by Ronie Kendig
“No!”
BooOOOom!
Wicked and thick, a concoction of haziness and pain pinned him down. His eyes wouldn’t obey his command to open. He felt heavier than the time he leapt from that bridge and blacked out as a kid. He’d come to as a friend hauled him, unconscious, to the surface. That same feeling, heavy but weightless …
A voice … sweet and soft.
Heath stilled his mind and followed the voice from the void. What … she—it was a woman, right? He hadn’t lost that much touch with reality, had he?—what was she saying?
As if his ears broke the water’s lip, her voice became clear.
“… all anxiety or pain you might be feeling. Finally, I pray you’d be uplifted by His grace and feel yourself enfolded in the peace of His embrace.”
Peace … drifting … away … so quiet.
Wait. No. Trinity! Where was she? His arms resisted the plea to lift. Fire lit down the side of his neck. He moaned.
At least, he thought he moaned. Maybe his voice wasn’t working—
A gasp nearby.
Still, Heath couldn’t move or respond.
“What are you doing here?” Male, older, gruffer. Who …?
“Shh,” she said. “You’ll wake him.”
“This”—warbling in Heath’s head garbled the words—“bring him back.”
“This isn’t about him,” she hissed. “And he won’t remember I’m here.”
“What if he does? That’s a problem—”
“He won’t!”
Heath’s hearing closed up, his mind drowned in the words that struggled to find purchase against the pain and emptiness devouring him. He struggled. Tried to focus on her voice. That sweet, soft, angelic voice.
Please … God, don’t let me forget.
Quiet descended and pushed him back into the depths.
Wakhan Corridor
Hindu Kush, Afghanistan
One Year Later
“Opportunities multiply as they are seized.” The words of the ancient warrior Sun Tzu held fast in the mind of Wu Jianyu as he hauled himself up over a steep incline, hands digging into the sharp edifice. Weakness meant failure.
He could afford neither weakness nor failure. Not again.
Squatting, he let his gaze take in the breathtaking view. Hazy under the taunt of dawn’s first light, the rugged terrain was terrifyingly beautiful. Already, he and his men had hiked for two weeks, having left the province of Xinjiang, which lay more than a hundred kilometers behind.
When he’d spied the worn path traders, including Marco Polo and the Jesuit priest Benedict Goëz, had used for centuries, he ordered his men away from it and away from prying eyes. To the north rose the formidable land of Tajikistan. Behind him, to the south, stretched the borders of Pakistan. West lay Xinjiang, and east … Afghanistan.
His path to honor.
Then there was his path: A central branch that ran through the southern portion of Little Pamir to the Murghab River.
That assumed, of course, one was trying to get into China.
He was not.
Twisting in his crouched position, he drew in a long breath of crisp, cold air. Invigorated, he rose, allowing the mountains and valleys, the rivers that snaked and sparkled beneath the touch of vanishing moonlight, to speak to him. Remind him that he alone had been chosen for this mission. And it was his alone to fail. Or succeed.
Two more days would deliver them to the province where he could do what was asked of him. And regain what was rightfully his. What had been stolen, ripped from his line of ancestors.
I will not dishonor you again, Father. In fact, to distance his father from the disgrace that had become Jianyu’s alone, he’d taken his mother’s surname. Thus Wu Jianyu was born. And Zheng Jianyu died. For now.
With one fist closed and one resting atop it, he bowed his head. Closed his eyes. After many minutes of silence and meditation, he once again reached for that which had always been his—emptiness. The chant of the Heart Sutra drifted through his mind and on the wind. It would work. The monk had told him. “… indifferent to any kind of attainment whatsoever but dwelling in Prajna wisdom, is freed of any thought covering, get rid of the fear bred by it, has overcome what can upset and in the end reaches utmost Nirvana.”
He needed the hope. To fill the empty places.
No, no. That’s not what the monk said. Jianyu ground his teeth.
