An Empty Farewell
ONE
Devastation's Knocking
Annapolis, Maryland
Fifty-five year old Gilbert Billy Murray dragged the damp, impeccably white towel across his sweat soaked, gray stubbled face and groaned. It was 0500 hours and he'd been working out since 0230. Age, for the Chief Warrant Officer Five, was no excuse for slacking off, and after nearly thirty-nine years of service the old routine was more than familiar to him. For a moment, he gazed out across the bay enjoying the view. He and his wife Page, also a CWO 5, had worked hard to afford the modest Cape Cod style home overlooking the Chesapeake and he felt no guilt for enjoying its creature comforts. They'd retire there eventually, but for at least the next ten years the Navy would remain their life.
He swung the towel over his left shoulder and crossed the atrium gym to the treadmill. Before starting the machine, he reached for a remote control and clicked on the forty-two inch television hanging from the wall just to the left of the machine so as not to obstruct the gym's view of the glistening bay. He set the channel to the morning news and switched on the treadmill. It was Wednesday and he'd do six miles at a brisk rate mostly up a slight incline to maximize his workout. Gil, as his friends called him, was no longer an active SEAL, but one never knew when that type of duty would again be necessary so, he stayed in perfect physical condition.
As the sun rose and slowly burned off the fog, he settled into his pace and began to focus on the droning reporter. Always the same, he thought. A car bomb here, a serious threat there and combined with the never ending moronic rhetoric of the office insulated talking heads describing how they planned to save the world the news sickened and enraged him. From the age of seventeen he'd been military. He was a doer, an achiever and the thought that these bureaucrats would or could sit at the safety of their desks thousands of miles from conflict zones and dictate protocol galled him. Page harbored the same opinion, which was why, after so many years of faithful service and sacrifice they refused to give up.
That thought brought him round to wondering how Alice, his thirty-eight year old daughter, was fairing. Just as her parents had done, she'd entered into service immediately after high school, attending Annapolis with a full scholarship and graduating with honors. They'd been proud and felt that, as a family, they might make a difference albeit just a small one. Then, after ten years of an extraordinary career in the NSA, for reasons that she refused to disclose, she resigned her commission and moved into the private sector as a contract writer and mission runner for Security and Strategy Corporation, one of the largest private military contracting firms in the world. At first, the trio fought bitterly over her mysterious decision, but then after two years of quarrelling they reunited and had been close ever since.
When SSC collapsed, the couple hoped that the brilliant strategist would find a new path, and as time wore on and Alice plied away her life in a sort of early retirement their hopes grew. Then, nearly two years later, out of the blue, Tyson Rios made contact. Somehow, he'd managed to find backing for him and Elliot Salem to start their own firm, Trans World Operations, and they wanted Alice on board. Desperate to be back in the game, she jumped at the opportunity; convinced and hopeful that since they were now their own bosses they could finally do good honest work.
A large flock of ducks burst up from the water's edge drawing his attention from the current talking head and he smiled at the whirling flock of dark hued birds. They whirled round for a bit before settling again and with frightening precision returned to their places floating on the gently roiling waves. He continued to observe them until the reporter's voice hitched slightly and the handsome man cleared his throat. The odd gaff in television decorum caught Gil's ear and he looked up at the screen.
"We need to interrupt our normal morning coverage with this breaking news. I also have to warn you that some of the following footage is raw and some may find it disturbing. This is amateur footage out of Shanghai, China. At 4:30 a.m. EST, reports began to filter in of a devastating terrorist attack on Shanghai. As the footage clearly shows, this modern city, after two days of constant bombardment, is in ruins. The death toll is in the tens of thousands and thus far no group has taken responsibility. As of 1:45 P.M. EST yesterday, the U.N. has been in control and the attack seems to have been stopped. This is all we know so far. Several nations are sending rapid aid and several terrorists groups are adamantly denying involvement. Amateur reporters are now beginning to get information out of the devastation, via hobbled together communication links, and these have named, what is called, the Fortieth Day Initiative. They are also bandying about the name Jonah Wade. United States and European security agencies are so far denying knowledge of the group or Wade, bringing into question how such a huge and well-structured attack could have gone un-noticed…"
Gil turned off the treadmill and stepped carefully off. Alice had mentioned going to Shanghai that month to sign several contracts with the South African Embassy located there. He strode quickly into the house meeting his petite wife on the way who, despite being one of the strongest woman he'd ever encountered, was pale and trembling.
He grasped her by the shoulders, leaned down to make eye contact and spoke in a firm voice.
"If she's there, 'if' she's there, she'll find a way to safety. She's good at what she does and she'll be fine. We can't jump to conclusions and we can't panic over what we have absolutely no control over. I'm going to shower and then, we go to work. I'll call Rios now. Make coffee, get dressed, Page. We're soldiers, all three of us, and this is part of the deal."
He left her standing at the doorway of the atrium looking out across the bay, and headed for the bathroom. He grabbed his phone along the way and dialed Alice. It rang until voicemail picked up; he then dialed Rios and got the same result. For the moment that was the extent of his options, so he got into the shower and began to wash the grime of his morning exercise away. Ten minutes later he was finished and toweling off, when Page came into the well-appointed master suite. She was no longer pale, but her dark brown eyes were bright with un-shed tears and her lips pursed.
"Ernest Stockwell called. He called to say that it doesn't look good. Alice was in the South African Embassy when it began. She was taken hostage. Rios and Elliot were apparently there too, in Shanghai, on a small op for what it now appears was for this Jonah Wade madman. T.W.O. was led to believe that they were planting tracking devices to monitor an internal threat for the Shanghai government, but Ernest thinks that Wade was playing both sides getting good men to set the stage for the attack under the guise of selling protection to Shanghai. It's all so convoluted, Gil. The boys rescued her and then, comms became difficult. She called in a chopper, the guys fought to the end of the Bund, but…"
She stopped and the tears began to slip down her partially made up cheeks. Then, recalling Gil's admonition to be strong, she took a deep breath and went on.
"But, the final comms were of the pilot issuing a mayday, that they'd been hit by anti-air flack and then, nothing. It gets crazier. Rios had to shoot Elliot to get to Wade; he's in critical condition in Beijing. It seems they stopped the attack, but he reports that they watched Alice's chopper careen into a high rise, and that it and the building crashed into the bay. There was nothing they could do, but go to ground, re-group and go after Wade. That's all he has. He'll be in touch.
I already called us in, so that we can go to Atlanta. Stockwell sent five teams and Dragon's Breath, out of Vermont, has sent ten, to do a search, but with the devastation I saw…we've lost her Gil, our little girl is dead!"