Torching the Crimson Flag Read online

  His beautiful wife turned her gaze from her husband to watch a Great Blue Heron spreading its wings and landing on the water. Stretching its slender gray-feathered neck and opening a long, pointed yellow bill, the bird yawned, looked around, and then took off again, its majestic wingspan covering well over five feet.

  “We’re wired so differently, but it’s what I’ve loved most about us.” She turned to face him. “I know that you never really turn off your mind, Justin. You’re looking at me, but spinning in the background are thoughts about how you can help Boyd find a weapon that is a little lighter, faster on the re-load, and more accurate. Or you’re wondering how you can help David Hirsch set up a better security protocol for his bar. But, I knew that when I married you.” She smiled and crossed her legs.

  “How are you different?”

  “I’m more the type of person who can be in the moment. Later, I think about those times, but in the moment, I’m here. Nothing else matters. It’s why I thrive by researching things. I get absorbed in it. Here on this island, I’m captivated by its beauty and history. I love it.”

  “The thing that’s important to me is that you know I love being here with you. Just because my wheels are spinning doesn’t mean I’d rather be somewhere else.” He reached over and took her hand.

  “I know that, honey. I do.”

  A short ferry ride and just over 1800 miles down the coast, Fox and Ashley were also taking a break from the team at LaunchPad and playing golf on Lake Wright Golf Course in Norfolk, Virginia, where they’d first met. In front of them was a group of golfers that were taking more time per shot than a foursome of sloths. Ashley was sporting a cute white skort and olive-colored Greg Norman Protek Polo shirt. As they sat in the cart, Fox couldn’t help but notice how good her engagement ring looked on her slender finger.

  “Why don’t we get married here?”

  “On the golf course?” Ashley asked, crinkling her nose. Lake Wright was a simple public course close to the airport and had wide-open fairways. Most of the holes were designed around a lake in the middle, and while it had some pretty elements, it wasn’t romantic. “This is where I worked before LaunchPad, remember? I don’t want to get married in my former office.”

  Fox smiled. “Of course I remember! How could I forget your peach polo and matching lip gloss?”

  Ashley answered his smile and took his hand. Her long auburn hair flowed out of her white baseball hat. “I wore this same skort, I think,” she grinned.

  “You did!” He smirked. “Your legs got my attention, but your heart is what won me over.”

  She laughed and pushed him playfully. “You’re a smooth talker Kurt Middleton-Fox. But I love it. Are you sure you’re ready to marry me? I’m worried you’ll feel insecure.”

  “What?” Fox asked, not too sure where this was going, the wind blowing his blond surfer locks out of his face. Nobody had ever used the word insecure to describe him. Not only was his physique something from a body-building magazine and his knife skills renowned among his peers and enemies alike, but he was valiant in danger and never hesitated to put his own life at risk to save the lives of others. “Insecure?”

  “Well, I mean … I’m up by three strokes, and we’re only on the fifth hole!”

  “I’m just giving you a generous head start,” he growled, good-humoredly. “Just wait until the people in front of us finally get off the green. My comeback will be tremendous.”

  Ashley chuckled. Fox was new at the game, whereas she’d been playing for over fifteen years. “Give it your best shot, Blondie. After this round, we need to dive into wedding planning.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Can we eat a very late lunch, first? I’m starving.”

  “If the food cart comes by again, let’s get something from there. I’m hungry, too!”

  As they waited for the foursome to move out of range, Fox thought about all that Ashley had been through. David had raised her after her parents were killed in a car accident. She’d proven to be bright and hard-working, paying her own way through medical school and eventually becoming a general thoracic surgeon. Three years ago, she’d gotten engaged to a Virginia State Trooper who was later shot in the line of duty, accidentally, by his partner. He was rushed to a hospital in Williamsburg and into surgery. Ashley was the surgeon on call, and she tried everything she could to save him. Although people told her a million times that his death was not her fault, it was only in the last year that she believed it, forgave herself, and found herself able to move on. Now she’d gotten engaged again to a skilled former Seal and an operator with the LaunchPad crew. It couldn’t be easy emotional terrain for her. He prayed fervently she would never have to go through the trauma of losing another loved one ever again.

  Chapter Four

  Jasmine Stone was enjoying every moment of being by herself with new-found friends, sipping coffee at the feet of some of the most heart-stoppingly beautiful mountains in the world, and not being worried about her family. Her long black hair was blowing gently in the wind and the physical gifts she’d gotten from her mom, her beautiful Asian eyes and genuine smile, were lighting up the group. Even though the conversation was frivolous, revolving around celebrity gossip, it was just the kind of banter she needed. The sequestering of her family due to dangerous people that had wanted them dead was over. Not the threat, necessarily, but both Trey and Bao Zhen felt like their daughter needed to experience life and not be penned up in a safe house.

  She’d used the time in hiding well. Her rigorous training to handle weapons, going practice-shooting with her father, learning different styles of hand-to-hand combat, and studying the Art of War, had made her far more lethal and street-smart. But the people sitting at the table had no idea of any of that, and she loved it that way.