“There is only one place you will find peace, Jianyu.” The voice, soft and silky like a lotus petal, seeped past his barriers. His anger. His brokenness. And melted over him like honey.
“No!” He lowered himself to the ground, bent his legs, and rested his hands, palms upward on his knees. Focused on the Heart Sutra. Repeated the words he’d memorized in the years since she vanished and left him with nothing but dishonor.
One
Chinese Tea House, Maryland
Darci pushed through the heavy red door with the brass dragon handle. On the soft carpet she paused and removed her coat. The hostess looked up from her podium. Her face, with a practiced smile and faked cheeriness, exploded into a genuine welcome. “Darci, so good to see you!”
“And you, Lily.”
The hostess motioned toward the back. “He’s waiting.”
Of course he was. Darci had seen his car in the parking lot. Not that she needed that to know he’d arrived before her. In fact, she was sure he came at least a half hour ahead of schedule every time. He was as cast in his ways as was the porcelain shrine of Buddha sitting behind the central fountain.
Even now, through the opaque rice paper sliding door, she could see her father’s shadowed form. Though she relished their lunches, this would be one she would regret. As she always did when her job took her out of town, away from her father.
Hand on the small handle, Darci took a steadying breath. Be strong. He loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.
With a quick smile to Lily, who watched with a furrowed brow, Darci slid back the paper door. As she closed it behind her, she slipped off her shoes. The bamboo mat beneath her feet sent a chill up her spine. Afraid to meet his disapproving scowl, she eased onto the empty pillow at the table across from her father.
Darci inclined her head, gaze down as expected. “Sorry I am late, Ba.” She wasn’t late, but apologizing seemed to smooth out his frustrations that had taken such strong root in the last few years. Even more so on days like today.
She poured some tea and sipped it, using the little black handleless cup like a shield as she peeked over it to see his face. Hard lines. Burdened lines. The whiskers that framed his mouth were streaked with the paleness of wisdom. Too much for a man his age. There were secrets, family secrets, that he would not share with her. She’d tried to talk of her mother and brother, but they were forbidden subjects.
“You should trim that beard. It makes you look like a grumpy, old Chinese man.”
“That”—his sad eyes met hers for the first time as he lifted his shoulders—“is because I am a grumpy, old Chinese man.”
“Li Yung-fa is a kind, gentle soul.” She smiled. “I know. I’m his daughter.” With her spoon, she lifted some rice from the bowl in the middle of the table, her stomach clenching as she watched her father.
The mirth around his eyes faded, the rich brown of his irises seemingly lost in another time. She ached for what he’d lost twenty years ago. What she’d lost. She refused to let their lunch once again take a turn for the depressing. She pushed onward with safer topics.
“How was work this morning?” After setting the pile on her plate, she spooned sauce over it, then chose some beef and broccoli.
“As usual.” His graying goatee flicked as he talked. “Same paperwork. Same mindless games. They waste my abilities. If they would just use me …”
So much for safer topics. Darci gave a slow nod. His mood was not encouraging, and when agitated, his already-heavy accent would thicken. No doubt, he would soon spin into full Mandarin, especially with t
he news she had to deliver. Squeezing some meat and rice between the chopsticks, she lifted the bowl closer.
“Where?”
Darci aimed the first mouthwatering bite toward her lips. “Excuse me?”
The slant in his eyelids pulled taut. “In your eyes rests the weight of the message I see you withhold.”
All these years in America and still he held to the old ways of speaking, as if he were Yoda. She’d teased him without mercy as a teenager, hoping he would be more American … less Chinese. Anything to ply a smile out of the rigid face. There had been few smiles then, and as of late, even fewer.
Darci set down the bowl and sticks, cupping her hands in her lap, eyes downcast. “I leave tomorrow.” She sighed. “I am sorry, Baba. I know this upsets you that I am gone so much.”
Shoulders squared, he looked every bit the general he had once been. “Where?”
