AMIRA

by Matthew Betley

  Time for the killing blow, Amira thought, tossed the axe from her left hand to right, and raised her arm high over her head. She paused for the briefest of moments as memories of her experiences with her mentor, the man who’d recruited her into the shadowy world of the CIA, flickered through her mind like images in a child’s View Master. She still remembered verbatim the first conversation she’d had with him, how he’d seen into her unlike any person she’d met before, had known what she was, even before she fully realized it. As much as she despised the traitor who lay at her feet, she was grateful for the patriot and man that he’d once been. She was torn, and she wavered between action and inaction for the first time in her life, and then she recognized it for what it was – the uneasy feeling of doubt. The epiphany struck her harder than any blow Trevor had landed. But what will you do, now? Kill or capture. It’s what it always comes down to, and it always will. She wasn’t sure, and she faltered, acutely aware that time was slipping away like a dark, endless tide.

  A loud groan suddenly built into a roar, and Amira recognized the impending catastrophe before it happened. She leapt towards the opening to the presidential quarters as the beds exploded under the weight of the ruined helicopter. The cockpit lurched forward further into the airplane, the Plexiglass cockpit landing on the lower back of Trevor Emerson, pinning him to the carpet like a bug on display. He was facedown, his arms and legs sticking out from under each side of the cockpit. He screamed in pain and looked up at Amira, tilting his head as high as it would go. A dull flicker appeared from above the cockpit, blossoming into a flame that licked at the cockpit’s surface.

  “Please,” Trevor implored, panicked eyes pleading for mercy. “Help me.”

  Amira stared down at her former mentor and then looked around the ruined display. “I just did. Because of the man you once were, I held my hand from driving this axe into the back of your head. But I guess fate judged you differently,” she said, sweeping her arms across the room. “You got yourself into this mess. If you can get yourself out, you’ll still go to prison for the rest of your life. But I’ll give you that chance, for old time’s sake, for the man you used to be, not the ruined one before me.” Amira tossed the axe on the carpet and picked up her pistol, which lay at her feet. She holstered the weapon, and said, “Goodbye, Trevor.”

  She walked out of the display as the fire grew in intensity, ignoring the pleas and screams behind her, and exited the airplane with a clear conscience. I bet they won’t put that on the Air Force One Experience, she heard John’s voice quip inside her head and smiled at her lover’s imagined voice.

  Amira walked a safe distance away and sat on the pavement as the fire engulfed the plane, a flaming beacon for all to witness as night fell across the National Harbor. Just as she’d done on the night she’d survived the attack at the University of Maryland, she sat in silence and relished the victory in the aftermath of the battle.

  You won again, and it feels good because you were on the right side. This is who you are and always will be. A warrior. To the end.

  She smiled, content in the truth of that knowledge, the glow of the flames heightening her intense beauty as the fire raged around her.

  Epilogue

  McLean, Virginia

  Two Weeks Later

  1425 EST

  Beth Cathey was exhausted from the stress of the past few weeks, wondering when the agency’s counterintelligence division or security personnel would show up with questions. She felt trapped, her heart hammering in her chest every minute of every day she’d been at work at Langley since the attack at the National Harbor. But as the days ticked by, the panic slowly subsided from a raging storm threatening to paralyze her to a subdued presence, and she began to think they didn’t know. She wouldn’t have been the first insider threat the agency had failed to uncover. The number of leaks over the past several years had piled up so quickly it was impossible to keep up with the flow of compromised information.

  She’d tried to contact Amira, but her calls had gone unreturned, only adding to her sense of impending doom.

  Beth opened the front door of her three-level town home and glanced at her watch as the alarm beeped. She had a few minutes to change into something other than her agency attire – a form-fitting dark grey business suit and white shirt – before she picked up Alexa.

  She walked across the small foyer, entered the disarm code on her alarm system, and placed her keys on a small console table. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the table. Normally, a very attractive brunette with chestnut brown hair that hung below her shoulders – although she kept it in a neat ponytail for work – and sharp, chiseled features, she looked tired with lines on her face she hadn’t noticed before. It’s taking its toll on you and finally showing.

  The main floor of the town home was wide open, with her family room on the left, which emptied into a large kitchen and then a three-story bump-out with a sunroom. The family room had been decorated for Christmas, and the artificial tree stood on the left side near the wall, waiting for Alexa to open the presents Beth would place there on the Big Day. A staircase to her right led upstairs, and just past the console table, another set of stairs led to the basement. Beyond the basement stairs was a large dining area on the right half of the kitchen that led to the outdoor deck. Due to the staircases, the table was just out of view, which was why she didn’t see Amira Cerone sitting at the table, holding a suppressed SIGSAUER P229 9mm pistol pointed at her chest.

  Dressed in jeans, a deep red sweater, and a dark navy overcoat, she blended in well with the upscale townhome community. “It’s a nice place you have, Beth. Truly.”