  “Jasmine?”

  She looked up, smiling, and offered a short bow as her mother and grandmother walked up to where they were. “Hi, you two. Is it time to go?”

  “Your dad said he’d be back at 11:45 AM. We’re going to meet him at the lodge, hit the Banff Hot Springs and then head out for a late lunch. Would you like to come with us or stay here?”

  “I’ll come with you. Hot springs sound great.” She introduced everyone, thanked her new friends for hanging out, stood up, and picked her phone off the table.

  The Banff Park Lodge is a full-service resort hotel and conference center with two hundred and eleven spacious guest rooms and suites. Boasting some of the most spectacular views in the region, architect Eric Proppe designed each one to have a balcony or patio from which guests could enjoy the clean Rocky Mountain air and stunning views of the surrounding forests and mountains. With a friendly and relaxed atmosphere, attentive service, and full amenities, it was the perfect place for the Stone family to relax.

  Lin Lin Ma, Jasmine’s grandmother, was living with them back in Maryland now. She’d left her job as a diplomatic translator for the nation of China in the United Nations, sold her places in Geneva and New York, and was thoroughly enjoying being with the only family she had. Although she wasn’t an official member of the LaunchPad team, her life story and experience had interacted with some of their projects in recent years, and everyone had grown to love and respect her.

  “It looked like you were having fun,” Lin Lin observed cheerfully to her granddaughter as they walked back to their hotel.

  “It was amazing. I just sat at the table outside by myself, but then all the other tables filled up. So this group of four Italian girls asked if they could join me. Have you ever been to Tuscany, Mama?”

  “Yes. It’s beautiful there too. The mountains and rivers are striking, the food is legendary, and the people are very friendly.”

  “That’s what they told me. We swapped contact information. I’d love to go visit them sometime.”

  “That’s wonderful, Jasmine. You should plan on that someday. Traveling overseas is made much more enjoyable when you have local people to con
nect with.”

  “Were they university students?” Bao Zhen asked.

  “The system is a little different there, I guess. But from what I could understand, they are all second-year students in university and are traveling across Canada on their summer break.”

  As they walked, Jasmine looked at her phone. “Mom, I keep getting this phone call from a number I don’t know. They don’t leave a message, and I haven’t picked up to answer it. It’s ringing again now.”

  Bao Zhen took the phone and looked at the number. “Colorado number,” she muttered as she answered the call. “Hello? Who is this, please? Why do you keep calling?” She listened for half a minute, and then the shudder was clear. Jasmine had often seen that look flitter across her mother’s face. Usually, it was when she was finding out her husband was getting called into another dangerous mission. It was a look of dread and chill.

  There was no duct tape over Nathan Harris’ mouth. His captors figured he was smart enough to know that talking would be useless. He wasn’t blindfolded either. Lying on the cold van floor, he couldn’t see anything anyway. The windows in the back had been painted black, the sides were windowless, and he couldn’t turn his body to see out the front. But the zip ties hurt. They were cutting into his skin, and every time the vehicle turned the corner, they’d slice a little deeper.

  He wondered who his captors were. There were two in the front and one sitting on the floor, his back to the rear doors, facing him. They were obviously professionals. And they hadn’t spoken a word to each other, most likely knowing that he could understand their language if their native tongue wasn’t English.

  He’d often thought about a situation like this. After all, he was a high-value target. But what he hadn’t anticipated was the absolute hopelessness he’d feel and how quickly it blanketed him. He wasn’t an operative. He was a linguist. A language artist, he thought to himself. The only comfort he took, was in knowing that there would be talented operatives, who were very good at their jobs, trying to find him. At least he hoped there were. Suddenly the light darkened, and the van pulled over. A bridge? He wondered.

  The man facing him pulled out a knife. It looked menacing.

  “Where is it?”

  Russian. “Where’s what?”

  “Your transponder.”

  There’s no point in lying. They obviously know I have one. “On the top of my left wrist. You can see the little scar where it was inserted.”

  “I cut off your ties, okay? Don’t be stupid. Sit up.”

  Nathan struggled to sit up and then held out his arms. The man cut the ties, and Harris rubbed his wrists with his hands to get circulation into them.

  “Give me left wrist.”

  The captor looked at it carefully and then cut a small incision just above it. Using his fingernails, he worked the small sunflower-seed sized transponder out of the wound. He carefully put it on the floor of the van, and with the butt of his knife, he bashed the chip until it was pulverized. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small cloth bag and took out a tube of triple antibiotic, opened it, and squirted it generously onto the wound. He put the tube away and produced a large butterfly Band-Aid, unwrapped it, and put it over where the transponder had been. He pounded on the side of the van twice, and the vehicle started to move again, the light brightened up as they pulled out from under the bridge.

  Well, there goes the transponder. For a brief moment, he thought about asking obvious questions but decided against it. I’ll find out, he thought.

