For most of the past six years Travis and his team had operated in and around “the Stans”—Afghanistan, Waziristan, Pakistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan. They’d also led incursions into other Mideast hotspots, like Yemen. But most of his time had been spent in Afghanistan, tracking al-Qaeda. Even though its leader Osama bin Laden had finally been hunted down and killed after nearly ten years, the organization and the terror it sowed still existed. Few people knew about his unit; fewer still knew what he and his teammates actually did.
Right now Travis was following a lead from an Afghani shepherd he’d been cultivating for months as a potential informer. He and his team, blending into the native population, had found the man veterinary care when his sheep had come down with a mysterious illness, and had brought in a midwife when the man’s wife was due to deliver their third child after a difficult pregnancy. Travis had personally offered the man his friendship, sometimes sitting with him through late nights watching the flock, just talking with the man in his native Pashto language. Travis knew the shepherd’s allegiance was to his family and tribe, first and foremost. The man had no love for the Taliban or al-Qaeda—both groups operated in ways foreign to his tribe’s traditional way of life. Recently, he’d passed on information to Travis’s team.
Travis eased into the narrow passageway, instinctively ducking to keep from banging his head on the low rock ceiling. He knew they never would have found the cave without the tip from the shepherd. Travis’s excitement grew. His mission simply was to get in, verify the cave’s occupancy, identify members of a particular cell if possible, and get out. If the information checked out, Travis would relay what he’d learned to another unit awaiting instructions.
The sound of conversation grew louder as Travis made progress through the confined space, and shadows flickered on the walls of the cave limned by dim orange light. Travis heard the low rumble of a generator, and along with it came the faint odor of diesel fumes. The light grew brighter as Travis negotiated a tight bend in the passage, and the volume of the words, murmured in Arabic, not Pashto, told him he was very close. The passageway took another turn ahead of him, and Travis crept closer and snuck a peek around the edge of the rock wall.
Beyond the turn, the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern. Six men sat in a rough circle, some on the cave floor, a few on bedrolls, and one on an ornately carved wood Afghan chair. All were bearded and dressed in the traditional qmis, shalwar and pagray—turban—of the local tribesmen. Most also wore a long vest and a chadar, a scarf that doubled as a cloak, over their shoulders. Travis detected the mingled smells of sweat from men who hadn’t bathed, horsehair, and damp earth and rock. The man on the chair appeared to be the leader. Travis would need a closer look to confirm his identity. Conscious of a soft whirring sound, he edged a bit closer, then closer still until the man turned his head and Travis could see his face in the light of the few dim electric bulbs powered by the generator. Travis held his breath.
It’s him!
An al-Qaeda leader they’d been chasing for two years.
Quickly, he scanned the faces of the rest of the men in the group to see if he recognized anyone else. Just as he started to turn away, one of the men sat up abruptly and stared directly at him. Raising his arm to point, he shouted an alarm to the other men. Travis whirled and moved as fast as he could back down the passageway without waiting to see if the others spotted him or not. The tunnel walls flickered brighter with the glow of flashlights, and Travis heard excited shouts behind him. It was not far to the exit. He ducked his head, leaned forward, and pushed toward the inky black hole of the cave entrance as fast as he dared. They wouldn’t dare shoot at him inside the cavern for fear of ricochets, he knew, but once outside, he’d be fair game. He had to hustle if he was going to outrun them. The blanket of night would help provide cover.
As he moved, he thumbed a mic on his radio and called out clear instructions to the army unit awaiting his commands. A joystick jockey somewhere safe and warm in the mountainous neighborhood was piloting an MQ-1C Gray Eagle drone by remote control. On Travis’s command, the pilot would signal the drone to fire a bunker-busting AGM-114R Hellfire II missile at the cave.
