Soon (3 page)

Trudging down to the den felt like going to the principal’s office. Paul was well aware that nothing upset his father-in-law more than religion. Ranold had been commander of the U.S. Pacific Army during the war. He was on his way back from Washington to his headquarters at Fort Shafter, north of Honolulu, when disaster struck. Conflict between Asian religious factions in the South China Sea resulted in the launching of two nuclear warheads. A colossal chunk of southern China, including Kowloon, was literally separated from the rest of the continent. Besides the devastation from the bombs themselves, which snuffed out tens of millions of lives, the violence to the topography caused a tsunami of such magnitude that it engulfed all of Hong Kong Island, swamped Taiwan with hundreds of feet of water, raced to the Philippine Sea and the East China Sea, obliterated Japan and Indonesia, swept into the Northwest Pacific Basin and the Japan Trench, finally reaching the North Pacific Current.

It was upon the whole of the Hawaiian Islands, swallowing the entire state before any evacuation could take place. Not one person in all of Hawaii survived. The great tidal wave eventually reached Southern California and Baja California, reaching farther inland than expected and killing thousands more who believed they had fled far enough. It changed the landscape and the history of millions of acres from the Pacific Rim to what was then known as North America. The global map would never look the same, and decades later the grief at the human toll still lingered.

A million times more destructive than the atomic bombs that had brought an end to the previous war, the killer tsunami seemed to sober every extremist on the globe. It was as if, over-night, every nation lost its appetite for conflict.

Antireligion, antiwar factions toppled nearly every head of state, and an international government rose from the ashes and mud. The United States was redrawn to consist of seven regions:

Atlantica in the Northeast encompassed ten former states, with New York City as its capital. Columbia encompassed nine southeastern states, with Washington, D.C., as its capital. The president of the United States was deposed and the vice president installed as regional governor, reporting to the international government in Switzerland. Gulfland took in Texas and five nearby states, with Houston as its capital. Sunterra was comprised of Southern California, Arizona, and New Mexico, with Los Angeles becoming its capital. Rockland was made up of seven states, and Las Vegas became its capital. Pacifica, with its capital in San Francisco, encompassed Northern California and four northwestern states, as well as Alaska. And Chicago became the capital of Heartland, which took in ten Midwestern states.

Paul’s own father had died earlier in the war, when the Coalition of Muslim Nations attacked Washington, D.C.
Ranold’s
loss isn’t the only one that matters. His whole generation still focuses
on the horrors they saw. We’re never allowed to forget how they suffered
so we could enjoy a lifetime of peace.

Paul felt an immediate pang of guilt. Early in the twenty-first century the world had been uglier than he could conceive, and the devastating war had left scars—personal and global, physical and psychological—that would never be healed. He shouldn’t have let his father-in-law provoke him. He hated the old man’s self-righteousness, but maybe he could cut Ranold some slack.

When he reached the den, however, neither host nor hostess was still there. Paul glanced at his watch. Eleven straight up. He turned on the big-screen TV and settled in a chair.

“Local police report tonight the grisly discovery of the charred remains of a decorated military man, apparently the result of a tragic accident. The body of retired Delta Force Command Sergeant Major Andrew Edward Pass was found among the ruins of an abandoned warehouse just north of the Columbia Zoological Park.”

Paul stood, mouth agape, holding his breath.
Andy? Andy
Pass?

“Police spokespersons say they have not determined any reason Major Pass would have been in the building, but they have ruled out arson. The fire has been traced to an electrical short, and police speculate that Pass may have seen the fire and attempted to put it out. Pass reportedly has been involved in community service since his retirement from the military five years ago. Full honor guard funeral services are set for Arlington Regional Cemetery at 10
A.M.
, Saturday, December 27.”

Paul crossed the room to his father-in-law’s bar. He poured two fingers of Scotch, raised the glass, then added two more. Ranold entered in robe and slippers. “No ice, Paul?”

“No thanks.”

“That’s a pretty good slug of booze.”

“I just found out my Delta Force commanding officer is dead. He was like a father to me, and—”

“Pass?”

