Chapter 8
For the first time since the death of her mother, Claire felt hopeful about the future. The last few weeks had been so traumatic that she felt as if she were drowning and was unable to come up for air. Now it appeared that she could breathe again. Her father had returned to them safely, her belly was full for once, and thanks to John’s liaison, Mathis, they would soon have enough money to leave West Virginia.
Claire was looking forward to starting over again. She busied herself, packing and humming tunes sung by her favorite artist, Coldplay. Furthermore, she was able to convince John that they should collect on her mother’s insurance policy and split the two million four ways. She entertained herself with what it would be like to leave the United Republic of the Alliance and immerse herself in a culture like Italy, France, or Bora Bora.
Bill, however, was not so keen on an attempt to sneak across the country to find an insurance agent willing to do business under the table. He had grown weary of living life as an outlaw.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he protested when Claire told him about it. “All this sneakin' around and looking over my shoulder is turning me into a paranoid old coot. My heart can’t take it.”
“I know, Bill,” Claire said. “But just think. In a couple of days, you'll be five-hundred-thousand dollars richer. You could buy a lot of hats with that much money.”
Bill waved her off. “Don’t use my love of hats against me, Darlin.' Your daddy is on the GRA’s top ten most wanted list. If we're caught, we’ll never see that money. And what’s this about you suggesting we move to some foreign country? You really expect a farm boy like me to blend in with those bull-chasing, grasshopper eating, city-slickers? $500,000 ain't worth me catching malaria or smallpox."
Bill’s comment elicited a belly laugh from Claire and she choked while drinking. She laughed so hard that water speed from her nose.
Bill stared at her in shock. “What in the blazin’ hell is wrong with you?”
“That might be the most racist thing I have ever heard you say,” Claire chuckled. "There are farms and plantations in countries like France, England, or Columbia. Where is your sense of adventure? For goodness sake, you’re an army vet.”
“That was thirty years ago, CW. Now I’m old, fat, and tired. Hell, I’d still carry my AARP card if the company hadn’t gone bankrupt.”
Claire shook her head in frustration. She loved Bill dearly, but he could be infuriating sometimes to deal with. Claire had never once said a coarse word to him, even when he was wrong. She breathed deeply and calmed her nerves. “Fine. Where would you like to go?”
“I want to go somewhere I can put my feet up, drink my favorite bourbon, and be taken away by the smooth vocal stylings of Ella Fitzgerald."
Claire dropped her head. "You want to go back home."
"I say we wave a tearful goodbye to John-boy, hop a freighter to Pittsburgh, and turn ourselves in to the JKF. We explain that there is a whack job hunting us down and that we didn’t know what we were getting into."
Claire sighed and stared at Bill pitifully. “Tex, you know I love you like the father I never had. But I finally have a chance to repair my relationship with my real dad, and a chance at something new and exciting. If you want to go back to your old life, where you’re living off a pension and being hassled by JKF without the protection of our constitution then go ahead. But you’ll be on your own because I am never going back. America is not our home anymore and it hasn’t been for some time."
Margaret too was resistant to the idea at first but came around when she thought about taking her share of the money and opening up a diner somewhere like Jamaica or Panama. She laughed hysterically when Claire teased, that she just might meet a handsome, muscular, well-to-do island man and fall in love. But Claire could tell she was intrigued by the possibilities.
There was one thing nagging at the young woman, however. Something she hadn’t realized she cared about until now. The idea of a new horizon became real to her and suddenly became overwhelmed with the urge to hear Otto’s voice. The young Filipino boy-toy was no prize. He was lazy, a pothead, immature in his mannerism, and was at best average in bed. Worst of all, he was the catalyst for her drinking addiction.
Still, she missed his boyish face and cheesy smile. She missed his charming sense of humor, and that he could take her cruel humor in just. But, what would she would say to him? Had their casual game of lust become something more? Did Claire love him? Did he love her? Would she ask him to give up his old life and come with her? John would never approve of such a thing.
She would need to use his new toy to call Otto. Mathis had given him an encrypted satellite phone so that they could be in contact until John was able to give him the blueprints. But Claire knew he would resist if she just plainly asked him for the phone. John hated the young man with a passion and considered Otto too immature for a woman like Claire. He was certain that the young man’s big mouth and braggadocios personality would bring them unwanted attention.
