“When I need to,” she said. Nodding toward the hallway, she added, “Is your family resting well, now that your son’s back?”
San nodded. He’d never asked if she had known about Daron’s decision to kidnap Philip, because he didn’t care. In his mind, Daron was at fault. If Janson and Ford knew about the deception and were under orders to keep quiet, the blame still lay squarely on Daron’s shoulders.
“That’s good,” Janson said. “I’m glad you finally have some peace.”
San looked the hardened operative over, wondering if she knew the meaning of the word. Clearing his throat, he said, “Have you heard anything about Agent Ford?”
Janson nodded. “They managed to stabilize him, but they don’t know for sure if they can save his arm. The shot to his pelvis missed his spine on the way out, so he should be able to walk again once its healed. The doctors say he’ll be in therapy for a while, but I’m just glad he’s still with us.”
San smiled. “Me too. Have you heard anything else about the attack?”
“No. Daron is supposed to stop in this morning, but I’m not sure when.”
“Well,” San said, pushing away from the breakfast bar, “can I cook you some breakfast in the meantime?”
Janson thought for a moment, then shrugged. “The idea of breakfast seems funny, since I haven’t slept yet. But I am getting hungry.”
San opened the fridge. “Let’s see…there’s some leftover spaghetti in here if you want.”
Janson didn’t answer for several seconds. San poked his head up to see what was wrong, and his heart skipped a beat. A black figure was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
“Dang it, Jarrod,” San said, clasping his chest, “you have to stop doing that.”
Jarrod watched Janson until she re-holstered her weapon and sat back down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
San sighed. “It’s alright. Would you like some eggs?”
“Please,” Jarrod said. He strolled over to the sink, drawing the black armor away from his head as he went. Leaning forward, he gulped water directly from the tap.
San placed an egg carton on the counter and crouched to retrieve a skillet. When he stood back up, Jarrod was plucking eggs from the carton.
“I don’t mind cooking,” San said, “You and Janson can just relax while I—” He stopped, and his face melted into a frown as Jarrod popped the eggs into his mouth, shell and all, and chewed. When all the eggs were gone, San returned the skillet to the cupboard. “On second thought, I’m not really hungry.”
He returned to his seat and realized Janson was trying hard to suppress a chuckle.
San gave a knowing shake of his head. “You don’t know the half of it. This guy lived with me for a while. His table manners are atrocious. I once saw him eat an entire chicken. Raw. He just pulled it out of the fridge and stuffed it in his mouth. I don’t think he even removed the packaging.”
“Butcher paper is high in fiber,” Jarrod explained. “It aids in digestion.”
San pointed at his burly friend. “See what I mean?”
For the first time in weeks, Janson laughed. She stared at Jarrod, the muscle-bound instrument of death, and laughed even harder.
Jarrod cocked his head, as if trying to make sense of the emotions San and Janson were giving off. “Chicken bones are rich in collagen,” he went on, “a necessary component for—”
“Don’t worry about it, Jarrod,” San interrupted, his stomach pulsing with repressed laughter. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
Jarrod nodded and waited for the laughter to subside. Janson wiped away tears and San tried desperately not to recall Jarrod’s many social missteps.
Eventually, the room settled down and Jarrod said, “I thought you would like to know what happened at the Pentagon.”
San and Janson exchanged glances, then leaned in.
Jarrod took a deep breath and spoke in level tones, “I was not in place when the attack began. Through surveillance and interrogation, I discovered a plot to attack a preschool in Fredericksburg, so I took up a defensive position near the school and waited. After dispatching the attackers, I moved as quickly as I could to the Pentagon. When I arrived, the assault was already in progress. The weapon created by Project Lateralis was leading the assault. I disabled the weapon, then searched the building for explosive devices I expected to be—”
“Hold up,” San cut in. “Are you saying you…destroyed the bio-automaton Roberts created?”
“Yes,” Jarrod said. “I removed its arms and crushed its head, incapacitating it. I then searched for objects within the building that had a similar scent to—”
San waved his arms, interrupting again. “Wait, wait, wait. You tore apart Melody’s body?”
