The Fey
by
Claudia Hall Christian
Copyright © Claudia Hall Christian
Also by Claudia Hall Christian
ALEX THE FEY SERIES
The Fey
Learning to Stand
Who I Am
THE DENVER CEREAL
The Denver Cereal
Celia’s Puppies
Cascade
Copyright © Claudia Hall Christian
Licensed under the Creative Commons License:
Attribution – NonCommercial – Share Alike 3.0
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ISBN (13 digits) : 978-0-9822746-3-7
(10 digits) : 0-9822746-3-7
Library of Congress : 2009909008
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Second edition © September, 2009
Cook Street Publishing
PO
Box 18217
Denver, CO 80218
For
the Silent Partner.
If
you were truly silent,
the Fey would never exist.
PROLOGUE
October 8 – 12:42 P.M.
Paris, France
“This is it?”
“We thought you’d like to see a familiar face,” her childhood friend said. His bright cricket smile flashed across his face.
“Well, they got it wrong in Catholic School.”
His top hat bounced on his head when he nodded. Adjusting his ascot, he held a white-gloved hand out to her.
“Take my hand.”
“What about the others?” She pulled her hand to her chest. “Don’t you have to take them first?”
“Except for one, they have moved on,” he said. “It’s your time.”
“I think I’ll stay here.”
Jiminy Cricket’s head fell back in laughter. The buttons on his vest strained against the gale.
“I am thirty years old,” she said through her teeth. “I am a Special Forces Intelligence Officer. I am a Sergeant in the United States Army. They call me the Fey. My name is….”
The lights came on. The cricket faded.
She was sitting cross-legged with her best friend’s head in her lap. Touching his face, she confirmed what she already knew. Sergeant Jesse Abreu was dead. She collapsed back against the door to the limestone vault. She would join him soon.
Her heart jumped. There was movement to inside the vault. Someone survived! Shifting her torso toward the vault, Jesse’s head ground further into the gaping wounds in her left hip. She clamped her mouth shut against the scream forming in her throat.
Overwhelmed with pain, her focus slipped. The cricket’s smiling face came into view. She screwed up her face and squinted her eyes.
She was not dying.
Not yet.
Her beloved childhood friend laughed and fanned her with his umbrella.
She was sitting in the doorway again.
“I wondered if you were alive,” a slight dark-haired man said in Arabic. “Don’t move.”
Pressing the muzzle of a handgun against her forehead, he kneeled in front of her. His hand reached under her jacket. Pulling her dog tags from under her T-shirt, he jerked the secondary tag from the longer chain.
“From the look of things, you’ll be dead soon enough.”
He rummaged through Jesse’s shirt ripping his secondary dog tag from its chain. The man held eleven dog tags in front of her face.
“You’re quite valuable.” Holstering the handgun, he stood and looked back into the vault. “Now, where can I find that security token? No token, no payment.”
“Gosh, I wish I could help you.” She replied in Hebrew knowing it would make him angry. She opened and closed her eyes in an attempt to bat her large brown eyes.
“Yes, fuck me.” The man sneered then kicked Jesse’s dead body. Continuing in Arabic, he said, “I’m not the one who is fucked. You should be grateful. Death is preferable to what is planned for you. Just give me the token, and we’re even.”
She glowered at him. Under Jesse’s body, she slipped her hand into her pocket to find her Zippo lighter.
“No matter. You’ll be dead in a few minutes.”
Drawing on her deepest reserves, she jerked her torso left causing the man to look into the vault. With a quick flip of her right hand, the lighter bounced down the dark limestone hallway. When the man jumped after the lighter, she pulled a small journal from inside her jacket. Tucking the journal deep into the front pocket of Jesse’s shirt, she sagged forward.
“Nice try, Fey. I have the token.” The man bent and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. With this, I can afford that house in the South of France.”
The man’s expression turned to disgust when he noticed he was holding a St. Christopher medallion on a secondary dog tag. Spitting on the medallion, he threw it into the pool of blood forming around her. She grabbed for the St. Christopher, the only gift Jesse ever received from his mother. With his foot, he moved the medallion just out of her reach and smirked at her.
“I am sorry. I did like your team… and you.”
“If you like me so much, why not just kill me now?” she asked in Hebrew.
“I am not a killer. I am merely a business man.”
“You hire people to do your killing. You must have known that I would kill him.”
“In fact, I predicted that if we left you alive, you would kill our associate. But you were to be left alive.” He shrugged as if to say that the shooter’s death was a reasonable business expense. Looking into the vault, he said, “Did you have to shoot him in the head? So messy.”
Pulling a neck gaiter up over his mouth and nose, the man retreated into the blood-drenched vault. He glanced around the vault, and then began rummaging through a stack of clean clothing. Finding what he needed, he wrapped the shooter’s head with T-shirts.
The man jerked to a stop.
Footsteps in the hallway!
Through drooping eyes, she watched him press into a dark corner of the vault.
“Take my hand,” Jiminy Cricket said. “It is time.”
She took the gloved hand and looked into the cricket’s beloved face.
“Can we sing?” she asked.
“Of course,” her cricket began singing her favorite song, “When you wish upon a star.”
They sang as they rose through five floors of limestone tunnels and into the building above. They were floating through the bright fall Paris day when a male voice joined in their song.
“Max,” she whispered the name of her identical twin.
A strong deep voice, with a distinctive London accent, joined the song.
“John,” she whispered her husband’s name.
Like a beacon, their voices called her home.
Turning to Jiminy Cricket, she let go of his hand. With death on her tail, she dove back to the pain. She leapt toward the horror. She pushed her spirit back into her broken body.
Feeling a brush across her lips, Alexandra “The Fey” Hargreaves opened her eyes.
F
CHAPTER ONE
Two weeks later
October 22 – 3:00 A.M.
Somewhere deep within the Pentagon
Arlington, Virginia
Sergeant Marcia Wizinski walked down the long dark corridor toward a conference room. For the last three hours, the men’s angry voices echoed through the deserted halls. She tapped on the door to let them know that she was entering. When their voices dropped and the room became silent, Marcia opened the door.
“Sir?” Marcia looked for her boss, the Admiral in charge of Special Forces.
“Yes, Marcia?”