Claire wasn't afraid of her father. Things were good between them and she didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up the bane of his existence. She would have to use covert means to know more about the security of the phone; not only to call Otto but to make certain that her calling him wouldn’t expose Mathis or the GRA to their location or implicate Otto. She came into the living room and announced that everyone was on board with the move.
“Well, Tex bucked a bit, but I think he’ll cooperate. All that’s left is deciding where to go.”
“And to find someone we can trust to get us new passports,” John replied as he folded his jacket. "You pick out a new name yet?”
Claire was befuddled by John’s comment. “A new what?”
“CW, you can’t change your identity, go to a new country, and keep the same name. That would defeat the purpose.”
“Did any of the refugees who fled this nation have to change their names? And what about the patriots who hit the GRA the hardest? When they fled seeking asylum in Australia or Thailand, they got to keep their names.”
“Well yes, until the GRA started offering twice the amount of their bounties. Then those patriots started showing up here in chains or body bags."
“Wow,” Claire said, stretching out on the fold-out couch. "That’s not only all kinds of illegal but… Wait, is that the phone Mathis gave you?”
John stopped packing and looked to where Claire pointed to his sat phone on the end table. “Yep. What about it?”
“You said it’s encrypted, right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“How do you know Mathis can’t track you in that thing?”
“Because I disassembled it twice.”
“I still don’t trust it,” Claire said, shaking her head. “How do we know Mathis can’t hack it remotely? It’s not as if he doesn’t know the software.”
John picked up the phone and came and sat down beside her. “This is a TRZ Black Iridium Sat Phone,” he told her. “It was created by GlobalTrail, but we copied the specs-
“GlobalTrail?” Claire asked. "Is that the same company that made a so-called unhackable encryption key in back in 2030?”
“Yep, that’s them. How did you-”
“After Mom got sick, I started snooping around, trying to figure out why you kept disappearing. I found a note in your jeans that read mission objective. It said something about a location of a file code-named Zero-G and that you needed to retrieve it. Mom put two and two together after they had talked about GlobalTrail on the news. Seriously, Dad, how much more reckless can you-"
“If one more person preaches to me about how reckless I’ve been… Anyway, most satellite phones come with GMR-2 or 3 ciphers. The four were introduced back in 2031 which in laymen terms is virtually unhackable. Or it was until the Horsemen paid an Austrian Researcher named Lukas Yannick to prove otherwise. Mathis sent me to steal their codes from a secure building in Alaska. After Yannick hacked the GMR-4 cipher, HOJ started eavesdropping on the GRA in hopes of locating High-Value Targets. They also copied the specs and perfected it. Thus, the GMR-X cipher was born.”
“So, this GMR-X encryption is better? If the Horsemen created it, can’t they break into it?”
John held up the sat phone and winked. “Not if I reverse engineered it." He stood up and tossed it to her. "Just know they can’t trace the call when you talk to that annoying Asian friend of yours.”
***
Two days later
“Claire, it’s now or never,” Margaret said, as they sat at the table eating breakfast. "Your dad has to go soon, and he can’t leave the phone behind.”
Claire said nothing. She took another bite of her Vienna Sausages and shoved a fork full of eggs in her mouth.
“I’m just saying,” Margaret continued. “It might not be what you think it is. As much as John couldn’t stand him, Otto was crazy about you. Maybe you should hear him out."
“I know what I heard, Marge,” Claire snapped. "Another woman answered his phone. If he thinks he can replace a woman like me with some bimbo barbie, by all means, let him try. ”
“How do you know it wasn’t his mother or a long-lost friend from high school?"
"Otto doesn’t have a family. He lost his parents during the last stand. And as far as female friends go, he doesn't believe you can be just friends with the opposite sex."
Margaret tightened her jaw and stared quizzically at Claire. "Sounds like you picked a winner. At least hear him out and see what he has to say. You'll regret it one day if you don't."
"Why do you keep nagging me about this? What's it to you?”
“I just don’t want you to look back and have any regrets. We’re about to embark on a wonderful journey and you deserve some closure before you go.”