There was no use lying to him or trying to deceive him. The man worked with some of the highest-ranking officials in the government. If he doubted the veracity of her information, he’d hunt down the truth. Direct, strong, relentless … She’d gained a lot of her mother’s American features with the fair skin, the European nose, but her father’s strong Chinese heritage rang through her long black hair, slightly slanted eyes, and fire-like tenacity.
Which often left her wondering why he had not searched harder for her brother.
An eyebrow bobbed, as if demanding her answer.
“Afghanistan.”
A tic jounced in his cheek as it often did when he tried to rein in his emotions. “That is very far.”
“More like ‘too close to China,’ is that it?”
Like a provoked dragon, fire spat from his eyes. His fisted hand pounded the table. “Too far—from here.” He thumped his chest. “From me.”
Darci lowered her head. “He won’t find me, Ba. I will be caref—”
“Like last time?” Fury erupted. “He nearly killed you!”
She would not let this happen again. “He is in China. I will be in the mountains … nowhere near him or any Chinese.” Darci wanted one thing from her father. “Trust me. Believe in me. Yes?”
His whiskers shimmered—twitched. Was his chin bouncing? “I do not want to lose you, Jia!”
Her breath snatched from her lungs. So afraid someone would find them, he had not used her birth name in twenty years. Her superiors had chosen the name for this mission, one she feared would be her last.
Darci placed a hand over his as she crawled around the small square table to his side. She touched his back. “You will not lose me. Not before my time.”
His chest rose and fell unevenly. Hands resting on either side of his bowl, he drew back his hands and uncoiled them. After a few seconds, he pulled in a long, quiet breath. Then gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“I should only be gone a few weeks.”
Another nod. “What you are doing is good. You serve your country.” His lip trembled.
An invisible fist reached into her chest and squeezed the organ pumping hard and frantic as she took in all that had just transpired. He’d never been open about his feelings, about his fears. Was it a bad omen?
Two
Texas Hill Country
You’ll be tempted to ignore this opportunity, but those marks on your hand have shown you trust that beautiful animal who saved your life. Bring her out. Let her decide if this is right for your team.”
Nerves on end, Heath climbed from his truck. Trinity bounded from the bench seat onto the grass that collided with a ten-foot chain-link fence. He pushed the door closed and took in the property that rolled out on each side, as well as the white luxury SUV he’d parked beside.
Trees, some barren of their leaves and others thickly outfitted, and brambles lined the east. A half mile west, a rocky edifice rose a good thirty feet straight up. Twenty feet from his position, within the fenced area, sat training equipment. A complete agility and tactical course set up. Cedar trees hogged the perimeter of the fence. But not a person in sight. He’d half expected someone to emerge from the ranch house perched at the top of the slight incline, but that hadn’t happened either.
What on earth?
Rubbing his knuckles along his lips, he hesitated at the unlocked gate. He glanced back down the almost mile-long dirt road that led to the black wrought-iron gate. Sun streamed through the lettering in the arch: A BREED APART. Who was behind this elaborate setup?
“Hello? Anyone here?”
A bitter January wind answered, creaking the branches. The training facility held too much draw. He let Trinity take in the settings, her attention also focused on the training field. She sniffed along the fence line. “What do you think, Trin?”
She returned to him. Trinity swiveled her head back to the front, her black-and-amber coat sparkling in the sun. He smoothed a hand along her dense fur. Her ears perked and her body went rigid.
Heath slanted a look in the direction in which she’d made a hit. A mass of white-blond curls dipped into a beam of sunlight streaming through the cedars as a woman emerged from one of the house-shaped training structures. She glanced back inside and stalled. After much coaxing, a yellow Labrador lumbered from the building.
Anticipation rippled through Trinity’s coat, her muscles taut, all but begging for permission to meet the new dog.
“I know you?” Heath asked. This woman with her gun-shy dog didn’t seem the type to know much about training, let alone his past.
She straightened and came toward the gate. “No, do I know you?” She glanced down at her yellow Lab, who sat off to the side facing away from them, his expressive eyes conveying his skittishness. He hung his head, then flattened himself to the ground.