“You know?”

“Pour me one too. Make it bourbon.”

“The news said he was caught in a burning warehouse.”

“Paul, don’t believe everything you hear.”

“What are you saying?”

“Just that it’s debatable which came first: his being caught or the warehouse burning.”

“Caught by whom?”

“When was the last time you heard from Pass?”

“I don’t know—seven, eight years ago.”

“So you don’t have a clue what he’s been up to since you were his protégé at Fort Monroe.”

“No, but Andy was the finest—”

“Sit down.” Ranold took his glass from Paul, gesturing toward a chair.

Paul sank into the padded leather.

Ranold leaned in close.
“
Pass headed up an underground religious cell right here in D.C., in Brightwood Park.”

“Religious? What faction?”

“Christian.”

“Andy Pass? That’s hard to believe. He was a veteran, a patriot . . .”

“Those are the ones who turn, you know. The true believers. Only a man who’s capable of faith can be converted.”

“So they say.”

“It’s true. Paul, we’ve got cells popping up like snakes in the woodpile. You gotta catch ’em while they’re small. Lop off their heads and their tails soon die.”

“Their heads? What’s your involvement here, Ranold?”

His father-in-law smiled. “I hate snakes.” He clinked his glass against Paul’s and took a sip. “Let Andrew Pass serve as an example to other subversives.”

Paul headed to bed gnawed by doubt. How could Andy Pass become a subversive, religious or otherwise? People changed, of course, but Andy had always seemed rock solid. And Ranold was so smug. Was that whole story prompted by his trouble adjusting to his new job, an effort to keep himself in the limelight? Could he have cobbled it together from the gossip of his old agency cronies? Ranold was rabidly antireligious, and he loved being in the know. Maybe all those years in the cloak-and-dagger game had made the man conspiracy buggy.

Paul wanted to believe Ranold’s story, but he knew better—and it filled him with rage.

2

JAE WAS SHOCKED
at the news about Paul’s old commander. She had met him only a few times—most recently at their wedding—but she knew how deeply Paul had admired and even loved him. She tried to console Paul but he remained withdrawn, civil but distant and seemingly depressed, even on Wintermas Day. He spoke so little that it was Saturday before Jae realized he was bent on attending Pass’s funeral.

“We have a two-thirty flight,” she reminded him. “Can we make it back by one?”

“I’m going by myself,” he said. “I’ll be back in time.”

“Why can’t I come?” she said.

“It’s business.”

“Business? Why would the NPO cover an accidental death? And if Andy was under investigation, wouldn’t the D.C. bureau handle it?”

“You know I can’t discuss my work.”

“Are you sure there’s no other reason you don’t want me to go?”

“Stop it, Jae. I’m not in the mood.”

“You have to admit that it seems strange—”

“Leave it alone.”

Jae knew pushing Paul further was pointless. Secrecy was paramount in his work, but what could be so hush-hush about a funeral?

Then it struck her:
What if Andy Pass was in the NPO? What if
he was killed in the line of duty?
Her reflexive mistrust filled her with shame. She reached out to embrace Paul, but he turned his head so her kiss landed on his cheek. “Okay,” she said, backing off. “I guess I deserved that.”

Paul shrugged.

She accepted that as forgiveness.
I’ve got to get a grip on these
suspicions.

Paul’s mood was darker than he had let on to Jae. He could have told her the gist of Andy’s situation without specifics, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it. Ranold said nothing more about the case either, though Paul sensed his father-in-law studying him, and now and then they had exchanged loaded glances. Three days of brooding about Andy Pass had only stoked Paul’s sense of betrayal. Attending the funeral was business, as he told Jae, but it was personal rather than official—to try to confront the enemy that had devoured his mentor from within.

In an angry fog, he drove south over the Potomac River into Virginia to Arlington Regional Cemetery, due south of where the Iwo Jima statue had once stood and slightly northwest of the Pentagon Memorial Crater. The famed statue—destroyed by an Islamic terrorist dirty bomb early in the war—was now represented by a photo, sheltered in a kiosk, of the actual incident a century before when four United States Marines planted a flag on Iwo Jima during World War II.