Claire cleared hers and Margaret’s plate and poured them both a cup of coffee. “I’ll think about it,” she finally said.
Twenty minutes later, Claire closed the door to her room and sat Indian style on her bed. Recalling John’s instructions, she and dialed 001 + Sewickley Hills area code 425. Dialing his number, she put the phone to her ear and swallowed hard.
Otto picked up the phone on the fifth ring. “Hello?” he said groggily.
Claire said nothing at first. She wondered he sounded that way because he was asleep or if he were high. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was she supposed to say to the man that cheated on her? Or had he? She did walk out on him.
“Hello,” Otto said a second time.
“It’s me,” she finally said.
“Claire?” Otto replied, sounding exasperated.
“Yeah.”
“Holy Crap. I’ve been racking my brain trying to reach you. I’ve privately messaged you like a thousand times, but haven’t seen any updates since… Well, you know...”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy.”
“I'll say. Where the heck are you? Are you hurt? Did that bastard hurt you?”
“Did who do what?"
“CW you don’t have to be scared, okay? Wait. Is your dad listening? Tell him I will find you.”
"What are you talking about, Otto?”
“You don’t know? You’re all over the news. They're saying that your crazy psycho dad, and an old-looking dude, kidnapped you and another woman who kind of looks like Harriet Tubman.”
Claire slapped her head and groaned. “Miles,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Look, Otto, whatever you hear on the news, it’s a lie. My dad didn’t kidnap me. I came on my own, okay?”
“CW, where are you? What’s going on?"
“I can’t talk about that right now. It’s complicated. I just called to say I miss hearing your voice.
“I miss you too, CW. When are you coming home?"
“Otto, I need to ask you a question. Are you seeing someone else?”
“What?” Otto said, his voice becoming labored. "Of course, I’m not."
Claire hated when Otto lied to her. She hated the way he sounded when he did. He would attempt to speak in a deeper voice as if attempting to beguile her with his charm. Claire never once told him that she knew his tale-tale signs. It never bothered her at first.
She had secrets and was trying to find ways to cope with the aftermath of the war. But she had quickly grown weary of it. Not because of the lie, but that she took it as him thinking she was stupid enough to fall for it.
“You can tell me the truth,” she told him. “We did break up"
“Claire, I told you, I spent the last ten days looking for you. That's why I went so crazy when you said you were leaving. I'm mad about you and can't stand to be apart from you."
“Really?" Claire said, incensed. "Then who was that woman that answered your phone last night?”
"What woman?" Otto said.
Claire let her head roll back and she silently rehearsed her alcoholic anonymous methods to keep calm. "Otto," she said in a monotone. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Are you seeing someone else?"
The young Filipino grew silent.
“Hello? Are you going to answer me?”
“So that was you who called last night?”
“Yes, it was. Who is she?”
Again, Otto said nothing.
Claire shook her head and stood. “I knew it. I should've never called you. Bye, Otto."
“Hold up,” Otto said, his voice turning pitchy. “You’re angry with me? You’re the one who walked out on me. You said we were done. I'm a man. I have needs, woman."
“Ten days, you rat bastard,” Claire said, seething. "It’s been ten days and already you have some whore in your bed? So much for being worried about me."
“I was worried about you,” Otto yelled. Claire cringed at the sound of his voice cracking, reminding her of why she left in the first place. When Otto got angry, his voice became pitchy and whiny. “I was stressed, OK?" he said. “Tiffany meant nothing to me. It was just a fling. Look, just meet me, OK? Let’s meet and talk this out."
“Save it, Otto. We’re so over, we’ve never even begun.”
“Huh? What does that even mean?”
“Who cares? I have to go.”
"Go ahead and hang up, CW! This is why I don't date black women. Y'all are so damn fickle."
"Only my friends call me CW," Claire said calmly. "Oh, and by the way, we both know that you'll never do better than me. And when you get bored with that Tiffany bimbo, don't even think about this black woman or her brown thighs."
With that, Claire hung up, grabbed her suitcase, and headed to the front door, never more certain she was ready to start over.
***
“You’re cutting it close, Hemingway,” Mathis said when John parked at the shipping dock. “You enjoy making me sweat?”
