by Alex Howell
“That would be accurate,” Luke said. “I know Clara is set to go to Stanford in a few days. We’ll try and have you back by then so you can take her. But if not, Mason, we’ll make sure someone I trust can accompany her.”
“It’s only going to be me,” Mason growled.
Luke may have trusted whoever this person was, this “someone” he trusted, but unless it was Bree having magically risen from the dead, there wasn’t going to be anyone else. If Mason didn’t get back in time, then Clara would simply have to wait, plain and simple. There was no way she was going there on her own, not with all of the risks and dangers that were present.
A stupid thought considering she’s going to be alone at Stanford.
But traveling is the time when it’s easiest to get someone.
Damnit. Life never has easy answers, does it.
“We’ll do the best we can, Mason, but I’m not going to give you any stock lines. I can’t make any promises. For now, though, we need you. Please be on that vehicle within five minutes.”
“Understood.”
Mason hung up the phone, sighed, and turned to his daughter. Though he had not paid any attention to her during the call, it was apparent very quickly she’d heard everything that was said, possibly even the bit about having her vitals measured from afar. If she did, though, she didn’t say anything.
“I have to—”
“Go,” she said, interrupting him. “This is what you do, dad.”
She did not sound disappointed—quite the opposite, in fact.
“You’re a soldier. You protect and help those who need it. I don’t need protection or help right now.”
Right now, maybe. You’re in the most secure house, outside of the White House, in like a two hundred mile radius.
But when you start traveling… when you get on the road…
“I’ll be back in time to help you move in to Stanford,” Mason said. “I promise you that. I’m not going to let you do it alone.”
“If I have to, I can handle it,” Clara said. “But, in the meantime, get going, ok? They need you.”
Mason hated that Clara had so quickly pushed him away after claiming she was good to go solo. It left him no room for argument.
It’s like something I would do. To shut up the conversation and force action.
Huh. She really does have the blood of a soldier.
Mason grunted, sat up, put all of his equipment back into the box as he’d found it, and carried it outside, where a drone waited to help carry the box into the massive black vehicle waiting for him. On the outside, it looked like a giant bus that a professional sports team might have used, but, on the inside, well, Mason knew he had no reason to not believe what Luke had said.
He turned to Clara and, upon realizing that this was the first time he’d be leaving her alone for an extended period of time since the incident in D.C., smiled and embraced her.
“Don’t go anywhere you don’t know,” he said. “Stay in the house if you can. I’ll make sure the security system will let your friends in. Well, not boys.”
“Dad!” Clara said, although she seemed more bemused by what was said instead of annoyed or frustrated.
“And just make sure that if you do go out, you have someone you trust with you at all times,” Mason said, oblivious to Clara’s good-natured tone. “I want you to—”
“Dad!”
Now her tone was more of “shut up,” and Mason got it.
“You’ve trained me well. I’m not going to do anything stupid. Ok? I promise here, on my heart, that I am going to behave and listen to you. And if something does happen, I know your training will make it as safe as possible. So go do whatever you need to do. Ok?”
Mason realized this was the first time he’d had to deploy with Clara home and Bree gone. Somehow, that had just never happened, and he’d sworn so much that it never would that it left him more than a little confused and out of sorts.
But he had to do things as he always did to make sense of it.
Move first, figure it out as you went, and put it all into context later.
“Ok,” he said, leaning down to kiss Clara’s forehead. “Love you. Be safe.”
“Love you, dad,” she said, squeezing him tight. “Be safer.”
“Always.”
“If you need a second hand, you let me know. I am trained, after all.”
Mason just laughed at that, but it perturbed him that Clara didn’t match his laugh. She seemed deathly serious, in fact.
“We’ll talk when I get back,” Mason said, hoping to put an end to the conversation right there.
With that, Mason left, barely taking his eyes off of Clara before the vehicle shot off for the highway to take him to the White House, the place where he had unraveled the last mission.
4
August 18th, 2028
8:55 a.m.
Washington, D.C.
Mason did have to admit, as much as it sucked to leave his daughter and as painful as it was to do it so close to her departure for Stanford, the vehicle that he’d gotten on was even nicer than what Luke had promised.
For one, it had a table that could give him a massage, which was something Mason wasted no time taking advantage of. It seemed to have an unlimited supply of water and a healthy amount of rations to last for some time. It looked more like the type of thing designed to survive a brutal summer in Iraq than it was something meant for the roads of the United States. It was also too short-lived, as the rise in automated vehicles meant rides like Mason’s could speed past the others without getting pulled over or other consequences.
But, if for only half an hour, Mason got to live in a world of luxurious massages, he’d take it. It was rare that the Spartan at heart allowed himself to indulge in such luxuries, and if his former SEAL commander was giving him one, well, he figured he might as well take it.