Jarrod blinked. “Yes. I dismembered the weapon, then—”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” San asked, his face lined with concern.
Jarrod paused, his eyes moving from side to side as if reading a message. “No. Destroying the Abomination was the second-most important mission on profile.”
San’s heart ached. The Abomination? Rarely, if ever, had he heard Jarrod use emotionally charged language to describe a target. San imagined how he would feel if someone turned Anita into a deadly weapon, then used her to murder innocent people. He would probably stop at nothing to lay her body to rest. Feeling a sharp pang of sympathy, he nodded for Jarrod to continue.
Jarrod stared at him for a moment, then said, “I appreciate your sympathy.”
Janson glanced from Jarrod to San and back again, wondering if she had missed something.
Jarrod ignored her confusion and continued his report. “I located three explosive devices within the building, each bearing a scent profile identical to the one I detected on the Abomination. They were each set to detonate with digital timers, which I disabled.”
San smiled and nodded, as if he expected nothing less. “Then what happened?”
“I returned to Eugene Carver and helped him evacuate Alpha. When we reached the parking lot, Eugene directed me toward Daron Keeler’s command center. I brought the explosives to Daron and reported my findings.”
“Did you catch the people who brought the bombs?” Janson asked.
“No.”
Janson frowned and leaned back.
“They were intercepted by Navy Mark Six patrol boats,” Jarrod said. “The Katharos agents displayed hostile intent, so the patrol boats suppressed the threat.”
San’s eyebrows furrowed. “Suppressed the threat? Are any of them healthy enough for questioning?”
“No,” Jarrod replied. “The agents are all deceased. Their bodies were not sufficiently intact for dental record identification.”
San grimaced. “Okay…I didn’t need that mental image. Are you saying the bad guys are gone?”
Jarrod nodded. “Yes, the agents suspected in the Pentagon attack have all been eliminated.”
San nodded slowly, and the room fell into silence.
After a long moment, Janson said, “Now that you’ve stopped Lateralis, what are you going to do?”
Jarrod turned toward the operative. “I will finish my primary mission. Then, I’ll kill them. All of them.”
THE END
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Note From The Author
I began storytelling when I was eleven years old. I was an incurable book addict, and the next logical step was for me to write my own book (which
poorly but shamelessly imitated the works of Michael A. Stackpole).
Fortunately, my early manuscripts have been burnt or buried, never to be seen again.
Fast forward to three days after my eighteenth birthday. I left my quiet hometown to join the United States Air Force. I felt an intrinsic need to join the military, and I longed to serve in combat like the military heroes from books and movies. My first job in the Air Force was about as far from combat as anyone could be, but I diligently rode my desk, earning awards, early promotions, and sparkling performance reports. When the time came, I transferred to a job in Air Force Special Tactics.
Finally, I was in the military I had dreamed of, complete with helicopters, machine guns, parachutes, face paint, and foul language. I met some incredibly brave and selfless men and women in special operations. They were the embodiment of the best humanity has to offer.
Unfortunately, I also witnessed another side of humanity, one that can only be described as evil. The “bad guys” were so much worse than I had ever imagined. I quickly learned that the saddest stories could not be found in a bookstore—they were out there in the world, happening to real people.
After finishing my second combat deployment to Afghanistan, I decided to separate from the Air Force. A year later, I doffed my uniform, exchanging it for open-toed shoes and comfortable t-shirts. I attended college, and graduated cum laude three years later. Along the way, I rediscovered an old passion: writing fiction.
I am thankful for the time I spent in the military, and I am grateful for the men and women still serving. I stood beside true heroes, men whose bravery I could never hope to match.
Once more I find myself behind a desk. Though I no longer suit up for combat missions or training jumps, I take it just as seriously. There is evil in the world today, evil that we too often turn a blind eye to. That is why I write, and why I will continue to write. That’s why a portion of the proceeds from this book go to a charity that fights human trafficking around the world.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a positive review. If you do, Amazon will reward my book with better placement. Your review also enables me to promote my book and get it in front of more readers.
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