  The man with the Russian accent leaned forward again, steadying himself with his arm on the side of the van. In one quick, frightening motion, he sliced the zip ties around Nathan’s ankles.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  They drove for another twenty minutes in stop-and-go traffic. Then Nathan heard the sound of squeaky gates opening. Again the van darkened.

  Underground parking, the translator noted to himself.

  Soon the back doors opened at the same time that the man reached inside his coat and pulled out a black hood.

  Harris could feel a tug on his elbow after the heavy black basketweave upholstery slipped over his head.

  “Get out.”

  He got on all fours and carefully moved forward.

  “Okay. Sit down on edge and stand up on the floor.”

  The Chief White House Translator did as commanded, feeling the tingle of blood rushing through his vertically-posed legs. He shuffled forward, feeling the tug on his elbow and waited for the next command.

  “Stop,” the man said with his Russian accent. “We get into back seat of SUV. Don’t be stupid. Then I won’t zip-tie you and throw you in cargo area or worse, shoot you in head.”

  Nathan thought about how the man had said it. It wasn’t a threat. Just a fact. He’s obviously shot people in the head before.

  The vehicle started up, and whoever was driving put it into gear and slowly moved forward. Harris couldn’t tell if there was someone in the front passenger’s seat; the man with the accent was sitting beside him in the back.

  Trey had left his phone in their suite’s safe on purpose. He eyed the morning sky carefully and gauged where the sun was. It was time to head back to the lodge. The expert sniper collected all the bullet shells he could find, unscrewed his suppressor, slipped off the Raptor scope, and broke down his CheyTac M200 Intervention Sniper Rifle. Then he put everything into his backpack with the care and precision that came from over a hundred covert missions and stood up to stretch. It was time for a cardiovascular workout. Taking a quick sip of water, he got ready to run back through the woods, down the mountain and to his waiting rented Jeep.

  Agent Stone’s long-time friend and partner was getting a cardio workout, too. But he wasn’t in the glorious Canadian Rockies, he was on a treadmill at LaunchPad, listening to a music mix he’d created for this exact purpose. Other than him, the place was empty at the moment. Sweat was dripping off of the former Marine, and he was loving every minute of it. Two more members of the team, Michi and Saara, had decided to spend a few days relaxing in Boston. U2 was performing in the famous East Coast city two nights ago, and they were able to score tickets. They were due back in three hours.

  Bruce Locke was tough, honest, and battle-tested. He’d first met Trey almost fifteen years ago when the sniper had single-handedly taken out a group of Cartel thugs deep in the jungles of Buga, Colombia. It was a CIA-sanctioned mission, but nobody knew that Bruce had been taken, hostage. When Trey cleared out the camp, Locke was able to escape. He took a dead captor’s pistol and, not knowing who Agent Stone was, pointed it at him and fired. The two often joked back and forth about what happened next. According to Bruce, his gun malfunctioned and misfired, and the round went astray, but Trey’s version is that Locke got scared when he saw the sniper up close and missed. Everyone knows the Marine’s story is the legit version, but Trey liked to kid his friend about it anyway.

  He was fully into his workout and almost had a coronary when the door to the warehouse opened unexpectedly, and David Hirsch walked in, followed by Leonard Stone and Tank. Agent Locke shut down the power to the exercise machine and plucked the earbuds from out of his ears.

  “Scared me half to death!”

  “Sorry about that, Bruce,” David said, coming over to him. The smirk on his face communicated that he wasn’t really feeling too bad.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back until we all converge next week.”

  The four men shook hands, and Leonard said, “Something’s come up. We need to decide if we will get involved. Go shower up while I keep trying to get hold of Trey. I haven’t been able to reach him.”

  A distinct buzzing sound could be heard coming from David’s hand. It was his phone. “That’s strange, it’s Jasmine,” he said, looking at the screen.

  Chapter Five

  “President Baker called you?” Trey said, having ju
st walked into what looked like a family meeting in the living room area of their suite in the Banff Park Lodge. “Why?”

  The former POTUS knew Trey’s father well and had recently met the rest of the family after an ordeal involving Baker’s son and granddaughter.

  Bao Zhen looked at her daughter and then back at her husband. “He wanted to know how we were doing, and we chatted for a bit. Then he said to tell you that Iris was taken. That you’d know what that meant.”

  Trey sat down in a tufted elegant crème-colored-velvet wingback chair and stared at his wife. “He said that? He said Iris was taken?”

  She nodded.

  “He didn’t say how?”

  “No. That’s exactly what he said. Nothing more or less.”

  Trey put his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “It must’ve been a very professional team that took him.” He paused, thinking about it for a minute and then leaned forward and looked at his wife. “This has the potential to be really bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “The world might never be the same. That bad.” Turning to his mother-in-law, and knowing he could trust her, he asked, “Do you know who Iris is?”

  She shook her head.

  “He’s the Chief White House Translator.”

  The shock on his mother-in-law’s face was immediate. She knew full well the impending trouble this could pose for several nations.