The Admiral was sitting at the end of the table facing the door. Marcia could tell he was angry. She noticed that three of the men had turned away from the door to avoid recognition. Stepping into the room, she kept her eyes on the Admiral.
“You asked me to let you know when they have landed.”
“And?”
“The Air Force reports that the Fey has touched down.” Marcia looked at a piece of paper in her hand. “Sir, um, the Jakker?”
“Sergeant Zack Jakkman?” the Admiral asked.
“Yes, Sir. Sergeant Jakkman insisted on taking her all the way to Walter Reed. Her husband and twin are with her in the Black Hawk. There is a Green Beret waiting for her…. A Sergeant Matthew Mac Clenaghan? The Army says that he is AWOL.”
“She’s alive?” a nondescript brown-eyed man near the middle of the table asked.
“Yes sir. She is alive. She remains in a medically induced coma.”
The tension in the room dropped like the barometer before rain showers. A handsome man with caramel colored skin, broad shoulders and cropped hair stood and walked toward Marcia. Shifting her eyes toward the movement in the room, Marcia felt a jolt of attraction rush through her.
“Thank you, Marcia,” the man said in a Queens accent. “May I walk you to your car?”
“I…” Marcia looked up into the man’s grey-hazel eyes then blushed. She forced her eyes back toward the Admiral. “Sir? Will you need me any further?”
“No, Marcia. Thank you for staying. Please let Agent Rasmussen walk you to your car. Raz?”
“Yes Admiral?” Homeland Security Agent Arthur J. Rasmussen turned toward the Admiral.
“You’ll report from Walter Reed?”
“Yes sir. And Sergeant Mac Clenaghan?”
“We’ll take care of his status,” the Secretary of Defense replied.
“Shall we?” Raz said. He moved through the door then held it for Marcia.
When the door closed, the men were silent. No one was quite sure what to say. In the single largest attack on a Special Forces team, ten soldiers were killed under the streets of Paris. Not just soldiers, these men made up the most successful and talented team in Special Forces. The very best of the very best were cut in two by AK-47 fire in a matter of minutes.
And, beyond all reason, the Fey clung to life.
“I need to get to Walter Reed,” General, turned Senator, Patrick Hargreaves said breaking the silence. “As I see it, we have three remaining issues: maintaining our relationships with our allies in Europe, determining the cause of this action, and protecting the survivors. Have I missed anything?”
“I believe that covers it, Patrick,” the Admiral said.
“When this gets out, our allies will be furious,” the Secretary of State said. “Why was an unauthorized Special Forces team working in Europe?”
“They were authorized to operate in any country where someone was held hostage,” the Admiral replied. “The Joint Chiefs, as well as NATO, gave them authority to go where they needed to go. You know their track record.”
The Secretary of State shifted his watch to show a black scripted F tattooed to the inside of his right wrist.
“Yes, Admiral, I am aware of their success.”
“I thought so,” the Admiral said.
“There are no known hostages in Europe,” the Secretary of Defense said. “And the Jakker is not talking. We have no idea why they were in Paris. We need a cover story.”
“We’ve taken care of that. The French know the truth.” The CIA Director shrugged. “The rest of the world believes that the team was killed in Afghanistan. But I’ll tell you. In the last ten days, we’ve heard from almost every warlord in Afghanistan, including the Taliban. They are shocked, upset and not one claims responsibility for the attack. If Afghani warlords had Internet access? We’d be in big trouble.”
“What do we do about the French?” the Secretary of State asked.
“My brother works in French government,” the non-descript man said. He continued tapping a cigarette against the table. “He has smoothed any ruffled feathers. At this moment, there is no record that the Fey or her team were ever in Paris.”
“I didn’t know elite intelligence agents had brothers,” the Secretary of Defense said looking at the non-descript man. “Well done, Ben.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ben replied. He set the cigarette down on the table. “Do we have any idea why they were….”
“Murdered?” the Admiral finished Ben’s statement. “No. We have no idea. Who called you to warn you?”
“Someone who is no longer living.”
The Admiral looked at Ben. His distaste for spies, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, even Military Intelligence, showed on his face. Amused, Ben raised his eyebrows at the Admiral.
“And the vault?” Patrick Hargreaves asked. His voice broke the tension between his best friend and the head of Special Forces.
“We’ll continue trying to get in, but it doesn’t look good,” the Secretary of Defense said. “There is a note in Captain O’Brien’s file that says: ‘Only the Fey has access to storage.’”
“The note was made by?”
“The notation was made five days prior to the assault. By the Fey.”
“If she doesn’t survive….” Patrick Hargreaves’ voice caught with emotion.
“When Alexandra is well,” Ben said, “she will stop at nothing to find out what happened.”
“So we wait?” the Secretary of Defense asked.
“We already have a cover,” the Admiral said. “We will stick with the story until we know one way or the other. I will not waste any more time on ‘what ifs’. In the meantime, I’ve been authorized to create a memorial for the Fey Special Forces Team at Fort Logan National Cemetery. How will we protect the survivors?”
“Agent Rasmussen has created a new identity for the Fey,” Ben said. “She is Alyssa Kreiger, orphan, married to John Drayson. Senator Hargreaves had a son named Alexander instead of a daughter named Alexandra. Alexander was killed in the assault.”
“She’ll work for me,” Colonel Howard Gordon spoke for the first time, “at Military Intelligence in Colorado. We are creating a cartography team for her.”
“She’s already remapped most of Afghanistan,” the Secretary of Defense said. His eyes flicked to her father.
“Alex likes to work with maps,” Patrick said. “Ever since she was a small child, she’s loved maps… stars… her twin….”
His voice caught. The great General Hargreaves gulped back his emotion.
“We agree then that she won’t be discharged?” the Secretary of Defense asked.
“She is a welcome addition to our team,” Colonel Gordon said. “We will do everything in our power to keep her safe.”
“She is still contractually obligated to continue working in US Intelligence,” the CIA director said.
“So you ARE holding her to that Goddamn contract.” Patrick spit the words at the CIA Director. “You don’t give a shit about her. You just want your prize.”
“She is a valuable asset that we are extremely unwilling to….”
“Alexandra will continue working under me as Agent Rasmussen’s partner,” Ben said.
“And Captain Walter?” the Secretary of Defense asked. He tried veering away from the topic they had spent the last hour arguing about.