“Relax,” John said. “I still have an hour before the deadline.”
“You got what I asked for?”
John waved the envelope containing the blueprints in his hand, but Mathis told him to stop and remove his jacket.
“Seriously?” John laughed. "After all this time, you still don’t trust me?”
“You know my motto, Captain. DTA; don’t trust anyone.”
John sighed and removed his jacket. He lifted his shirt and made a three sixty-degree turn. “Satisfied,” he said.
“Ish. Let’s go; chop, chop."
John approached Mathis, but when the FBI agent reached out his hand to take the blueprints, John snatched it back and raised his eyebrows.
Mathis rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I put two grand in your account this morning, and that’s being generous. I’m giving you money for nothing; you do realize that? This is a favor.”
“I know," John said. “Too good of a favor. Just wondering if some sniper is going to blow my head off, the moment I hand you this envelope."
"You know that's not my style. I prefer to kill you face to face; see the life draining out of your eyes and see that expression of oh crap! I just screwed with the wrong guy."
"Yeah, and I'm standing right in that you're screwed zone. DTA right?”
“Just give me the doc.”
John handed Mathis the blueprints and he inspected it. “Hmm; unopened as instructed. Perhaps you weren’t as bad of an operative as I thought.”
“Good enough to finally know what you guys are planning? I've always been curious about that."
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Mathis said, stuffing the envelope in his light jacket. He reached out an open hand and looked at John expectantly.
“Well I guess this is it then,” John said, handing him back the sat phone.
“Yep, that’s all folks. You’re officially excommunicated from the Horsemen of Justice. All codes, locations, and everything that was, no longer is. I’ve even had to shut down the factory thanks to you. The next time you try and contact me or anyone else at the agency, you’re signing your death warrant.”
“Always a ball of fun aren’t you,” John said. He and Mathis stood eye to eye as if waiting for the other to say something.
“Well, see ya, kid,” Mathis finally said and headed toward his Lincoln Town car.
“Hey, Mathis,” John called after him. "I know I gave you a hard way to go, but I respect you. You love this country and I appreciate that. Sorry, I can’t be there with you when you do take it back.”
Mathis planted his foot in his car and smile nefariously. "Hey, John," he said with a smile. "We are planning something big. All the big players are going to be part of it.” He stared at John as if he were sending him a message. “We will have our vengeance. Wait and see.” With that, the aging man got in his car and left.
***
John had grown alarmingly accustomed to the threat of death. The 41-year-old veteran was a soldier; a man of war; a hitman hired by HOJ or HOJO as Claire called them, and dispatched all across the world to take out the most notorious members of the GRA. His superior fighting techniques, exceptional knowledge of weaponry, and keen situational awareness took him from the frigid peaks of Mt. Kosciuszko in South Wales, Australia, to the desert sands of Arizona, to the Swampy rain forest in Guatemala to capture or kill HVTs.
The work was gritty, perilous, and fraught with unpredictability, no matter how carefully an op was planned. But John preferred it that way. As long as there was a chance for survival, no matter how small the odds, he would bet them in his favor. Besides having to sit for hours on end in hot sticky subculture environments, reconning, recalculating, and being pestered by Mathis to get it done, John liked his job.
But as he sat in the front seat of Margaret’s Ford Explorer, a trepidation had overtaken him. Had he unwittingly made an enemy of the Horsemen? Mathis told him he was out of their cross-hairs, but John knew him too well to believe that. Mathis was a paranoid old coot who, when not chasing down GRA loyalists, got his kicks settling old debts. It was he who forged HOJ’s reputation for pure calculated vengeance.
John only now realized how stupid it was to provoke them. Mathis and his men weren’t unsuspecting targets in some remote region. They were patriots; fundamentalists with a capital F. They had seen the country they loved burn to the ground. They had helplessly watched millions of men, women, and children be slaughtered on live tv. The ghost regime wasn’t formed to inspire fallen America in the middle of her darkest hour.
HOJ didn’t bring words of inspiration and hope. They left that job to politicians, journalists, and media outlets bold enough to defy the GRA. The Horsemen were dogmatic men and women who were mad as hell. Yes, they stood for justice. But this was war and they were willing to do any and everything to take down the Alliance and anyone else who supported them.
