A TALL GLASS of lemonade sat untouched in front of King. He sat at the small breakfast nook table with his returned father and still living mother, listening to an unbelievable tale. But what struck him more than their story was their affection. It was as though his father had never left. Their hands remained entwined the entire time. Their eyes glowed with love for each other. King had entered the Twilight Zone, and like William Shatner, wanted to throw open a door and shoot something. Instead, he picked up his perspiring glass and took a long swallow of lemonade. He placed the glass on the table and looked at his parents. They weren’t decrepitly old, but their age showed, which made their story so much harder to believe.
“Spies.”
His mother pursed her lips after taking a sip of lemonade and nodded.
“Russian.”
“He’s catching on, Lynn,” Peter said.
King looked at his father. “And you’ve been locked up for ten years, in the minimum security prison in Butner.”
“Told you I’d been in Butner. Now you can see why I never came to visit you.”
King rubbed his face. This was all too much. “And you went to prison—”
“I told you already, before the Cold War ended, your mother and I had fallen in love with this country. We kept our new identities and broke all ties with the Soviets in 1988.”
“Did they ever come after you?” King asked.
“Just once,” Peter said.
“And?”
Lynn took another drink, her eyebrows reaching up to her dark hair. When it was clear Peter wasn’t going to answer, she gave a gentle cough, smiled, and said, “I shot him. You were just a baby then.” She smiled at King’s shocked expression. “Don’t worry, he lived.”
“After that,” Peter added, “the Cold War ended in 1991 and we were forgotten about.”
“This is why you were opposed to Julie joining the military?”
His father nodded. “I wanted you both to live different lives, and to never fear for yours. But it seems the military is part of our genetic makeup.” He sighed. “If your sister had listened—”
Lynn put her hand on Peter’s arm. “Not now.”
His nod was nearly imperceptible. “When Julie died I thought it might not have been an accident. I started poking around. But was rusty. Asked too many questions. Was spotted poking around the base. Federal agents looked into my past and learned the truth.”
“I gave them every name and contact I had and was totally honest about what secrets we had sent home in exchange for your mother’s freedom and your continued belief that I had simply left. I got out of jail two weeks ago.”
“Why wait this long to tell me?”
His father began to reply, but King interrupted.
“And why
“There are elements in the current Russian government that are attempting to return to old Cold War policies. Shortly after my release we were contacted by an old KGB handler who assumed the dead end in our file back home meant we were sleeper agents.”
Lynn looked out the window, her eyes watching the shuffle of spring leaves in the wind. “We’ve been reactivated.”
“So you faked your death to what, escape?”
She nodded.
King chuckled.
“You think this is funny?” his father asked.
“You should have come to me from the beginning.” He looked at both his parents, amused, surprised, and thrilled to have them both back. “I have friends that could help.”
“You’re a soldier, son. This is the spy business,” Peter said. “Who do you know that could help us, chess pieces?”
King squinted at his father. “How
Lynn smiled. “You let your guard down at home … and I’m a good spy.”
King’s stunned silence was interrupted by his cell phone. He ignored its ring as another question entered his mind. “What’s my real last name?”
“
The phone chimed again.
“My maiden name,” his mother added. “Your grandfather really was German.”
“And a jeweler?”
She nodded.
As the phone rang a third time, King looked at the caller ID display and frowned.
“Who is it?”
“Unknown.” Which on King’s phone was virtually impossible. Thanks to Deep Blue, absolutely everyone who called this phone appeared in caller I.D., regardless of their personal preference. That this call showed as “unknown” meant the caller had impressive resources of their own. King stood and answered the phone. “Who is this?”
The unfamiliar voice on the other end was deep and strong. “Where are you, King?”
“You’ve got ten seconds to tell me who you are and then I—”
“Get back to Bragg, King. I’ll do what I can, but I’m not sure it will be enough.”
The line went dead.
As the pieces of the puzzle came together, King moved toward the front door.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
“She’s in trouble.”
“Who is?”
“Fiona.”
His parents were on their feet, trailing him out the front door to the car, which his father had moved into the driveway. “Who is Fiona?”
Upon reaching the driver’s side door, King turned to his parents. “My daughter—foster daughter.”
He entered the car and started the engine. But before he could put it into reverse, the doors to the backseat opened and his parents climbed in. “What are you doing?”
His mother leaned over the backseat. “We’re coming to help.”
“This is going to be dangerous.”
His father put a hand on King’s shoulder. “Son, listen to your parents. For once in your life.”
The car spun out of the driveway a moment later and shot down the street. It was a four-hour drive back to the base. King would make it in three. He just hoped it would be fast enough.
TEN
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
“GET DOWN, THEY see you.”
“I can’t see them.”
“Above you. Flood infections!”
“Oh no … ahh! They’re everywhere. I think I’m dead.”
“Lew. Lew! They killed Lew. Ugh!” Fiona paused the game, put down the Xbox remote, and threw her hands up. “Every time, Lew.”
Lewis Aleman smiled as he stood. “Sorry kiddo. If they designed joysticks as guns we’d be all set. I was great at Duck Hunt.”