“You’re the one who invited me here?”
“No, actually,” she said with a smile. “I’m not. My friend Khat lives here with her brother. They invited me.” At the gate, she slipped through and waited for her dog, who had given up about halfway across the yard and lain down. She let out a sigh and turned to Heath with an extended hand. “Aspen Courtland.”
“Heath Daniels. You say you know who owns this place?”
Clap!
Heath jerked toward the wraparound porch and stilled at the figure that emerged from the shadows. “Khouri? No way.”
The low, slow chuckle of a man he knew in the Army rolled through the air as the man strode off the porch. With two legs. How … how was that possible? Heath had been there when a Coke-can-turned-IED shattered the guy’s leg and career beyond repair. Just a few months before Heath lost his career, too.
“Hello, Aspen. Khaterah got called out. She’s sorry she couldn’t be here to greet you.”
“No problem,” Courtland said.
Wearing a red knit cap over long brown hair and sporting a thick beard as if he’d never left the field, Jibril Khouri grinned as he met Heath’s gaze again. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
Pulling the guy into a half hug, half back-patting embrace, Heath scrambled to get his bearings. “You always knew how to get my attention.”
“Yes, but you always got the girls. We had to distract you so the rest of us would have a chance.”
Heath shirked the tease and ran a hand over the back of his head, across the scar that changed everything. “Yeah, well, things change.”
“So they do.” Sobered, Jibril stepped back with another pat on Heath’s shoulder, then bent and offered a hand to Trinity. “Hello, girl. Remember me?”
Trinity sniffed his hand, then turned in a circle, her focus locked on the yellow Lab.
“Ah, Trinity has the right idea,” Jibril said with a laugh. “Let’s go into the training area while we wait for our last recruit.”
Uncertainty rooted Heath to the ground. Too many unexplained variables. Too many unknowns. “Khouri, what is this?”
“Now is not the time to be skittish, my friend.” Jibril smiled. “Trust me, just as I trusted you the day Trinity saved my life. Yes?”
Stu
ffing his frustration and uneasiness, Heath gave a curt nod and followed Jibril, Aspen, and Trinity into the fenced-off area.
“Ah, this is Talon.” Jibril squatted beside the Lab, who lifted his head and cast furtive glances at Jibril. “All the dogs and handlers invited to the ranch today are former military war or working dogs. Talon here has seen more combat than I have. You’ll meet Beowulf and Timbrel Hogan soon—they’re former Navy.”
With a huff, Talon slid down to the ground, propped his lower jaw on his front paws, and let his gaze bounce over the yard. Those eyebrows did more work than his whole body, tracking Trinity around the training grounds. He looked like he was as through with the military as it was with him.
You and me both, buddy.
Tension bunched at the base of Heath’s neck. He stretched it. “So.” He shifted his attention to Aspen. “You’ve seen combat?” That was hard to believe.
“I was Air Force, but no, I haven’t seen combat.” She must’ve seen his confusion. “My brother was his handler. He went MIA and Talon was declared ‘excess.’”
MIA often meant dead. Not enough body parts to ship home. Heath now understood the Lab’s reaction. Trinity had pretty much done the same thing when they’d been separated, well, except she became borderline aggressive and noncompliant. Talon was … gone. As if he’d checked out.
“So you adopted him?” Heath and every handler before and since sent up shouts of praise at a new resolution signed into law by President Clinton a few years back, which allowed dogs to live out the remainder of their years rather than being euthanized after the military decided they were done with the dogs. “I know your brother would be glad if he were alive.”
“Austin’s not dead.” Blue eyes flamed. “He’s missing.”
Heath took about five mental steps away from her and that volley of anger.
Trinity nosed Talon’s ears, walked circles around him, sniffed, investigated, sized up the new guy. He showed neither aggression—via a low growl to tell Trin to stand down—nor did he move away.
Arms folded, Aspen studied him. “What happened to you?”
