazzie has a few drones set up, so have fun. Just don’t bother the neighbors,” said Decker, getting out of the kids’ way.

  Anna gave him a hug and presented him with a bottle of champagne.

  “For mimosas tomorrow morning,” she said.

  “Always two steps ahead,” said Decker.

  “Three. But who’s counting?” said Brad, handing him an envelope. “For the birthday girl.”

  “I’ll add this to her loot crate,” said Decker. “Everyone’s here, so make yourselves comfortable. Pam’s plying my parents with alcohol for stories from my youth, so avoid her at all costs.”

  “I have some choice Annapolis tales I could tell—in exchange for a drink or two,” said Brad.

  “I seem to remember a few stories myself,” said Anna.

  Brad and Anna had met during their junior year at the Naval Academy, and Decker had spent many wild weekends partying with Anna’s friends at Georgetown University.

  “Yeah. Those stories should remain classified,” said Decker. “I don’t need Harlow second-guessing her decision.”

  “Mum’s the word,” said Pierce, before giving him a big hug. “She could do a lot worse.”

  “Thanks,” said Decker, shutting the door behind them.

  He’d successfully launched the Pierces into the backyard fray and returned to the kitchen to look for Harlow—when the doorbell rang again. As far as he remembered, they weren’t expecting anyone else. Harlow emerged from the bedroom hallway, looking like she’d refreshed her hair and makeup.

  “Are we missing anyone?” she asked.

  “Not that I know of,” said Decker, extending a hand to her. “Want to see who it is?”

  “Probably Special Agent Reeves,” said Harlow. “He has a knack for showing up at odd times.”

  “I like Joe, but his presence might be a bit of a buzzkill for this group,” said Decker.

  “Just slightly,” said Harlow.

  Decker opened the door to see Senator Margaret Steele holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a set of car key fobs attached to a colorful array of curly ribbons in the other.

  “There’s no way I would miss this,” said Steele, stepping in to give him a hug. “Sorry for the surprise, but Harlow made me promise I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “This is a very pleasant surprise,” said Decker, taking the bottle of wine so she could hug Harlow more easily.

  Across the street, he spotted a serious-looking woman standing next to the senator’s black town car with her arms folded.

  “Your security officer is more than welcome as well. She looks like she’d fit right in with the crowd inside.”

  “Oh. I’m not going to stay for too long,” said Steele. “I’m pretty much crashing your party.”

  “You were invited,” said Decker.

  “I know. But I want everyone to be able to relax,” said Steele. “People have a hard time unwinding around me sometimes.”

  “You stay as long as you’d like, Senator. Everyone in here will be thrilled to have you,” said Harlow, before nodding toward Steele’s car. “And get her inside, too. I won’t be able to relax knowing she’s standing around by herself. Unless she’d rather not for professional reasons.”

  “Caz isn’t like that. For a stone-cold field operator, she’s about as down to earth as anyone I’ve ever met,” said Steele, motioning for her to join them.

  “And those keys you’re conveniently not talking about?” said Decker.

  “These,” said Steele, dangling them in front of him. “Riley’s birthday present.”

  Decker raised an eyebrow. “She already has a driver.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Ryan. When Harlow told me that you drive Riley back and forth from school every day, I knew someone had to intervene. She’s seventeen years old and a junior in high school.”

  “Given everything she’s been through—” started Decker.

  “She needs to feel normal. Period,” said Steele. “Normal kids her age might not get BMW convertibles for their seventeenth birthday, but she needs some space.”

  “Pretty much every kid that lives up here gets something like that for their birthday,” said Harlow.

  “See. Normal. Her new car is parked on the street. I had it dropped off,” said Steele. “Trust me on this. The past will always be there, but the more the two of you look forward, the better chance you’ll have of escaping its very dense gravity. I’ve embraced the future, which has eased the past’s grip over me.”

  Decker gave her another hug, fighting back tears. When he’d finally composed himself, he showed her to the living room. A few steps down the hallway, Steele turned to him.

  “And speaking of the future,” she said, “congratulations on your engagement. That’s a big part of why I’m here. I couldn’t imagine not passing that along in person. If you’re in the market for a used helicopter, consider that your engagement gift. If not, have Bernie make me a below-market offer, and I’ll send you whatever we settle on. I have no foreseeable use for a helicopter. Right, Caz?”

