“What does it say?” she asked.
Her husband rolled up the scrap of paper and slipped it into his pocket. When they returned to the house, he would set it on fire and watch it burn in an ashtray as he smoked a cigarette on their back porch. Then he would get into his car and go to work, doing his part to run the Silicon Valley rat race.
“It’s about Chen,” he replied.
Her heart jumped, but she made no outward reaction. She already knew the mission had failed and that Shanghai’s darling had gone missing. “What about her?”
Her husband placed his hand on top of hers in a rare sign of public affection. Fu Zan turned and looked up at him with expectant eyes.
“They want you to assign a replacement for one of her assets,” he said.
She furrowed her brow and asked, “Who?”
Her husband sighed, and he reached into his pocket for a cellophane-wrapped crumpled packet and the scrap of paper. He surprised her by drawing one of the unfiltered cigarettes and perching it between his lips with trembling fingers. Then he lifted a silver Zippo and sparked a flame, touched it to the tip, and took a long drag of the thick tobacco smoke while holding the scrap of paper over the flame. It flashed in an instant and incinerated to fluttering ash before he exhaled.
“Adam,” he said.
Fear gripped her heart, and she struggled not to react to the news. When their adopted foster son had surprised them by enlisting in the US Marine Corps, she had purposely kept it a secret from their superiors in Shanghai, knowing they would demand she turn him into a Ministry asset.
“How?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He didn’t answer, but she hadn’t risen to her level within the Ministry’s operations directorate without the ability to piece together incomplete and unrelated morsels of information to create a cohesive picture. She knew she had failed to keep Adam’s enlistment a secret and suspected Chen had recruited him to use as leverage over her. But how had she discovered Mantis’s secret?
Racked with guilt, she reached across and placed her hand on top of his. “This is my fault,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “It’s mine.”
Her husband turned to her with sad eyes and patted his hand on top of hers. Fu Zan turned and started to smile at him but stopped when she understood what he had meant. She had kept Adam a secret from the Ministry, but he had not. He lifted his hand, folded the newspaper and returned it to his breast pocket, and stood. She hesitated for only a moment, then joined him, and they walked back to their mid-century house in silence.
My dream of writing a novel has been a lifelong one, thanks to my parents, John and Laurie Stewart, who instilled in me a love for great stories and a thirst for adventure. To me, bookstores and libraries were portals to worlds of endless exploration, and I knew one day I would add my own books to their shelves. Thank you for always believing in me and encouraging me to chase my dreams, no matter how bold and unlikely.
But the bulk of the burden for the work that went into this has fallen on my family. I couldn’t have written this without the enduring support of my wife Sarah, and my three amazingly talented children, Tre, William, and Rebecca. Your belief in my dream of becoming a published author gave me the strength I needed to push through in those moments when nagging doubt set in. I love you all dearly.
Life in a fighter squadron can be a bit harsh, especially when you expose your deepest desires to a ready room designed to humble you at every opportunity. The same cannot be said for the men and women of Strike Fighter Squadron Two Zero Four, who encouraged me at every step in my writing journey. In particular, I would like to thank Billy Fraser, Layne Crowe, Luke Mixon, and Borya Celentano for their enduring support. The spirit of the River Rattlers and Naval Aviation flows through this novel.
To my extended military family who offered their critical eye to scenes in their areas of expertise, I can’t thank you enough. Any mistakes in this novel are mine alone, but where I nailed it, the credit is yours. To Pat Corrigan, Derek Heinz, Casey Kyle, Rob Lightfoot, Charlie Mauzé, and Ben Romero, thank you for ensuring I captured the heart and soul of our warrior culture.
One of the most amazing aspects of this journey has been forging new friendships with a group of extremely talented authors, who never fail to raise the bar or deliver on the promise that “a rising tide lifts all boats.” Ward Larsen, your early support gave me the confidence I needed to believe this was possible. Brian Andrews and Jeff Wilson, you were among the first to reach out and welcome me into the fold, and I am truly blessed to consider you both friends.