  Beth studied her friend, and said, “Thanks. I spend most of my income on this and Alexa’s daycare.”

  “We know,” Amira replied.

  Beth nodded at the plural form of the subject. The proverbial gig is up. “Do you want a cup of coffee? I need one…if that’s okay.”

  “It is, and then I need you to sit down so we can talk.”

  Beth walked over to the Nespresso machine, turned it on, inserted a pod, and turned back to Amira as the creamy coffee brewed. “You know I have to pick up Alexa in forty-five minutes from day care, right?”

  “We know. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine,” Amira said.

  Not “You’ll be fine,” but “She’ll be fine.” This isn’t good. The panic was once again full-blown, and she forced herself to remain calm as her world slowly crashed down upon her. She took her mug and joined Amira at the table.

  “I just need to know why,” Amira said. “That’s all.”

  Beth’s face broke into a mask of shame and sorrow at what she’d done to her friend and ally. She’d considered what she’d say to Amira if the moment ever arose, and here it was, reflecting her own guilt and pain in the form of her friend. She composed herself quickly, looked Amira in the eyes, and said, “They took Alexa two days before we had lunch. I don’t know how, but they knew I’d reached out to you. When I first did, that was truly because I was worried about you, but they changed that. They told me to get you to that lunch at that time and place. They told me that if I didn’t, they’d kill Alexa.” She paused, the thought of her daughter dead stifling her ability to speak. “When they took her, they told her I had to go out of town on business, but they let me talk to her. I said her regular sitter was sick and that the people with her would take care of her and that I’d see her in a few days. And God bless her, she believed me. It was awful, but they said any outside involvement would end in her death.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me for help? Believe me when I tell you the people I work with could’ve helped,” Amira said.

  “Amira, I believed them, completely. I didn’t know it was Trevor at the time. I only found out about that after you killed him. I have to say this, and God help me, but I’d have done it again. I’m so sorry, but I’d do anything for my daughter. As a parent – and you’ll learn this someday if you have kids – my only job is to keep
Alexa safe from the horrors of the world, raise her the best that I can as a single mom, and prepare her for the world when it’s her time to go out into it. And by setting up that lunch, I protected her one more time. I’m sorry, but it’s the awful truth.”

  Amira sat in silence, contemplating every word Beth spoke, knowing the conviction behind them and the truth that underpinned them. She’s just a mom protecting her family. And remember, it was your actions in Sudan that started this chain of events. If anything, you pulled her into this, not the other way around. The pang of guilt she felt at that realization had been eating away at her. Had she not killed Asim and left Omar alive, none of this would’ve happened. I killed the wrong man. That was the truth. Based on what Nafisa had said about her husband just before she died, he hadn’t been like Omar. He wouldn’t have sought vengeance the way Omar had. He’d been a good man, even under the rebel disguise, and she’d killed him. So much pain and loss. Trevor had been right about one thing – the world never changed. The people, the missions, the deaths, they all changed, but not the struggle between the West and the rest of the world. It was endless.

  “I believe you,” Amira said. “And I’m sorry you got pulled into this. It goes back to an operation I did in South Sudan before I ended up where I am now. But that’s all I can tell you. More importantly, I believe you when you say you did what you did to protect Alexa, and I can’t fault you for that. You’re not the first parent forced into a horrific situation, and you won’t be the last. That’s why you’re still breathing, because Alexa needs a mother, especially in this world.” The implication was clear – if she’d wanted, she could’ve killed Beth, and no one would’ve batted an eye. And Beth knew it.

  Amira also knew that Beth’s ex-husband, a banker, had left when Alexa was one and moved to California to remarry a twenty-five-year-old spin instructor. It had been the worst form of a cliché imaginable for Beth when it had happened, and she’d dedicated herself to providing Alexa everything she needed.

  “But there are no free passes, Beth. And I need you to understand and accept that. It looks like the Chinese may ultimately have been behind this attack, and if so, trust me when I tell you my friends and I will find out. But that fight is for another day.” She paused, like a judge about to render a sentence. “So here’s the deal, with the blessing of Director Tooney, a personal friend of mine: effectively immediately, you are no longer an employee of the CIA. Your badge access was revoked within minutes of your departure today. Additionally, you will never hold a position or a clearance in any government agency ever again. Your time as a federal employee is over, permanently.” Amira watched as each word struck her friend like a blow, causing Beth to wince as her sentence was read aloud. “Having said that, the agency will provide a reference for you if you need one in the future. You were an outstanding employee before this, but like I said, some things can’t be undone, and this is one of them. Do you understand everything I just told you, Beth?”

  For Beth, the gates of her guilt broke apart, and a torrent of relief rushed through her. Tears formed in her eyes, and when she finally spoke, it was with sincere gratitude. “Thank you. And Amira, I’m sorry. For all of it.”

  “So am I,” Amira said, and stood up, unscrewing the suppressor and holstering the pistol under her coat and placing the suppressor in a deep coat pocket, the need for the threat of violence over. “One last thing, Beth, the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars they gave you, we know about that.”