John decided to take an alternate route home in case he was being followed. Instead of taking the main road, he turned on side streets and looped around to take the side streets a second time. In addition to watching for surveillance vehicles, he had to be vigilant about avoiding detection from anyone who might recognize his picture on the news. He avoided congested areas where video cameras might be recording.
John eventually stopped at a gas station off the grid. Checking for bugs and trackers, he pretended to wash his windshield and vacuum the floor mats. He also purchased a few miscellaneous items, while casually checking to spot a tail. The paranoia overtook him as any and everyone he passed appeared to be a HOJ agent, GRA henchmen, or a would-be hero who recognized him from the news.
John was nearly hyperventilating and perspiring when he finally returned to his vehicle. He had known delusion before, but this was a new level for him. Covering his face with his hands, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He inserted the key into the ignition and noticed that his hands were trembling. It dawned on him that he was having a panic attack. And it was more than just fear that the Horsemen could strike back.
Images of Sasha’s deep moon eyes, her scent, and her laugh as they playfully tussled beneath the sheets swirled in his mind. John hadn’t been given a moment to grieve since her funeral. Hopelessness paralyzed him as he whispered her name. He would never feel her embrace again. He would never be teased by her when he got a scratch from their playful romping or lay his head on her chest and inhale the intoxicating scent of her perfume.
John pulled out his wallet and removed the only photo of Sasha that survived the war. The two of them had snuggled together in bed. It was the first night they had met back in 2010. Incidentally, his former Navy buddy and longtime friend, Khalif Miles, and several others were with him at a noisy pub. At the time, they were stationed in Yemen to combat the AL-Qaeda insurgency.
Miles had first spotted her in a Hi-jab, sitting at the bar by herself. This was unusual as women in Yemen's culture weren't typically out alone during the night. She had flashed him a smile on two occasions, or so he thought. The cocky dapper young stud told his friends not to wait up for him and strutted over to where Sasha was seated. Moments later, he returned with a dumbfounded look on his face.
“What happened Mr. Lady’s man,” John teased. “Did the great Denzel Moore finally strike out?” Miles had changed his name to Denzel Moore when he had left home. He and his father had a complicated relationship and Miles or Moore wanted a new start.
Miles shook his head in disbelief. “She said she was smiling at you, John,” he said.
“Me?” John replied as his Navy buddies burst into laughter. “She was looking at me?"
"Ain't no way a woman prefer you over me," Miles said. “ he must be a spy or something." His friends laughed again and waved him off. "Hey," Miles said. “What’s all the snickering and giggling about? I'm telling you. She's a spy. That's the only explanation."
When John finally summoned the courage to go over to her, he clumsily wasted his drink on her Abaya. Sasha gasped.
“Ach!” he groaned, flushed with shame. He glanced back at his friends laughing behind him. But to his surprise, she put her hand on her mouth and chuckled.
"This must be embarrassing for you," she said.
“I am so sorry,” he said. The then twenty-year-old junior enlisted Seaman grabbed some napkins and handed them to her.
“That’s quite alright,” Sasha replied, her smile mesmerizing him.
“No, I am such an idiot,” he said.
“It’s just a spill,” the young woman reassured him. “It’s better than being bombed.”
John furrowed his brow; a dumb grin plastered across his face. He hated that he couldn’t catch on to what she was saying.
She squinted at him as if surprised that he didn’t follow her. “You know? Because of the bombings that have been happening here?”
“Oh, right!” John replied. “Yeah, duh. That’s why we’re here in the first place. I was just messing with you. I knew that’s what you were saying.”
Sasha laughed; her effervescent charm captivating him. “Oh, you did?” she said raising her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean I... Uh-well no.”
Sasha laughed again and eyed his friends. “So, you're Navy boys, huh?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Your friends don’t think you have a shot with me, do they?"
“Not in the least. I’m called exceptional when it comes to my job, but was never good with… well, you know? Talking to the ladies.”
Sasha surveyed John and arched her brow. His breath caught in his throat as she seemed to look right through him. He suspected that she knew his life’s story and would bowl over with laughter at any moment. What would a gorgeous woman with long beautiful eyelashes and a smile that could light up the city want with a bumbling klutz such as him?
