any luck, the refuel would go fast and he’d make it home in time to catch his game.
The turbines whined as the choppers lifted in unison, arcing into the warm, starlit sky, streaking for home in single file.
A heartbeat later, alarms screamed.
Missile lock.
Salvio grabbed a handhold as the helicopter plunged violently to escape, blowing auto-chaff in a steep banking turn. Through the gunner’s door he saw a fiery streak slam into one of his choppers and erupt in a cloud of flaming metal.
The last thing Salvio heard was the roar of the exploding HE charge that tore his aircraft apart, killing most, including him. The screaming survivors perished when the burning wreck slammed into the ground five hundred meters below.
In the space of thirty seconds, the entire Scorpion platoon ceased to exist.
Proof of concept number one.
2
CRISFIELD, MARYLAND
Jack pulled up to the curbless street in front of the modest one-story white frame house and killed the engine. It brought back memories. He hadn’t been here since his freshman year in college, when Cory’s mom cooked the two Georgetown students a roast. “Stick-to-yer-ribs food, Jack. That’s what you boys need if you’re sailing today,” she’d said. Taking the skiff Cory’s dad built out onto Daugherty Creek was one of Jack’s favorite memories.
Cory’s working-class family was a lot like that little house. Solid, sturdy, dependable—and certainly nothing fancy. But Cory had been a good friend, and the memories Jack had from the summer road trip they took in their sophomore year, hiking fourteeners in Colorado, still made him laugh.
Jack approached the front door with trepidation. He hadn’t seen Cory in years. Always meant to, but they both got busy. When his father died in his junior year, Cory gave up his dream of law school and dropped out of Georgetown to take over his father’s hardware store, and to care for his ailing mother. Jack made it out a few times that year, but Cory was too tied up with customers and inventory to really do anything but shoot the bull over coffee at the store. Jack’s academic plate was also overflowing. No hard feelings. Just a fork in the road. They went their separate ways.
Jack found his dream job with Hendley Associates and The Campus.
Cory stocked lumber and bird food.
Cory’s mother died a few years back, but Jack missed that funeral—he didn’t even know about it until a year after she was buried. He meant to call Cory and offer his condolences, but it just felt too damn awkward after so much time had passed.
Yeah, awkward.
Some friend, asshole.
Jack rang the doorbell. A moment later, a smartly dressed middle-aged nurse in blue scrubs opened the door. Jack noticed her lapel pins. Mary Francis was an RN and a nun. She smiled.
“You must be Jack. Cory’s expecting you.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Jack followed her through the neat and tidy home, the old wooden floors creaking under his two-hundred-pound muscled frame.
“How’s he doing?” Jack whispered, as if in church.
“As well as can be expected,” she replied at full voice. “It won’t be long now.”
He followed her down a narrow hallway. A dozen family photos in cheap frames hung on the walls. One of them was a picture of Jack and Cory standing next to that skiff so many years ago.
Ouch.
“This way,” the nun said, pushing open a bedroom door. An invitation for him to enter alone.
Jack halted for a second. He would’ve felt more comfortable charging blind into a Tora Bora cave with an empty pistol than dealing with what he imagined was waiting for him inside.
“Jack, you came.”
Cory smiled broadly, sitting up in his adjustable bed. He held out his hand. Despite the pallid skin and skeletal frame, he exuded warmth and grace.
Jack sighed with relief. He crossed the room and took Cory’s soft hand. Jack was six-foot-one and powerfully built. More so now than when they were in school together. But back then, Cory had been six-four and two-twenty. A state champion lacrosse player. A real beast. Hard to believe the frail wraith in the adjustable bed had once carried a 175-pound Jack a mile and a half down a Colorado slope on his back after he twisted his ankle. Now Cory was half his former weight, if that, and could barely hold up his own arm.
“Good to see you, Cor.”
“Sorry for the long drive out. I know you’re a busy guy.”
Ouch. Again.
Cory saw the flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I know working for a financial firm like Hendley Associates must be