The cave opening was just ahead. Breathing heavily, Travis pushed himself to the limit. Before he even reached the entrance he shouted into his radio, “Go! Go! Go!” He burst out into the starlight and immediately cut to the left, out of sight of the entrance. He heard the yells of the men behind him as they converged on the mouth of the cave, but their voices were quickly drowned out by the deafening shriek of the incoming rocket. The night lit up like the sun. A huge, fiery explosion erupted, and the world in Travis’s vision tumbled end over end and finally went dark.
Travis ripped the virtual reality helmet off his head and turned to his teammates excitedly.
“Hoo-ah!” he yelled. “What a rush! What’s the verdict? Did we score a hit?”
“Direct hit, captain,” his warrant officer called out. “L-and-S ground station says images from the Gray Eagle confirm it.”
Travis pumped his fist in the air as his unit cheered. The drone pilot at the army’s logistics and support base had locked on the coordinates and had infrared pictures showing the blast site.
“Looks like we lost the avatar,” Travis said, “but as long as we got that SOB Basir al-Samara that’s what counts.”
Travis knew that certain people, James included, would be pissed. The avatar was actually a tiny radio-controlled helicopter, but it was hardly a toy. James and his company had put hundreds of millions of dollars into R & D on the little gizmo, and Travis had just proved it was everything it was cracked up to be. First, he could control most of its functions with the virtual reality helmet. Turn his head, and the helicopter turned. Lean forward, and the little flying machine moved ahead; lean back, and it flew backward. Equipped with stereoscopic cameras, the device saw exactly what Travis would see if he were there in person. Better, Travis could shift to infrared night vision if needed. When Travis moved his eyes, not his head, tracking cameras in the VR goggles moved the helicopter’s “eyes” in the same direction. Stereo microphones worked just like Travis’s ears, but were even more sensitive.
All this was crammed into a package that could fit in the palm of his hand. The flying device was powered by a lithium-ion battery and backed up with solar cells so efficient they could generate electricity in starlight, so it had virtually limitless range. And, coolest of all, the olfactory detector that James’s company had developed for video games meant that Travis could even “smell” whatever was in the little helicopter’s vicinity. An olfactory sensor—essentially an electronic nose—constantly “sniffed” the air, sent the signals to a computer for analysis, and recreated the odors for Travis with a vast array of volatile oils, esters, terpenes, and other odorants. Travis knew that no one on the team would be happy to hear he’d lost one of the prototypes, especially given how much it cost. But the result had been worth it.
He was still buzzed with the excitement of how the mission had turned out when Warrant Officer Wilson, his second-in-command, signaled him with a wave. Some of his men clapped him on the shoulder with smiling faces as he walked over to see what Wilson wanted. As he approached, Wilson held out a handset wired to a radio transceiver.
“It’s Major Townsend.” Wilson mouthed the words.
Travis spoke into the handset. “That was fast, sir. Calling to congratulate us already?”
“No, captain, though I gather your mission was successful.”
“Very successful, sir.”
“Good for you. But we have a problem. You’re being reassigned, effective immediately.”
Travis felt a wave of disappointment break over him. He’d grown to like and, better still, trust his team. With the new technology he’d just put through the wringer, they could really begin to take the war on terror right to the terrorists. Root them out in their mountain hidey-holes. But duty called, apparently. And as freewheeling as his career
in the army had been, allowing him to satisfy a lot of personal needs, its discipline had been good for him.
“Where to, sir?”
“Stateside,” the major said. “You’re going home, captain.”
“What’s the assignment?”
“Security detail.”
Travis’s heart sank.
After years of excitement on the front lines of the war, now I’m being asked to babysit some brass? To hell with that.
The major broke the silence. “It’s James, Travis. We’ve intercepted what we believe is a credible threat. He and his family are in imminent danger. And you know what that would do to the program.”
Travis felt his jaw clench. “I’ll be on the first transport out, sir.”