“I tell you what,” she said. “I live right around the corner. I need to go and change, but I don’t want to go outside alone. It’s kind of rough in this part of the city, and I would feel much safer if I were escorted home by a strong brave soldier like you. So? Talk to your friends and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Um,” John stammered, not knowing what to make of Sasha. “OK?” he finally said.
The young woman winked at him, waved to his friends, and exited the pub. John turned and with an air of confidence, strutted over to where Miles sat. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Well, fellas?” he said. “Don’t wait up.”
“Oh, hell to the no,” Miles replied. “Ain’t no way in the world a fine-and I do emphasize fine-black beauty like that is into you and not me. You mean to tell me five minutes with her and you two hookin' up already?”
John took a twenty from his wallet and dropped it on the table. “What can I say? White men get love from the sisters too.”
“First of all, John, it ain’t sisters. That’s just creepy. It’s sist-as with an a. You know what? Never mind. Just don’t use that word, OK? Secondly, I’m telling you, something ain’t right about that sis-ta. You better watch it.”
“Don’t hate the player, Miles. Hate the game. I gotta go.”
John’s friends laughed and high-fived him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Miles said to them. “Don’t encourage him. No sir! And John, it’s play-a. Which you ain’t. Hey, John! Check the Adam’s apple, OK? You might be walking into something you ain’t ready for. OK? I'm talking about a BeBe Benet situation. You know what I'm saying?"
When they had arrived at Sasha's tiny apartment, John had asked to use her bathroom. The young soldier shut the door and took a breath to calm his nerves. Looking at himself in the mirror, he shoved a handful of Tic-Tacs in his mouth and smooth over his hair.
"This is it, John," he thought to himself. "Just relax and everything will be fine."
By the time he came out of the bathroom, Sasha had already changed into her house robe. The soldier could do nothing but stare when he saw her long flowing hair for the first time. She had removed her hijab and Abaya and laid them on the couch. John could only imagine what she looked like beneath her silk robe.
They sat over tea for about twenty minutes, long enough to laugh at Miles making a fool of himself and for her to talk about her love of the culture in Yemen. After that, Sasha stood and led John into her bedroom. She told him to take off his uniform down to his boxers and was impressed at his muscular physique.
John thought it was strange that she didn't remove her robe, but instead invited him to join her in bed. Was she ashamed of her body? Would he be disappointed? Or was Miles, right? Was she a spy? Was she attempting to seduce him into extracting intel from him about his unit?
He hesitated but removed the covers and got into bed with her. He reached over and grabbed her around the waist and they began to kiss. Sasha gently pulled away, rubbed his muscular chest and arms, and lightly chuckled.
"What is it?" he said, longing to kiss her again.
"Oh, nothing. It’s just that you were so nervous coming over here and the moment we jump into bed it’s like you're Fabio."
John wanted to say he didn't know who Fabio was and that he didn't care. But he desperately wanted to impress her. "Really?" he smirked. "Well like Fabio, I’m full of surprises."
"That you are. You’re certainly not the type of guy I'm usually attracted to."
“Really?”
“Don’t get me wrong. You’re a hottie with your washboard abs, muscular arms, and piercing eyes. I mean yummy. But I usually go for a Batman, and you’re more like a dialed down version of Captain America."
“What is that supposed to mean?"
Sasha rolled her eyes as if understanding she insulted John’s fragile ego. “Don’t be offended. That’s a good thing. Batman has the gadgets, but he’s aloof; distance. He can be a jerk sometimes, you know? And by the look on your face, I can see I’m not making this any better.”
“It’s OK,” John said, not sure how he felt about Sasha’s comparison. “So? Should we continue?”
Sasha put her hands over her eyes and groaned.
“What is it,” John asked. He couldn’t tell if she had a headache or if she was sobbing. “ re you ok?”
Sasha silently shook her head and dropped her hands to her cheeks. She stared at him sheepishly and appeared as if she knew she was making a mistake.
I knew it, he thought to himself. She doesn’t want me. Nobody ever does.