  “I figured. It showed up in my account after they returned Alexa. I had no idea. They said it was to guarantee my silence because it made it look like I’d been paid off. I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do with it.”

  “Well, my suggestion is that you use it to raise Alexa. And if I were you, I’d go back to the Midwest, maybe use that Masters in Elementary Education and become a teacher. But regardless, your time in this world of ours is over.” She walked behind Beth and placed her left hand on her friend’s right shoulder. “You won’t ever see me again. Goodbye, Beth,” Amira said, squeezed her friend’s shoulder, and walked out of the town home into the cold December day.

  She inhaled deeply, the smell of the crisp air intoxicating after the emotional goodbye inside. You did the right thing. You gave her a second chance, and she knows it. You have to let everything else go. You made a choice in Sudan, and you can’t take it back. You can learn from it and move forward, or you can let it pull you under, her father’s voice told her. But that’s not who you are, Princess. You’re a warrior, my Amira, her father’s love once again comforting her. I miss you, Daddy. I love you so much.

  She pulled out her iPhone and called John. “It’s done.”

  “Good,” he said, absent of his typical sarcasm. “Are you coming home?”

  She smiled for no one to see. “You’re there, aren’t you?”

  “You know it, babe,” John replied casually.

  “Then that’s where home is. I love you, John Quick. I’ll see you soon,” and disconnected the phone.

  The weather called for a snowstorm with more than eighteen inches, which would paralyze a city like Washington DC, which usually reacted chaotically over three to four inches. The upside was that she’d be socked in with John in their loft apartment in Fall’s Church, and the thought left her smiling as she walked to the black Ford Explorer.

  The world would continue to wobble on its axis, violently at times, but she and John had each other, which was all they could ask for. Their today was enough for each of them, as no one was ever promised a tomorrow.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Friends, Fans, & Readers,

  Over the years of the Logan West series, I’ve received more fan letters and emails about Amira since I introduced her in my second thriller, OATH OF HONOR. She has been one of my most-cherished characters to develop, and her story arc has been filled with love, heartbreak, loss, and resolve, especially after the events of RULES OF WAR and the death of her father. I’d always planned to write her origin story and revisit her past, including her mission in Sudan that I referenced when you first meet her in OATH. And now, for a variety of reasons, the timing seemed perfect, and I wrote this story from December 2020 to January 2021.

  The goals of this story are, first and foremost, to entertain; to elicit an emotional response; to delve deeper into the origins of Amira’s character; and to draw you further into the world of Logan West. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it. I have to admit, the scene in Sudan is one of the favorite things I’ve penned. It’s just chilling and terrifying when you really envision yourself in that scene.

  As for what comes next in the world of Logan West, I honestly don’t know. Since I’ve been in this business and signed my first book deal in 2014, I’ve often been accused of being too honest, too direct, and too open, but as a recovering alcoholic and former Marine, I truly don’t know how to be any other way. As much as people in this business want me to change – and they’ve tried; believe me – I won’t. It’s just not in my nature. I will succeed or fail on my own merits, and like the alien hunter says at the end of PREDATOR, “I am what I am.” And in that vein, I have to tell you that after four Logan West books, I amicably left Simon & Schuster.

  As you likely know, THE NEIGHBORHOOD, my next major novel, a standalone about a gated community that comes under siege one night by an assault force looking for something and turns into a modern take on a spy thriller with atypical characters, comes out from Blackstone Publishing in 2022. I actually finished that novel early last year, which was why I had the time to write AMIRA. And while AMIRA is as polished as any of my thrillers (fun fact: I love editing, for real), I’m self-publishing this one through Amazon. It gives me the flexibility to do it exactly the way I wanted and deliver a high-quality product at a greatly reduced price. Having said that, to write a full-length Logan West thriller (and I’ve had a great story line in my head for two years, and it’s still current), AMIRA will have to do well. That is just the
brutal truth of this business.

  No matter what you may think of publishing, it is infinitely harder than you can imagine, with roadblocks created at every junction and business models that literally operate backwards. I was naïve when I started in this business, but a few years beat that naivete right out of me like Amira beat Omar. Having said that, no matter where my writing takes me, I want to return to the universe of Logan West at some point.

  And with that, I wish you all well. I pray you made it through 2020 safe and healthy, and I pray life will return to some sort of normalcy as soon as possible. I am forever in your debt, for without you, there is no Amira Cerone, and there is no wonderful world of Logan West. Onward.

  About The Author

  Matthew Betley is a former Marine officer of ten years. His experience includes deployments to Djibouti after September 11, and to Iraq prior to The Surge. A New Jersey native who grew up in Cincinnati, he graduated from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, with a BA in psychology and minors in political science and sociology. Most importantly, Matt is a recovering alcoholic 12 years sober and an advocate for victims of toxic burn pit exposure from deployments to Iraq, Afghanistan, and other bases around the world.