“Captain Walter is on six months leave,” the Admiral said. “He was due to re-join the team in three weeks.”
“Captain Walter and his family are in the process of being relocated to rural Colorado,” the FBI Director said with force. While these men argued over details, his agents were doing the actual work. “They will be settled by the end of the week.”
“And Robert Powell?” the Secretary of Defense asked.
“The Boy Scout?” The Admiral asked. “He was not with the team at the time of the assault. He is currently in Nicaragua.”
“A guest of the CIA?” the Secretary of State asked.
The CIA Director nodded.
“Healing from his fictitious wounds. He was only with the team for a little more than five months,” the Admiral said. “He will receive a long term assignment, probably in Northern Afghanistan.”
“You’re burying him in Afghanistan?” The Secretary of Defense asked.
“I prefer ‘keeping an eye on,’ but yes, we are burying the Boy Scout in Afghanistan.”
“Anyone know where he was at the time of the assault?” Patrick asked.
“Ben?” The CIA Director asked.
“Rumors.”
“Could he have done this?” The Secretary of Defense asked.
Everyone in the room turned to look at Ben. Ben’s eyes focused on the cigarette which he was once again tapping against the table.
“Ben?” The Admiral asked.
Ben looked up and shrugged.
“Killed everyone? No. Involved? Probably.” Ben nodded his head. “Yes, I believe he was involved.”
The men digested the information in silence.
“What’s left?” Patrick said moving to get up. “I need to be with my daughter, my family.”
“One thing,” the Admiral said. The scripted “F” tattoo on his right shoulder burned as if he received it yesterday.
“We protect the Fey. No matter what. We protect the Fey. With any luck, she’ll return to what she does best. With any luck….”
The men nodded in unison.
FFFFFF
Three weeks later
November 12 – 12:15 P.M.
Walter Reed Hospital
Washington DC
“Go to lunch,” Alex whispered to her worried husband.
Dr. John Drayson kneeled next to her bed. His cobalt blue eyes held her brown eyes while his hand stroked her face. He and her identical twin, Max Hargreaves, had been by her side since she arrived at Walter Reed.
The doctors’ predictions were horrifying. Don’t expect much. She may not recognize you. She won’t be the person you knew. Five days ago she opened her eyes, looked into John and Max’s worried faces and laughed. Beyond anyone’s guess, she was her smart, funny, mischievous self.
She just didn’t remember the last six months of her life.
“I…” he started.
“Trying to control everything?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Me?” he laughed. “Never.”
“Come on, John,” Max said. “She wants to play cards.”
“How can you say that?” Alex exclaimed. Looking up at her twin, her eyes danced with laughter.
“Liar,” Max replied.
“I…. I am a wounded veteran. Have some respect!”
At that moment, the door opened and Sergeant Matthew Mac Clenaghan came into the room. Tall and thin, his dark hair was shorn in a military haircut. He looked like an accountant or maybe a lawyer, not a Special Forces officer.
“Are you guys off to lunch?” Matthew asked.
“I guess so,” John said. He ruffled his dark curly hair then leaned over the bed to kiss Alex on the lips. “Sixty minutes. Don’t die.”
“I can’t move. There are guards with machine guns at my door. What could happen?”
“I’ll walk you out,” Matthew said. “I’ll be right back, gimp.”
Alex laughed.
Max held her hands for a moment. Their brown eyes held and they smiled matching smiles. Letting go of her hands, he followed John out of the room.
“She still doesn’t know?” Matthew asked.
“No, she does not know that her team is dead,” John said.
Matthew looked up to nod “Hello” to Sergeant Troy Olivas as he pushed open the door to Alex’s hospital room.
“We need to tell her.”
“When she’s better,” John said, “stronger. You will not tell her.”
Matthew nodded.
“Enjoy your lunch.”
“You’ll call if…” John started.
“Of course,” Matthew said giving his most reassuring smile.
Matthew waited until John and Max were down the hall before he returned to the room. He spoke with the two Army soldiers guarding the door then pushed the door open.
Sitting on Alex’s bed, Troy entertained her with finger puppets. He was in the middle of a nonsensical love story about Enrique and Frieda. Alex giggled at his funny voices and the ridiculous story.
From the moment they met at Special Forces training, Troy and Matthew were best friends. They agreed on one thing. Neither Troy nor Matthew liked the woman in their midst. Less than two months later, Alex’s easy smile, gentle wit, as well as her willingness to drag them through training, won them over. The three soldiers had been friends ever since.
“Is Jesse coming for cards?” Alex beamed at Matthew.
Troy caught her attention again with the squealing voice of Frieda the finger puppet. Frieda’s heart was breaking and Enrique, the brute, did not care.
“You get us instead,” Sergeant Andrew “Trece” Ramirez said coming through the door. “We’re a poor substitute for Jesse but the White Boy never wins.”
A muscular man with a barrel chest, twenty-inch arms and a small waist, Trece held the door for an equally large man with almost albino skin. Trece carried a white bakery box while the other man carried a dozen large sunflowers.
“We brought donuts and flowers,” Sergeant Christopher “White Boy” Blanco said. “Trece? Can you get the china?”
Trece winked at Alex causing the empty teardrop tattoo under his left eye to fold into his coffee colored skin. Setting the donut box on Alex’s bedside tray, he went into the bathroom for paper towels and Dixie cups. When the bathroom door swung closed, and Matthew bent to pick something up, the White Boy pulled a DVD case out of his inside jacket pocket.
“I got the movie,” the White Boy whispered.
He gave her a copy of Walt Disney’s Pinocchio. She tucked the movie under her sheets. The White Boy sneered at Troy who shrugged. Hearing Trece return, the White Boy became very busy setting the sunflowers into her plastic water pitcher.
“Oh gee, what shall we drink?” Matthew asked. He stood up holding up a bottle of Irish Whiskey. “But none for you, missy.”
“You are so mean!” Alex exclaimed.
Crossing her arms across her chest, she pretended to pout. The men laughed at her efforts. Trece returned from the bathroom with Dixie cups and napkins. Matthew poured the whiskey.
“Can you help me sit up?” she asked.
“Sure. Get up Troy.”
“We’re in the middle of the story!” Troy exclaimed. “How will we know if Enrique and Frieda are meant for each other?”