“You’re the best person for the job. Oh, and captain? Congratulations on eliminating al-Samara.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good luck, Trav. I think you’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER 3
Now that she was awake, Tess sensed someone else in the room. It was hard to explain how she knew; she just did. At first it was a feeling, like something pressing in on her, something foreign taking up space in the familiar surroundings of her room. Then the presence took on more tangibles.
Sounds, for example. She knew every rustle and creak in the house, the hum of the refrigerator compressor, the distant rumble of the furnace and hiss of the air through the vents, the squeak of a floorboard in the hall or on the stairs to the ground floor, rain on the roof and the rattle of water in the drainpipes, the chirps and warbles of birds outside, and the fluttering of leaves in a soft breeze. From all that background noise she could pick out the sound of quiet breathing, the rustle of fabric.
Smells, too. Without even an audible sniff, she could taste the air around her, gathering in the faint scent of lavender, the stronger smells of caramelized bread and roasted coffee, as if someone had passed through the kitchen on the way to her room, and something else that reminded her of her young childhood—a buttery smell with a hint of lemon and vanilla that reminded her of the sugar cookies she’d made with her mother. And behind all that she caught a whiff of something sour, though not unpleasant. More like the smell of honest hard work. A little sweat and elbow grease.
Tess realized that the feeling was probably what had pulled her out of the nightmare in the first place.
She sat up and turned toward her closet. “Morning, Alice.”
“Ah, you’re awake,” Alice said. “Good morning. I thought you might sleep forever. Isn’t today your big day?”
“You know very well what day it is, Alice.”
Tess heard her sigh.
“I suppose I do,” Alice said. “Just a day like any other. Anyway, I’ve laid some things out here on your chair. Breakfast is ready whenever you are.”
“I’ll be down in a minute.” Tess didn’t hear sounds of movement. “I don’t need any help. I’ve been doing this since I was three.”
“And thank goodness for that,” Alice said. “I have enough to do around here without worrying about getting you in and out of your clothes.” Alice bustled toward the door, then paused. Tess opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Alice said, “All right. I’m going. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen.”
Tess let her go without another word. The bedroom door closed with a soft click. Tess was glad that Alice had made no reference to her nightmare, though she must have been in the room or close by when Tess had screamed. She resented the fact that Alice still treated her like a child sometimes.
I’m eighteen, for goodness’ sake. An adult.
She swung her legs out of bed, got to her feet, and mentally pictured the layout of her room. With confident steps, she paced off the distance to the bathroom door, put out her hand, and touched the molding of the door frame. She could get ready in her sleep. It was the rest of the day she wasn’t so sure about.
While she washed her face and brushed her teeth and hair, Tess thought about Alice. Short and slight, Alice was rather plain, though not unattractive. Tess didn’t know how old she was, but the fact that Alice never wore makeup and almost always had her mousy brown hair wound up in a bun at the back of her head made her look older than she probably was. Tess knew she had a kind heart, but her manner was as severe as her appearance.
Alice had been part of the family for almost as long as Tess could remember—first as a nanny when they’d lived in California, and then as a full-fledged housekeeper after they’d moved to the Pacific Northwest. Alice had never been what Tess had considered warm and cuddly. Practical, maybe, or efficient—those words described her better. Tess had always gotten along with Alice, but they hadn’t exactly been best buddies. Alice had been perfectly capable of pitching in when her mother had been too busy—taking Tess to gymnastics or piano lessons, helping with homework, that sort of thing. But Tess had never confided in Alice or snuggled up with her the way she had her mother.
Family—as if I even have such a thing anymore.
However much a misnomer, though, she supposed it was true. Alice was her family now. And what an odd, untraditional family it had become. Ironic, a housekeeper named Alice—like this was yet another episode of The Brady Bunch. The problem was that Alice wasn’t her real family, not her real mother, but she’d taken over her mother’s role. Tess could hardly stand it. Alice could never take her mother’s place. No one could.