The crater where the Pentagon had been was ringed with an ornate chain-link fence, on which visitors pinned mementos of the thousands of loved ones lost there during World War III. It took the largest warhead ever to land on American soil to obliterate one of the world’s largest buildings, six months before the end of the war. It was a North Korean submarine-launched ballistic missile shot low enough to evade radar. It scored a direct hit inside the courtyard of the Pentagon and virtually vaporized the structure.

The cemetery itself, still a national shrine, had escaped war damage and was as beautiful as ever. Today it was covered by several inches of snow, making row upon row of veterans’ white headstones appear to have grown from the icy blanket.

Paul was directed to a low stone building in the new, postwar section, where all headstones were rectangular—no crosses or Stars of David or any other ancient religious symbols. When he identified himself as a government employee, his car was parked by an army cadet.

Inside, the building was long, narrow, and plain. At the front a closed coffin was draped with a seven-star American flag. On the wall behind it the only decoration was a display of American flags of the past, from Betsy Ross’s thirteen-star model to the fifty-star banner that preceded the present version.

Accepting a small printed program from a young officer, Paul thought he spotted NPO agents milling in the back. None of them returned his gaze. Paul noticed three former army buddies sitting together about midway toward the front of the hall. They greeted him with a warmth that made him envy their innocence. For them, Andy Pass was still a hero.

He learned all three had flown in from New York City, where they worked in the corporate world. Within the bounds of propriety for the occasion, they joshed Paul about still working for the government. “Not much call on Wall Street for religious studies,” Paul said. “And academia is not for me.”

The guy next to him leaned toward Paul. “It was the old ball and chain who pushed you into the NPO. Am I right?”

“It was my decision, but she’s happy, yeah.”

“Still married?” one asked, proudly showing his own bare ring finger. The other two showed theirs as well.

“Ten years,” Paul said, flashing his ring.

“Poor boy,” another said. “If I
was
still married, I wouldn’t be tonight, here on the loose in D.C.”

“Who’d have thought,” the one next to Paul said, slapping his back, “that the babe magnet in our crew would be the only one still married?”

The others chuckled.

“And I’d bet cash money you’ve still got the old charm. Am I right?”

Paul rolled his eyes and, in spite of himself, grinned.

“You dog! The same old tricks! Am I right?”

Paul shook his head. “And you still say ‘Am I right?’ after every sentence.”

“Like I say, some things never change.”

“Except Andy,” Paul said, solemn again. “Hey, listen, before this thing gets started, what do you know about his death?”

The three glanced at each other. “Just what was on the news. Why?”

“Just wondering. I hadn’t heard from Andy in years. I was really shocked. Have you seen his wife yet?”

They shook their heads.

“And he had kids too, right?”

They nodded.

An elderly man in full dress blues stepped to the podium and called the service to order. “We come this day to celebrate the life of Andrew Edward Pass, born 12 November
A.D.
1989, died at age fifty-six, 22 December 36
P.3.,
He decided on a military career following the first terrorist attacks on the United States in September of
A.D.
2001, two months before his twelfth birthday. He later joined the Reserve Officer Training Corps, eventually became a distinguished military graduate, and graduated with honors from the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York. He excelled as a second lieutenant during the U.S. invasion of the Middle East and quickly climbed the ranks with outstanding and heroic service to his country during World War III. He reached the level of command sergeant major of the First Special Forces Operational Detachment—Delta, better known as Delta Force. Ladies and gentlemen, would you please rise if you served or trained under Sergeant Major Pass at any stage of your military career.”

Paul and his buddies stood, and he was surprised to see about half the crowd also rise.

“Would the rest please stand and join me in singing ‘America the Beautiful.’”

Paul knew from his course work that this was one of the religious-based patriotic songs that had different lyrics since the war.

O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain!

For purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain.

America! America! We pledge ourselves to thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea.