“Oh God,” Matthew said.
“Hey, if little Troy wants to put on a show, then I think we should watch,” Trece said. He crossed his arms and leaned back on his hip. “Go ahead. We like to be entertained by the little people of the world.”
Alex laughed at the idea of six foot tall Troy as a “little” person. Alex met Trece and the White Boy when they sat down next to Jesse in the dining hall in Bosnia. The four soldiers were inseparable the rest of the tour in Bosnia. Even after Alex and Jesse went on to be Green Berets, and Trece and the White Boy moved into a unit that worked in government security, they remained fast friends.
“Go ahead, little man,” the White Boy said. He looked up from the donut box. “Alex, you want the chocolate sprinkle?”
Alex nodded and took the donut from the White Boy.
Troy, flustered by the attention, stood from the bed. Glancing back, he saw that Alex was laughing at him. He smiled in return and slipped the puppets into his pocket.
From the waist down, Alex was a freak show of gauze, tubes, tape and wire. Her left hip all but destroyed. No one knew if she would walk again. Trece and Matthew, one on each side, lifted Alex to sitting. The men looked away when she grunted with pain. She smiled when she was situated. Then the DVD case fell on the floor.
“What’s this?” Trece asked. He bent down to pick up the DVD case. “I love this movie. Shall I put it on?”
The White Boy looked at Alex who shrugged. Who knew that Trece loved Pinocchio? Trece put the DVD in the player and flipped the television so the movie played in the background.
“I was going to ask,” the White Boy said. “Do you love Pinocchio because you want to be a boy? You know Pinocchio wanted to be a boy?”
“No, that’s Max! I’m the blue fairy like my tattoo.”
The men stared at Alex.
“What?” Matthew asked.
“Max and I were supposed to be this boy-girl deformed person but Max wanted to be a boy. So we’re identical twins instead,” Alex said. She looked from one confused face to the next. “John can explain the genetics if you want. But that’s what happened.”
“All right then. Anyone has to look at you to know that your identical twins, but… thanks for the clarification.” Matthew said. “Can we play cards now?”
“Thanks. Oh, I might get a call,” Alex said. “Would you mind bringing the phone over?”
“A call?” Matthew asked.
“Are you her personal secretary?” Trece asked. “Man, I would never let a woman push me around like that.”
“Shut up, Trece,” Alex said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Trece replied. The men laughed.
“King Abdallah likes to call on his anniversary,” Alex said. “I’m sorry Mattie. Do you mind?”
“I’m happy to help,” Matthew said.
“Can we play?” the White Boy said passing cards to each of the men. “We only have fifty-one minutes before the clone and the cutie-pie husband return. I need to make some extra money.”
“You’re going to win?” Trece asked. The White Boy looked at him and they laughed.
Troy snatched his cards from the White Boy’s hand. Plopping down in a chair near Alex’s bed, he set his feet on her bed. Matthew pushed Troy’s feet off the bed and sat down in their place. Like most experienced soldiers, they were seasoned poker players. They fell into the easy rhythm of playing poker, eating donuts and drinking whiskey.
Alex was about to win her second hand when the phone rang. She opened her mouth, but Trece beat her to it.
“Mattie,” Trece said imitating her voice. “Would you mind getting the phone for me?”
Matthew shook his head at Trece. Walking across the room, Matthew picked up the telephone. Carrying the phone across the room, he lifted the receiver to his ear.
“Yes, sir,” Matthew replied in Arabic. “She is right here. One moment.”
Matthew gave Alex the telephone receiver. Alex set her cards face up showing her straight flush. The men groaned and threw their cards at her. She ducked to avoid the cards and took the telephone receiver from Matthew.
“As-Salamu `Alaykum,” she said giving the standard Arabic greeting into the phone. She smiled at Troy’s exaggerated response to her win. Even Enrique the finger puppet protested.
“Alaykum As-Salam, my dear,” a man’s voice said in Arabic. “How does it feel to have killed your entire team? Decorated soldiers with wives and families cut down in the prime of their lives because of you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They didn’t tell you?” the man’s voice purred in her ear. “They are all dead, Alexandra. And you are to blame. Charlie, Dwight, Paul, Nathan, Jax, Dean, Scott, Mike, and Tommy. That’s not to mention Jesse Abreu. How does it feel to have killed your best friend?”
“Jesse?”
“You as good as put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.”
Troy nudged Matthew’s arm and pointed at Alex. Her face had blanched white.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Eleazar. I want you to know my name so you will know precisely who did pull the trigger. Just in case you forget, I will call you every month at the exact time I was forced to kill your team. You will never forget what you have done.”
“What have I done?”
“Forced me to kill the Fey Special Forces team. You better take a good look at what’s left of your friends. Enjoy them while you can. I will kill every one of them while you watch until you give me what I want.”
“What do you want?” she whispered into the phone.
“I want my property,” the voice screamed into the phone.
Alex screamed. Dropping the telephone receiver, her hands covered her ears and a flood of tears poured from her eyes and nose. Her ears filled with the sound of ragged breathing. And panic set in. Desperate to get away, to get anywhere safe, she ripped the tubes, wires and IVs from her body.
Troy jumped from his chair. His arms went around her torso as he tried to stop her thrashing. Trece’s hands went around her ankles to keep her legs still while the White Boy ran to get the doctor. Matthew dropped beside her into the bed.
But the damage was done. In her terror, she ripped the deep sutures in her hip. Her blood flowed freely from her femoral artery.
A nurse ran into the room followed by the White Boy. The nurse ran out of the room to get the doctor.
“Trece, put your hands on the wound,” Matthew screamed.
The White Boy took Trece’s place at Alex’s ankles. Trece jumped to press his hands against her open wound.
“Yes, right there.”
Despite their efforts to hold her still, she rocked back and forth in the bed.
“Everyone’s dead. Everyone’s dead. Everyone’s dead. Everyone’s dead.” She whispered over and over again.
“Alex, honey, you have to stop moving,” Matthew said. “Ah fuck.”
The monitor screamed when her blood pressure plummeted. The doctor ran in with a nurse. Yelling orders to the nurse, the doctor fumbled with Alex’s useless IV lines. He pointed to Alex’s arm and the nurse shot Alex full of barbiturates. Within seconds, she fell back against the bed.