“Look, John, I know you were expecting to sleep with me tonight. So was I. But I can tell you’re a gentle soul, in a manly way of course. I know we just met, but I promised myself I wouldn’t do this anymore.”
“Oh. Well, not what I was expecting to hear. I mean not after getting undressed and in bed with you.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to make out or anything. It’s just that I always jump in too fast and it never works out. I like you and… Forget it. I’m sorry for leading you on. You can go if you want.”
“I admit I was expecting more. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. But I have been called a mistake before, and I hate to be thought of one by a beautiful woman such as you.”
Sasha wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “Of course not. You are the sweetest most gentle man I have known in a long time. Who was it that called you a mistake? Your parents?”
“If it’s OK I’d rather not talk about them.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.”
“Oh no. It’s fine. It’s just that right now I’m in a foreign country, lying in bed with a woman I never met before. It kind of ruins the mood, you know? I feel like James Bond.”
Sasha chuckled. “Oh, what so now you think I’m some kind of spy?”
“No. But I have to admit that the element of danger would make it even hotter.”
Sasha gave him a peck on the lips and cocked her head at him. “Well I hate to disappoint you but I'm just not that interesting."
"I beg to differ. An American girl picks up her life and leaves the states in search of something special? That says you’re an adventurer.”
Sasha's face lit up with mischief. “Ok. Challenge accepted. I got an idea for a caper. Give me your phone.”
“Ok?” John said. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
He reached into his pants pocket near the bed and pulled out his cellphone.
Sasha chuckled when he handed her the phone. “What is this? You still have the first iPhone? Step into 2010 soldier.” She told him to cuddle up with her and fumbled with the phone. “Here, I can’t do anything with this dinosaur. Take some pictures of us."
“You are wild,” John said. “Most women I know would freak out.”
Sasha laughed and laid a hand across her chest. They took several pictures together and even pretended to passionately make out. “You want to do something even more naughty?” Sasha asked, stretching her eyebrows.
“Whatever you want,” John said, drunk with passion. Was he falling in love with this woman on their first night?
“Let’s make your friend, Moore jealous. Send our pics to him.”
“Marry me,” John retorted and they shared a laugh.
After their caper was done, they got to know one another. John learned that Sasha Fergusson was studying abroad and attending Queen Area University for her Master's in biochemistry. Her father was a well-to-do attorney who represented high profile celebrities and her mother a successful chief surgeon from Bogota, Colombia. John was surprised to learn that she had an 18-month-old daughter by the name of Claire.
Her parents had agreed to care for the child until she returned home after graduating. John wasn't sure how he felt about dating a woman with a child. He was starting to like Sasha and could get lost in her eyes all day. But he had no intention of being a father this early on in his life.
John fell head over heels in love with the beautiful young woman, however, and over the next six months, developed a serious relationship with her, until his unit was pulled out of Yemen. Several months after Sasha graduated and returned home to Richmond, VA, the two of them began planning a future together.
John and Sasha had strong aspirations for success and wanted to provide a future for little Claire. After they married and moved to Jefferson Hills, PA, John’s standout performance and intelligence in the Navy saw him rise quickly through the ranks to become a Petty Officer First Class. Immediately after his promotion, he was selected for training as a Navy Seal. Sasha accepted a job offer in her field as a bio-medical chemist at a top-secret government facility.
The married couple loved one another but their lofty ideas for perfect family life wasn’t without its struggles. As a Seal, John was forced to relocate to Saudi Arabia. But Sasha loved living in Jefferson Hills and was passionate about her job. After his year-long tour was finished, John relocated to Fort Worth. Sasha and Claire would visit him once a month, but the strain of apart wore heavily on the family.
When the first strikes happened and Claire became of age, she began to act out and often got in trouble in middle and high school. Although she was a scholar student and excelled in athletics like track, volleyball, and field hockey, she was a troubled teen. The lack of a father in the home led to her being expelled from school and she even had two pregnancy scares.
As the war began to tear the country apart, the U.S. Military enforced the draft, and Claire’s boyfriend Jermaine Brown, Margaret’s older son was shipped off to basic training. John saw less and less of the family and Claire and her mother were forced to survive on their own. When the GRA finally invaded Pennsylvania, John had promised to be there to protect them, but his helicopter was shot down.
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