Tess counted off the steps to the chair next to her dresser, reached out, and touched the articles of clothing Alice had left there for her. She shimmied out of her pajamas and dressed carefully, minding where zippers and buttons and seams went. Reasonably certain that she hadn’t done anything stupid like put the skirt on backward or button the blouse unevenly, she went back into the bathroom to brush her hair one last time and gather it into a ponytail. Next time, she’d try to talk Alice into letting her wear something simpler, like jeans and a sweatshirt. But Alice had insisted she look especially nice today.
The thought of what lay ahead made her nervous, and she clutched the edge of the sink for a moment, heart racing, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She felt the cool porcelain in her hands, the smooth, rounded corners of the basin somehow reassuring, solid.
Easy. You’ve been there before. No big deal.
But it was a big deal. First day of school was always a big deal.
She straightened and carefully walked through the doorway back into her room, taking small, slow steps. She was instantly aware of another presence, this time accompanied by the strong, sweet smell of sarsaparilla, reminding her of root beer floats.
“Tiger lilies,” she said. One of her favorite flowers. “Good morning, Yoshi.”
“Good morning. Yes, tiger lilies. So sorry for not knocking, missy. I’m thinking you all ready for school today.”
She laughed. “You never knock, Yoshi.”
“But you always decent when I come in, hai? And you always glad to see me.”
“Yes, I’m always glad to see you,” she agreed, though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually laid eyes on him.
Yoshi, their gardener and handyman, was a more recent addition to the family. He’d come to work for her parents when they’d moved there. The house was enormous, and the grounds extensive enough that her parents had wanted the extra help. Her mother had loved flowers, but hadn’t had the time she would have liked to tend the gardens and flowerbeds around the property. Yoshi took care of all of that. And, like the game Clue, the house actually had a conservatory with a small greenhouse attached. Her mother, with Yoshi’s help, had been able to enjoy flowers year round.
If it hadn’t been for Yoshi, Tess thought she might have lost her sanity in the past year. Unlike Alice, Yoshi had brought a fresh flower to her room and greeted her cheerfully every day after she’d gotten home from the hospital. Tess had arrived on a gurney with her pelvis broken in four places, three cracked ribs, a broken wrist, a broken jaw, a severe concussion, no eyesight—and he
r mother’s reminder to fasten her seatbelt still ringing in her ears.
A fat lot of good seatbelts did my parents.
Despite her injuries, at least Tess had survived.
She’d rejected Yoshi’s kindness at first, rudely pushing him away—just as she had anyone else who came close after the accident. She’d hated everyone, her pain and anger so consuming that there wasn’t room in her mind or her heart for gratitude or even manners. If her jaw hadn’t been wired shut, she would have yelled at all the people who cared for her, who fed, clothed, and bathed her. But the days and weeks of excruciating rehab were mind-numbingly boring. And Yoshi hadn’t seemed to care how rude she was to him; he’d still shown up each morning with flowers and sunny words.
She’d noticed the differences in floral scents, and had asked Yoshi the name of each flower he brought her. Soon, she was able to name them by scent as soon as he entered the room. Not long after, Yoshi had brought other things for her to smell. Objects with strong scents at first: cinnamon sticks, oranges, garlic cloves, spring onions from the garden, bacon strips, chocolate, and more. She especially liked when he brought chocolate or mints—any type of candy, really.
Most of what he’d presented her on his early visits presented little challenge to either her sense of smell or her memory. She could visualize the things he brought from their scent. He’d quickly made a game of it, bringing her increasingly more challenging items to sniff out and identify. Things that required a little more thought. To make it interesting, he might present with her two or three items that smelled similar and prod her to tell him what they were. Leather shoes smelled different than a leather handbag, for example, and both smelled different than a leather-bound book. The shoes had an overtone of sweat and dirt. The book’s leather smell included scents of dust and paper. A new basketball also smelled different than tennis balls. Both smelled of rubber, but the felt on the tennis balls gave them an odor distinct from the basketball.—knowledge she’d probably never use, only reminding her she’d never be able to play sports again.
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