“Mattie?”
“I’m here,” he said.
“I killed everyone.” Alex dropped into drug-induced oblivion.
F
CHAPTER TWO
Fourteen months later
January 5 – 5:30 A.M.
Denver, Colorado
Alex lay somewhere between sleep and awake when John began stroking her naked body. She reached for him and he shifted on top of her. His lips brushed hers before moving to her chin. His tongue flicked the crease in her chin and his mouth began a biting, pulling journey down her neck. She giggled at the waves of goose bumps down her back and the rising warmth in her core.
She delighted at his weight, his lush male scent and shivered under his still moving mouth and skilled surgeon’s hands. Shifting her hips, she drew him into her depths. At the moment of union, he pushed back to look into her brown eyes.
“Good morning,” Alex whispered.
“And a very good morning to you,” he replied in his wonderful London accent.
He began subtle waves of movement that brought them luscious warmth. With deliberate motion, he flipped her on top of him giving him access to her full breasts. Alex increased the pace, moving with purpose, against him while he rubbed, bit and tortured her nipples. When she dropped her head back, he sat up to meet her. With his strong arms around her, he moved on top of her again pressing forward. They rose in tempo and pace.
Feeling her close to the edge, he said, “Promise me…”
“Oh God, I hate it when you do this.”
He kissed her lips.
“I’m going to buy a vibrator.”
He laughed. He moved his hips causing her breath to catch.
“Yes my darling?” he said imitating her American accent.
“What?”
“You need to leave the house today,” John said.
“I already promised to leave the house today,” she said. She tugged at her dog tag hanging around his neck. She kissed him then bit his lip. “I need to buy a vibrator anyway.”
Dropping his mouth to hers, he continued deep and slow movements until she gasped with pleasure and shuddered against him. He shifted their tempo then followed her in waves of blissful release. They held each other tight, face to face, heart to heart, entwined.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.
“Not more than I love you.”
He kissed her nose, nuzzled her neck, then slipped from the bed to begin his day. When he moved into his closet, she pulled the covers over her head. She was asleep by the time he left for his morning run.
He yanked the covers off her warm naked body when he returned. She played along and chatted with him until the moment he entered the shower. Flipping the covers over her head, she was asleep.
When she opened her eyes, he was dressed in blue scrubs, ready for another day as a resident in the Vascular Surgery program at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center. Knowing her love of coffee, he waved a mug under her nose to wake her. When she reached for the coffee, he held the mug away from her.
“You’ve never broken a promise to me Alex.”
“Not yet,” she said.
“Not in twelve years,” he said. “Come on, love, it’s time to start living again.”
“Yes, I’ll begin with a purple vibrator,” she said taking the cup from him. She sat up against the headboard. Wrapping both hands around the mug, she took a long drink of coffee.
“Why purple?” he asked.
“It’s not your favorite color. You won’t want to borrow it.”
“Oh I might.”
Moving his hand in quick motion, he made a buzzing sound and pressed his hand between her legs. She screamed and splashed the coffee on the covers. Laughing, he gave her a hand towel to mop up the mess.
“Would you like to take my car? It’s easier to drive.”
She smiled. John loved his Audi A8 like a child. The car’s heated leather seats and plush interior was his daily confirmation that he was no longer a poor starving orphan. If he’s offering his car, he must genuinely want her to leave the house.
“My mother’s coming to get me,” Alex said. She passed him the mug then, using her hands she pressed her left leg to the edge of the bed. He gave her a metal forearm crutch. She pushed herself to standing.
“You’re taking your mother to purchase your first vibrator?” he asked. Holding her bathrobe, he helped her slip into the warm terrycloth. He put the mug of coffee in her hand then watched her drain the mug. “You can get a shower? Get dressed?”
“I can,” she said. She kissed him. “Thanks. My mother is taking me to her hairdresser to begin the transformation to Alyssa Kreiger. We have a makeup consultation, contact lenses, clothing, blah, blah, blah.”
“No vibrator?”
“Sadly, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” she said. “Unless you’d like to pick one up.”
“I won’t pick out my replacement, love.” He brushed his lips across her lips. Turning to leave the room, she caught his hand.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You have to fight this depression Alexandra. It’s eating you alive.”
“When you see me next, I’ll be a new woman.”
“Thank God. I was getting a little bored.”
She slapped at him and he laughed. With one last kiss, he scooted down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door to the garage. She listened for his car then got back in bed.
Staring at the ceiling, she wondered why she had promised to leave the house. She hadn’t left the house since Zack the Jakker flew her home from Walter Reed. No amount of cajoling, threatening or begging could get her to leave the house once she was finally home. She even ignored a subpoena from the Senate Subcommittee on Personnel. She wanted to be right here, in this bed, in this house.
But today was THE DAY TO LEAVE THE HOUSE as determined by… everyone. Her family ganged up on her last weekend making her promise to get out of the house or go on antidepressants and get more counseling. Only John and Max knew that she took antidepressants and saw a counselor.
Not that it helped.
Well… she had cried all day and all night the first month. No, two months. She couldn’t stem the flow of tears that started the moment Eleazar told her everyone was dead. Everyone was dead except Alex.
Enter pills and counselor. Exit hysteria. She pulled the covers over her head.
Eleazar. Two days and…. She used her fingers to count the hours until she had to speak to him again. Two days, three hours, and twenty-four minutes until his January call. Her mind went blank.
With a sigh, her internal review returned. Max kept her from killing herself. Like many twins, they were linked together mentally, emotionally, and psychically. She feared that he would die when she died. She rubbed her hands over her face.
No work today. Alex, now Alyssa, was a cartographer for the 734D Military Intelligence Division. Her interest in maps, and habit of annotating them with interesting details, became her career. She was even a Major with a department of her own. Of course, there was no one in her department. Just Alex. And her assistant. Some department.
She worked at home in her secure office with a video link to her assistant and command at Buckley Air Force Base. She had been to the base… see, she did leave the house… about three months ago. Alex rolled over.
There was no reason for her to leave the house today.
“I know you are thinking that there’s no reason for you to leave the house today,” Max said walking into her bedroom. He pulled the covers from her. “You’re wrong.”
“Ah Maxie,” Alex said. She gave him her best “you have to understand” face but he was having none of it.