  “APEX seems to be toeing the line,” Caz said, cracking a smile.

  “More like standing several feet back from it,” said Steele.

  The APEX Institute had disappeared from the scene immediately after the events of last June, resurfacing a few months later with little of its original Beltway clout. While the damage they had inflicted on APEX had been catastrophic, the Institute hadn’t completely imploded as they had hoped. Instead, it had returned to its roots as a formidable think tank—with the rot carved out and new leadership at the helm.

  Samuel Quinn had died a week after Steele delivered her ultimatum, his fifty-four-year-old, seemingly healthy heart expiring without explanation while he slept in his Georgetown home. Ezra Dalton had broken her neck three days after that while getting out of bed at night to use the bathroom, in the psychiatric hospital she had been taken to the night of the drone attack on APEX.

  Harold Abbott and Allan Kline had retired, or gone into hiding, depending on who you asked. The Institute’s failure to deliver on that fiscal year’s “dark budget” funding had put them at the top of the Beltway’s persona non grata list. Steele had learned all these details from Vernon Franklin, APEX’s new senior board director, who had promised her in person that the past was truly behind them.

  “I’ll reach out to Bernie on Monday,” said Decker. “That’s very generous of you. And completely unnecessary.”

  “Too generous,” said Harlow.

  “There’s no such thing as unnecessary or too generous when it comes to the two of you,” said Steele. “So. Where’s the birthday girl?”

  A half hour later, Decker stood just inside the open slider, sipping a beer and taking in the bustling party. No deep thoughts or big observations. Just enjoying it for exactly what it was—entirely normal. Harlow sneaked up behind him from the kitchen and took his arm without saying a word. She put her head on his shoulder and quietly watched with him. Their journey to arrive in this backyard at this point in time had been an epic struggle against the odds, but here they stood, surrounded by the only things that truly mattered. Family and friends.

  Nothing would ever take this from him again.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’ll try to keep this short, not that there was any shortage of help creating the fourth and final book in the Ryan Decker series. Final for now. You never know when Ryan, Harlow, and their motley crew may show up again.

  Thank you to my family for putting up with “deadline Steve” again. I had the best intention of starting Skystorm full throttle in January—then a little news story out of China caught my eye. And kept my attention for a little too long. I told them it would
be different for the next book, and they believed it. Seriously. I couldn’t do this without their support, with or without a pandemic.

  An even bigger thank-you to my wife, who read the first draft on a compressed schedule due to the pandemic and not my time mismanagement. See what I did there? She reads along and nudges me in the right direction before I get too far off track, which has pulled me from the brink of character and plotline disaster more times than I can remember. Somehow, she remembers all of them, twenty novels later.

  To the editorial team at Thomas & Mercer for the incredible success of the Ryan Decker series. They’ve put an incredible amount of talent and energy behind this author’s career. Megha. A huge thank-you for steering each book, and the entire series, in the absolute right direction. I’m beyond excited about our next project!

  Kevin. It was a pleasure working with you on the series. I especially appreciate you giving me the green light to write a few more action-oriented scenes for Skystorm. I had left some room for “breather” chapters for readers, and Kevin talked me out of it. You can blame him if this keeps you up all night. Look forward to working with you again.

  To the Mountainside crew for the camaraderie, insightful observations, and invaluable guidance. BoJack in particular. Can’t wait to get together post-pandemic.

  To my advance reader team. I’ve enjoyed sharing sneak peeks, cover reveals, and advance copies with you. Thank you for the candid feedback and getting the word out!

  Finally, to the readers. I know I say this every time, but without you—none of this would be possible.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steven Konkoly is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author, a graduate of the US Naval Academy, and a veteran of several regular and elite US Navy and Marine Corps units. He has brought his in-depth military experience to bear in his fiction, which includes The Rescue, The Raid, and The Mountain in the Ryan Decker series; the speculative postapocalyptic thrillers The Jakarta Pandemic and The Perseid Collapse; the Fractured State series; and the Zulu Virus Chronicles. Konkoly lives in central Indiana with his family. For more information, visit www.stevenkonkoly.com.