After the song the host announced that Major Pass’s daughter would deliver the eulogy and invited anyone else who wished to offer a word of remembrance to come up afterward. A beautiful young woman stepped from the front row to the microphone. She clutched a matted tissue in one hand and a tiny, wrinkled sheet of paper in the other. Her voice was thick; her throat sounded constricted.

“My name is Angela, and I am Andrew Pass’s only daughter. It touches our family deeply that so many are here, though I confess we are not surprised. The influence Dad had on you that caused you to carve out the time to honor him in this way is not foreign to us. He had the same effect at home.

“Did you find him tough and demanding? We did too. Did you ever find him unfair or harsh? Neither did we. Did he challenge you to look within and yet beyond yourself for resources you never knew you had? Did he push you and inspire you to heights you never might have reached otherwise? Then you knew my dad.

“Dad couldn’t hide his frustration and sometimes even his disdain for what happened to his beloved country before his children were born. But he was a man of deep, deep belief and conviction, and it was borne out in his life. We take comfort today that he lives on. In everything good about you and me, he lives on. And as long as people walk the earth who were shaped in some way by this unique man, he will live on.”

Try as he might, Paul could not detect in anything she said any suspicion about her father’s death. Nor did he perceive anything that hinted at Andy’s subversive activity—though the line about deep belief could be taken more than one way. His anger flared, and he turned to scrutinize the mourners in the surrounding seats. The NPO agents he’d spotted earlier would be photographing and identifying everyone in attendance. Somewhere among them was the snake who had bitten Andy, injecting him with the poison that bred zealotry and violence and which ultimately cost him his life. If a staunch soldier like Major Pass could succumb to the lure of make-believe, no one was immune.

If I could get my hands on that fanatic—that killer . . .

A line was forming to the left of the podium. Paul felt the eyes of his army buddies on him
. I
was
Andy’s favorite.
He wrestled to reconcile his fury with his undeniable debt of gratitude to Andy for being a virtual surrogate father to him in the army
.
Whatever Andy had become, Paul decided, he deserved to be commemorated for the past. He rose and took his place at the back of the line of speakers.

When Paul’s turn to speak came, he noticed Angela’s double take when he identified himself. He struggled for the right words. “The two years I served and trained under Major Andrew Pass remain the most pivotal of my life. Andy Pass represented everything the army had to offer, and he was the one we had to impress to remain among the select. But beneath his drill-sergeant style was a kernel of humanity that I, for one, never detected in other superior officers. When he recognized that I not only obeyed but also enjoyed every torturous task he dished out, he rewarded me—as he did so many others—with respect and friendship. I just want to say that he changed my life. He made me want to excel and to treat others the way he treated me. I hope I can live up to his model.”

Later, Paul stood in line to file past the bier and greet the family. He was surprised when Angela broke from her place in the receiving line and approached. “So you’re Paul Stepola,” she said, smiling through tears and taking his hand in both of hers. “Daddy spoke so highly of you.”

Her dignity and warmth had been evident when she spoke, but up close her beauty was disarming. And she smelled of lavender. Despite his anger at her father and the gravity of the occasion, Paul’s attraction to Angela was immediate, intense, and visceral.

“Oh, surely not,” he managed. “Your dad had so many trainees and subordinates over the years—”

“I’m totally serious,” she said. “You must have epitomized what he was looking for in Delta Force. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

Paul could barely murmur how pleased he was to meet her. Wild thoughts coursed through his brain
.
Though no stranger to the power of seduction, he had never before felt this kind of instant, overwhelming connection to any woman—not even Jae.

Good thing she’s not here.

“Your remarks were perfect,” Angela said. “It was obvious you really knew him.”

“Well, Angela, he meant a lot to me—to all of us. I hope we get a chance to talk some more about him one of these days.”

“Me too,” she said. “I would love that.” She let go of his hand to gesture toward two young boys. “Those are my sons, and I’d like to introduce them to you.”

“Certainly,” Paul said, sobering. So she was married. Well, so was he.

He shook hands with the boys, and both had to be coaxed to look him in the eye and tell him it was nice to meet him. Paul slipped Angela’s business card into his pocket.