“Get up,” Max said. “Moping around does you no good. Plus you’re getting fat.”
“WHAT??” Alex jumped from the bed. “What do you mean I’m getting fat? I’ve always been too thin. I’m still too thin. Last time I checked I was less than 15% body fat.”
Max laughed. He had tricked her from the bed.
She plopped on the bed and he sat down next to her. Resting her head against his shoulder, he put his arm around her. The twins sat on the bed, in silent communion, until Alex’s cell phone began vibrating in the pocket of her bathrobe.
“Love?” John asked. “I know you’re still in bed.”
“Actually your best friend is here berating me about how fat I’ve become.”
John laughed.
“I just wanted to let you know that…”
The doorbell rang.
“I scheduled the cleaners this morning.”
“You what?”
“Love you too,” he said and hung up the phone.
“Go shower,” Max said. Pulling and pushing, he got her into the shower. He went downstairs to let in the cleaning service.
She sighed.
Her mind flitted through John and Max’s encouraging words. What do you have to lose? Try it for one day. You’re just bored. You can always come home.
She sighed.
If I don’t leave the house, how will I ever get my vibrator?
Smiling at the thought, she turned on the shower.
FFF
Six hours later
January 5 – 1:00
P.M.
Denver, Colorado
“Alex!”
Alex looked over at her petite little sister Erin. Erin’s green eyes were wide with laughter. Alex blinked.
“What did I miss?”
Alex began singing songs in her head, a standard technique for surviving torture, during the two hour scalp scorching hairdressing episode. Transformed into Alyssa, Alex was now blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing an outfit that was fit for the matron’s ball. That’s not to mention the ‘you-look-absolutely-fabulous’ makeup mask. Alyssa Kreiger was a complete dud.
Erin laughed. She reached across the table to hold Alex’s hands. Their mother, Rebecca Hargreaves, was talking to a friend at another table.
“I’m glad you left the house,” Erin said. “I’ve looked forward to spending time with you since you returned to Denver.”
“Bed ridden?” Alex asked.
“Yes, I was hoping to spend time in bed with you,” Erin laughed. “I just thought that we could be friends now that we’re grown up and stuff.”
“That sounds nice,” Alex said.
“First thing? I’m going to take you shopping for some… er… decent clothing!”
“If I had known that so much shopping was in my future? I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have fought so hard to survive.”
“Alexandra!” Rebecca said sitting down next to Erin. Her hazel eyes were sparked in shock. “What are you saying?”
“I’m attempting a joke.”
“It’s not very funny,” Rebecca said.
When Rebecca turned to order lunch, Erin flared her nostrils and winked at Alex. Alex laughed.
“I have some news,” Erin said.
“Are you done with school?” Rebecca said. “Erin, that’s wonderful! Will you look for a job at a pharmaceutical company?”
“Actually, mother, I quit school six months ago,” Erin said.
Alex blinked. That got her attention. Erin had wanted to research infectious diseases since a friend of the family died of Hanta virus when she was ten years old. She was a year from finishing her Ph.D. Erin’s thesis research project was underway.
“What are you saying?” Rebecca asked.
“I’m engaged,” Erin said. The words seemed to drop onto the table.
Rebecca squealed and began peppering Erin with questions. Erin blushed, looked down and shifted in her seat. While Alex watched, Erin seemed to blossom and withdraw at the same time. Something was not quite right. Erin looked up at Alex with pleading eyes.
“How exciting. Have you set a date?” Alex asked.
“Not yet,” Erin said. “I wanted to get married in twelve hours, but he wanted to wait.”
“Thirteen hours,” Alex laughed.
“Only Alex is crazy enough to marry someone she’d known for thirteen hours,” Rebecca said.
“And keep it a secret for ten years,” Erin said. “I thought I’d just put it right out there.”
“And you are marrying….?” Alex asked.
“Christ Alex! Do you pay attention at all?” Rebecca asked. “Erin is marrying that nice boy Marcos Ruiz.”
“I was just wondering because….” Alex nodded her head in the direction of Matthew, who was walking toward them.
Erin’s head jerked around to see Matthew. She flushed bright red, then looked down, her hands moving instinctively through her red curly hair. Erin and Matthew dated off and on since she was sixteen years old. They were currently in an “off” phase while Matthew was out of the country.
“When did he get back?” Erin said between her teeth.
“Yesterday,” Alex said. “He called me when we were at the old ladies’ boutique.”
“The fashion consultant?” Rebecca said.
“Hmm,” Alex said. “He’s in a martial arts tournament tomorrow and wants to spar. I invited him to lunch. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Have I met Marcos?”
“No,” Erin said with a shake of her head. “No, you’d have to leave the house for that.”
“Don’t get up,” Matthew said to Alex in Irish Gaelic.
“Hello ladies. May I join you for lunch?” he asked in English.
“Matthew, of course, please join us,” Rebecca said.
He leaned to kiss Rebecca’s cheek while he stroked Erin’s neck with his fingers. Erin turned to look up at him. Erin’s face flushed with longing, then something else, something foreign to her vibrant sister, crept into Erin’s eyes. Her eyes flashed with fear. Matthew’s eyes asked the question, but Erin shook her head and looked away. He gave Erin a peck on the cheek then sat next to Alex. Under the table, he reached for Alex’s hand.
“What a surprise,” Rebecca said. “Erin was just telling us that she’s engaged.”
“But it’s not done,” he asked Alex in Gaelic under his breath. Matthew nodded slightly. He smiled at Erin, continuing in English, “Congratulations Erin.”
Erin squinted her eyes at Matthew then looked away.
“It’s not done,” Alex replied in Gaelic.
“So this is Alyssa?” Matthew said. He turned in his chair to get a better look at Alex.
“She’s kind of a dud,” Alex said.
Matthew laughed. Turning to Rebecca, he said, “God, the eyes creep me out. What do you think?”
“She’s beautiful,” Rebecca said. “But you’re right. The blue eyes are a little disconcerting.”
“And the hair?” Erin said.
Matthew touched Alex’s blonde locks then laughed.
“What a difference a few years make,” he said. “Did you even wash your hair in training?”