Most especially because the guilt of leaving Clara behind never quite went away, even as Washington D.C. came into view. The luxuries didn’t eliminate it, but…
Actually, seeing D.C. only made him feel that much worse. It reminded him even more of how close Clara had come to death before, with only the grace of some quick thinking, some decent luck, and some mistakes on the part of General Jones allowing him to rescue Clara. He certainly could not say that he had done it alone, but, then again, when had he ever been able to say that? The lone wolf type of soldier was something that certainly had happened in the past, but, more often than not, mythology and lore cast such a soldier in such a light.
Mason himself had realized this to a greater degree as he got distance from his first mission. In the moment, he felt like he was a one-man show, with only occasional help from Tessa or Luke along the way. In the confines of those stressful 24 hours or so, Mason had imagined that if neither Tessa, aka “Hawkeye,” nor Luke had helped, he would have figured it out on his own. It’s just what a soldier did.
Now, though, he was fully aware just how damn lucky he was to have had both of them in his back pocket. He really did need the help of others. He could do a lot on his own, but some of it was up to fate. He knew that he could not think that way during the course of the mission, but after?
So long as Clara doesn’t get in danger on this mission, he thought, I will be better able to control myself.
At least, that’s the idea. Who knows how this being an abduction will roil my mind. Who knows how much empathy will make me weak in the face of something like this.
The vehicle pulled up to the White House, went through some clearance, and dropped Mason off at the front lawn. It was with begrudging resignation that Mason had to get up from the table where he received his massage so that he could look presentable en route to his former commander.
Luke Simon was already waiting for him, looking a bit more haggard than he did even just three months ago, but Mason had a feeling that was true for everyone involved. No one in America could have felt better about themselves after what had happened, knowing that
the IRS, White House staff, and God knows what else had gotten compromised.
And that didn’t even include the work between Luke and Mason that probably violated a few rules and regulations. I would violate the entire Constitution to protect Clara, though.
“Mason, good to see you again,” Luke said, extending his hand, his grip still as firm as it always had been—at least that had not weakened.
“Likewise, Luke,” Mason said, following Luke into the White House—certainly a drastically different feeling than having to hunt for the man responsible for his daughter’s capture. That was rushed, hurried, and fraught with worry; this was even-paced, determined, and curious. “What’s going on? Who’s gotten abducted?”
“We’re gonna get a debriefing here in about ten minutes, but I wanted you to meet the team first. So you can know who you’re going into the field with.”
“The team?”
“Onyx.”
Mason nodded as Luke opened the door to a quiet conference room, where six people sat, five men and one women.
“Everyone, this is Mason Walker, Navy SEAL,” Luke said, noticeably not mentioning that Mason had also done some real black ops for them. Maybe he just wants them to reveal themselves first. Or maybe he’s keeping things in his back pocket. “For those of you who do not know, Mason was the agent that unraveled General Jack Jones’ plot to start World War III with Saudi Arabia and Russia and ultimately foiled their plans. He has unparalleled tactical knowledge and instincts, especially when it comes to ground combat, and you would be wise to listen to him during the course of battle.”
Good. So long as that means I’m down in the action when it all happens. He wouldn’t have said all of that with the intent of then announcing I was the secretary.
“All of you, please introduce yourselves.”
The first man to rise, a burly man with golden brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a look that made it impossible to read, extended his hand to Mason. Mason didn’t fear anyone or feel intimidated, but if ever there was someone who could kill with a look, it was this guy. In some ways, though Mason hated the comparison, he reminded him of a good General Jones, hopefully without the betrayal of his country.
“Marshal Oliver, team leader,” he said. “Pleasure.”
The next to rise was a younger-looking guy, a blonde-haired, brown-eyed man who looked like he had spent more time in the weight room than on a shooting range. His biceps bulged out of his polo shirt, his shoulders extended well past his hips, and his neck was lined with veins only visible in a man who probably did way too much weightlifting.
Hey, if it works in the field, I’m not going to question it.
“Chris Bradley, weapons expert,” he said. “I build weapons, study existing ones, and figure out how to use them to kill. I’ll kill every punk who tries to cross us, Mason.”
“Good,” Mason said.
He could already see Chris was something of a hothead, but, in contrast to himself and Marshal, that might do some good. It was always ideal to have someone on the team who could roar like a lion, if for no other reason than to fire up the troops around him. Everyone wanted to keep emotions in check, which generally made sense, but there was something to be said for letting the animal loose every once in awhile.
The next was the woman, who had shoulder-length auburn hair and, admittedly, alluring blue eyes. Even before she spoke, Mason could see that she didn’t take any crap from anyone, both by the way she moved and by the way she looked at them. It wasn’t that she was confrontational or rude; she just knew who she was and wouldn’t allow anyone to push her around.
“Raina Martin,” she said, extending her hand. “Tactical expert. Onyx is all I have and all I give my time to.”
A strong grip. Good.
“Excellent.”
“We call her radar,” a guy at the end yelled. “Because she picks up things so quickly.”
“Case,” she said sternly, and the guy didn’t say a word. Raina turned her attention back to Mason, gave a short nod, and sat down. I like her.