Alex laughed. She and Matthew met on a martial arts sparring mat during their Special Forces training. They became sparring partners and, prior to Alex’s injuries, won every tournament they entered. Alex rotated in her chair to look at him. He was now competing, and winning, without her. Like so many things, life had moved on while she remained stuck in one place.
When the waiter cleared the plates, Alex asked Rebecca to help her to the bathroom giving Matthew and Erin a chance to talk. Even with Alex’s slow movements across the restaurant, Matthew and Erin were arguing when they returned. Rebecca stopped for a loud conversation with an acquaintance to announce their arrival. Squeezing Alex’s hand, Rebecca helped her sit then insisted on ordering desserts to celebrate the engagement.
Taking over the conversation, Rebecca chatted about their brother Colin and his wife Julie. Two years younger than Max and Alex, Colin was Rebecca’s favorite child. His siblings called him the “Golden Child” as a reference to his white blonde hair and his special spot in Rebecca’s heart. Also a Green Beret, Colin left the Army around the time of Alex’s injury. He now had his own elementary school classroom.
Rebecca’s chatter did nothing to decrease the tension at the table. Looking at Matthew’s blank face, she knew that he was very upset. But her sister? She hadn’t spent any time with her since she was seventeen years old. She had no idea what was going on between Matthew and Erin. She slipped her hand into Matthew’s hand to encourage him.
The waiter was placing their desserts in front of them when a short, dark haired man stormed toward them. Catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, Alex’s hand went to the handgun she wore in a holster at her sacrum. Reading Alex’s gesture, Matthew shifted. He was ready for action.
Noticing the change in Matthew and Alex, Erin turned to see what they were looking at. Her back stiffened in surprise then she jumped from her chair. Almost running down the aisle, Erin used her hand to hold the man in place.
Alex flinched when he pushed Erin aside to move toward the table. Erin caught his hand and he turned to look at her. Alex couldn’t see what he said. She only noticed the look of desperation on Erin’s face.
Glancing at Alex then Matthew, Rebecca turned to see why they were staring.
“Erin?”
Erin’s face shifted to a smile. The man turned to Rebecca. His plastic smile and cruel eyes were not lost on Rebecca. But Rebecca smiled.
“The groom is here,” Rebecca said. “Oh Marcos, how nice to see you!”
Holding Erin’s hand, Marcos came toward the table.
“This is my friend, Alyssa,” Erin said, “and her boyfriend Matthew. This is my boyfriend….”
“Fiancé,” Marcos interrupted.
“Right,” Erin looked down. “Fiancé Marcos.”
Towering over Marcos, Matthew leaned over a little in order to shake Marcos’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. Please join us.” Matthew retrieved a chair from another table and placed it at the end of the table. “Can you move over, darling?” he asked Alex.
She shook her head.
“I’ll help,” he said. Pulling her to standing, he moved her chair over, then helped her sit again. “Alyssa is recovering from an injury.”
“You were in a road side bombing in Iraq. Erin told me about you. Nice to meet you. While I do not support the war, I believe it’s important to support our troops. Of course, they need to be responsible for their own choices. Their choice to be in the military; their choice to be injured. It’s really that simple. We both feel strongly about this.”
Alex blinked at the underhanded insult. Prick.
“Nice to meet you,” Alex said.
Glancing at Erin, Alex was surprised to see that Erin’s eyes glazed over. Feeling Alex’s gaze, Erin’s blank eyes shifted to Alex.
“How long have you been together?” Marcos asked.
Matthew made a face then looked at Alex. They laughed.
“A long time,” Alex said.
“About ten years,” Rebecca added. “Didn’t you meet at a training? Alyssa was dating Colin but one look at Matthew and…” Rebecca shrugged. “I had hoped to have Alyssa as a daughter-in-law.”
Alex’s eyes flicked to her mother. Rebecca was no fool. Her mother played along to insure that her daughters were not involved in a public drama.
“Why were you holding Erin’s hand?” Marcos asked. “Just a minute ago. I could have sworn that you were holding hands.”
“Were you hitting on Erin?” Alex asked. She mock hit Matthew. “A girl can’t even go to the bathroom.”
“I was asking Erin if she would keep a secret for me.”
“A secret?” Alex asked.
“Alyssa,” Erin said. Relief spread from her eyes through her body. “I promised not to tell.”
“What’s the secret?” Marcos asked.
“If you must know, I was asking Erin what kind of ring Alyssa might like. We bought that little band a while ago. I was thinking of making it legal.”
Alex squealed and reached for Erin’s hands.
“We’ll both be brides!”
“Thanks for spoiling the surprise.”
“I still don’t get why you were holding Erin’s hand,” Marcos pressed.
“Erin was showing me on her hand a ring that Alyssa had admired. I don’t think I held her hand as much as pointed to it while we discussed the ring. But from across the room, I can understand why you were confused.”
“Oh Matthew,” Alex said. She leaned against his shoulder and he kissed her head. He put his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
Despite the tense situation, Matthew gave a genuine laugh at her suggestive tone.
“I don’t want to miss my chance. Plus,” Alex arched an eyebrow, “I have a surprise of my own.”
Matthew opened his mouth at the suggestion, then moved to get up.
“Please stay for dessert,” Erin said.
“Yes, stay for dessert at least,” Rebecca said. She returned to her chatter about Colin’s new classroom.
With Matthew’s arm around Alex, they shared a dessert so that Marcos could have one of his own. Alex had no idea what this guy’s problem was or why Erin introduced her as Alyssa, but she did not like this Marcos. As soon as she could, Alex was going to do a little spy work on this Marcos.
“I thought you were married to the big curly haired guy,” Marcos asked Alex as they said good-bye. “Erin has an old photo of you, her brother and that other guy. She’s standing next to you and you’re at Disneyland. She said he was your husband. Of course, your hair was dark.”
“Are you sure it was me?” Alex asked. “Erin is friends with a girl named Alex. They are as close as sisters. People often get us confused because we’re both tall and thin. But Alex has brown hair and brown eyes. She’s married to a doctor in town. Mattie, honey, do you remember his name?”
Matthew made a face and shook his head.
“Brain on testosterone,” Alex said. She shook Marcos’ hand. “Very nice to meet you.”
Leaning on the forearm crutch, Alex made slow progress through the restaurant and into her Jeep CJ-7 which Matthew drove to the restaurant. He helped her into the passenger seat, then jumped into the driver’s seat. They were two blocks away before they started laughing.