I like everyone here. But she’s gonna be tough. If she can shut what looks like the class clown up with a single word… it’s going to be fine.
Next came a lanky guy with brown, curly hair and hazel eyes. He seemed much more reserved than Raina or even Marshal, and his handshake didn’t have the strength behind it that the others did.
“Kyle Garrison, sir,” he said. “I handle the team’s tech.”
“Got it,” Mason said.
Kyle didn’t say another word as he sat down. Mason wondered how such a man had ever served in the armed forces, but Onyx wasn’t the armed forces; perhaps Kyle would yet prove enormously valuable, most especially since technology was becoming more and more important with every passing year.
Next came the oldest member of the team, a man by all appearances seemed even older than Mason himself. With thinning black hair, brown eyes, and olive skin, the man looked like someone who, like Mason, only knew one thing—how to fight.
“Duke John,” the man said, his handshake firm. “Not here to do anything other than kill and help my country.”
“Good deal, same here,” Mason said with a nod that was not reciprocated.
“Even if they don’t do the same for me.”
Mason gave the man a confused look, but Duke didn’t add anything else as he sat down. Of all the people here, only Duke seemed displeased with being there—but there was something to be said for a man who felt aggrieved and wanted the chance to prove himself. He would work twice as hard as the rest, especially with the opportunity to get promotions or rewards for what he could do.
Finally, the guy who had spoken out of turn rose with a smile, the only person to do so on the team.
“Case is the name, cuz you can ask me for anything just in case,” he said with a wink.
“Uh huh,” Mason said. Not sure I like this guy. But Luke would not have him on board if he wasn’t useful.
I think.
“Case talks a big game, but he backs it up,” Luke said from behind, as if reading Mason’s mind. “He’s a man who knows how to get everything and anything done. In many ways, he reminds me of you, Mason.”
Mason could not help but find the comparison slightly ridiculous, given that he didn’t think he’d winked at anyone in his entire life, not even Bree or Clara, let alone someone he had just met. Was this Luke’s odd attempt at humor in this tense moment?
But still, Mason had all the faith in the world that Luke had put together a competent, well-oiled machine in Onyx. Luke may not have had the skills as a soldier that Mason did, but, frankly, few did. And Mason definitely didn’t have the leadership and oversight skills that Luke did. In that sense, maybe it did make sense the way Onyx was constructed.
Still, there was a part of Mason that wasn’t too keen on getting a circle this big together. The more people that got involved, as he knew from the last incident, the greater the risk was of compromise, of things going sideways, or of things just ending poorly—and often, it had nothing to do with malicious intent, but from simple miscommunication or misunderstanding.
But he couldn’t go alone. He just could not. Tessa had proved that. Luke had proved that. And Mason, for better or for worse, had to assume that if Luke had put together everyone, he knew everyone.
He could work with it. It would take time, but he could work with it.
“So that’s the Onyx crew,” Luke said. “I trust I don’t have to do ice breakers to get you all to work together. So—”
At that moment, the door opened. In stepped the new secretary of state, a grizzled veteran by the name of Roger Kenmore. The last secretary had resigned in the wake of everything with General Jones, having been just a bit too close to everything that had gone down without escaping serious suspicion.
But what Mason and the rest of the team did not expect was that President Dan Morgan would walk through right behind. He quickly gave a salute, as did the rest of the team, to which the presi
dent simply said “at ease, soldiers.” They all relaxed, but the president noticeably did not. It’s someone related to him, isn’t it.
We’re going right into the high stakes games, aren’t we?
Damn. Well, I guess Onyx doesn’t exist for low-stakes operations.
“Gentlemen, madam, I see no reason to delay, so I will go over what has happened,” President Morgan began. “My wife’s family has been compromised. Her sister’s three children have been kidnapped by the worst kind of human scum possible.”
Time seemed to freeze for Mason as he recalled the feeling when he had discovered that Clara had been kidnapped. Though the president seemed to be in a remarkably calm state, he could only imagine what the leader of the free world would have said and thought behind closed doors. It certainly would not have been pretty, and it certainly would not have been suitable for the public to hear.
And that was the president. Whatever the First Lady was feeling was probably so much worse that Mason did not even want to consider it. If it was even a tenth as bad as what Mason himself had thought, it was the kind of thing that would stick with them for an extraordinary length of time.
What he did consider was that whoever had done this was about to face suffering so much worse than anything General Jones would ever face. Even if the general wound up being put to death—the trial was yet to start for that and probably wouldn’t for many months—there were worse punishments, and Mason would make sure those were doled out in due time. There was almost no greater crime than the abduction of a loved one. The cruel mix of hope, torment, and agony from an uncertain outcome was just pure hell.
“A single individual by the name of Warrior has claimed responsibility for the act and has reached out to us. He, or she, hell if I know, hell if I care, really, has given us a list of demands to be met for the release of my nieces and nephew.”
He sighed.