“What the fuck was that?” Alex asked.
“He reminds me of my Dad,” Matthew said.
“And that’s not a good thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Matthew said.
“What happened?”
“She flipped out. In a very low voice, she told me exactly how much I suck. I took her hand to try to comfort her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Erin that upset.”
“It’s not like that’s new information.”
“That I suck?” Matthew laughed. “No it’s not news. What do you know about this guy?”
“I’ve been so caught up in myself that I…. No, I’ve never met him.”
Matthew nodded. They drove out of the Cherry Creek shopping area and toward the highway. Flicking on the radio, Matthew picked a classic rock station. When “Sweet Home Alabama” came on, they sang along with Lynard Skynard. They were almost to the highway when Alex spoke.
“Will you take me to see Jesse?”
Matthew pulled the Jeep over to look at Alex. Their eyes held for a moment.
“Honey, Jesse’s dead.”
“I haven’t been to the memorial. You went to the ceremony but I was in the hospital. I haven’t been able to go because it wasn’t safe. I’m all Alyssa-ed up today. Please Mattie. Please take me to see Jesse.”
“Alex, it’s your first day out of the house. Do you….”
She nodded.
“All right. But then we train.”
“Then we train.”
F
CHAPTER THREE
Five weeks
later
February 8 – 11:45 A.M.
Denver, Colorado
Alex pressed the video link to her command and waited for her assistant to respond. She sat in her leather office chair in front of the red oak armoire that held her computers and the link to command.
“Name,” her Sergeant said.
“Fey,” Alex replied. She waited while security confirmed her face and voice imprint.
“Sir, you are amazingly popular today.”
“Oh yeah?” Alex asked.
“Seven messages. Would you like me to read them to you?”
“Just send the emails,” Alex said. “Is it….”
“Eleazar. There’s new intel out of Iraq about him.”
“We go through this every month. The eighth of the month rolls around and suddenly everyone has something to say about Eleazar. Anything I need to know?”
“Officially?”
She laughed at his sarcasm. She wasn’t sure how they picked him to be her assistant, but he was a perfect counter balance. She was amazed at his ability to predict her mood then give her exactly what she needed. He even ran interference with brass.
“The Colonel would like to speak with you before you take the call.”
“Can you connect me?”
“He’s in a meeting but he said he would call you at 1200 hours.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll email the messages. Do you know someone named Olivas?”
“Troy? I went to basic and Special Forces training with him. Why?”
“He’s left three messages saying that he’s at the Fort. He won’t tell me what he wants. He just says, ‘Tell the Fey that I’m at Fort Carson.’ Sir, I ran his profile and…. Sir, he has a reputation for being wild.”
Alex laughed.
“There’s a new sim at Fort Carson. Afghanistan, I think. He wants me to beat it.”
“Can you do that?” Her Sergeant’s voice held a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “I mean, with your injuries, you can still beat the training simulations?”
“I’ve beaten every one so far.” Alex shrugged. “I’ll call him when I’m done with Eleazar. Have we heard from Trece or the White Boy?”
“They’re off the radar. Last report, they were at working at Camp David.”
Alex nodded. Her friends had a way of showing up on the eighth of the month.
“When Olivas calls again ask him about Trece. They’re probably at the Fort.”
Her Sergeant nodded.
“Maps? We’re cartographers. And cartographers….”
“Work on maps,” they said in unison.
“Yes sir. The Intelligence Center fixed the map phone.”
When her team arrived in Afghanistan with only aged, inaccurate Russian maps, Alex fixed, redrew and annotated their maps out of habit. Her team passed their maps on to other teams. Soon soldiers were begging the Intelligence Center for copies of those ‘fairy maps’.
After fielding international requests for the maps, the Intelligence Center began distributing the Fey map series. In turn, Alex requested a telephone line where soldiers could leave their feedback. Eleazar called the ‘map phone’ every month.
“Just in time to talk to Eleazar.”
“The Intelligence Center expresses its profound apologies for any inconvenience the Fey might have experienced,” her Sergeant read from a letter. “Sir, I’ve never known anyone who received an apology from the Intelligence Center.”
“They make a bundle off the maps,” Alex said.
“And then some. Do they….”
“Just doing my duty, Sergeant,” Alex answered his unasked question. No they didn’t pay her for the maps. They were considered intellectual property of the United States Army. Or something like that. “Iraq-Iran border?”
“The map of the Iraq-Iran border has been a great success. We’ve heard from three of the six teams. Their messages are waiting for you on the map phone. You can get them when Homeland returns the line.”
Alex nodded.
“Sir, there’s some question about quadrant four and sixteen. The overhang near the center of the quadrant four? It’s about a foot wider and three feet deeper than marked. Quadrant sixteen has a well marker but there’s no water there.”
“Let me check,” Alex said.
Alex looked at the quadrant in question on her computer then moved to wide table where she worked on her maps. She pulled out the hard copy of the map from black wood cubby tucked into the wall. Unrolling the map against the table, she noted the overhang change, then searched for the well.
“I made a note on the overhang. But I don’t have a well on my hard or electronic copy.”
“It shows on the GPS copy.”
“God I hate GPS.”
“It’s an inanimate object, sir.”
Looking up from the map, Alex caught his wry grin. She laughed when he wagged his eyebrows.
“Can you shoot a message that GPS is always behind? It’s usually at least two months behind a map change.”
“Yes sir,” her Sergeant said.
“Anything else?”
“There’s a new order to continue in Afghanistan,” he said. “Um, three, no six identified zones that need remapping.”
“Oil?”
“Probably,” he said.
“All right,” she said. “I’ve been working on refugee maps of Jordon and Syria. Do you have those changes?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Thanks Sergeant.”
Alex looked at the clock. She had an hour and four minutes before Eleazar phoned.
“Sir?”
“Yes Sergeant?”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Alex clicked the connection to standby. Pushing back her leather office chair, she wandered across the hardwood floors to the overstuffed green chair that sat in the corner of her secure office. She flicked a remote and the gas fireplace cast a dancing yellow glow onto the antique map of the world hanging on the opposite wall. Alex closed her eyes, resting for a moment, in the warm, safe room.
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