A very big thank you to Maxine Bringenberg for agreeing to be my editor in this particular labor. You are certainly blessed with a great deal of patience in order to deal with the likes of me!

Dedication

To my partner in all things and my better half, Kim. You always show me the way and help me be better than I was the day before. Thank you.

Author Ken Lange

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without permission from the author.

Prologue

Wednesday, May 27
th

And the angel of death flew across the ocean on wings of iron and steel. The thirsty gray metal beast drank its fill twice between the old world and the new. The New World objected to his impending arrival, sending a great wall of storms to stand in his way. The gray beast groaned and creaked as it sliced through the thunder and lightning. The New World’s guardians wept as the prodigal son returned home. The devil was coming to collect his due, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

Blinding white light cut through the shaded visor of my helmet, startling me awake. Jerking to one side, I slammed my head into the metal wall of the cockpit. The resounding thud caused me to wince as it reverberated through my head. After several seconds of blinking, the world began to come into sharp focus. The scene before me showed lightning dancing all around us in a brilliant show throughout deep black gray clouds that blanketed the sky. I wasn’t sure how the pilot was able to navigate through the garish display of Mother Nature’s power. The aircraft shuddered as thunder rolled over us in waves, forcing the thin, white-gray metal wings to quiver.

The clouds roiled around us like putrid smoke, buffeting our small craft with violent turbulence. The overwhelming feeling of being an unwelcome guest washed over me like icy water. It was as if nature itself wanted me to stay away from the land I’d once called home. Considering how things had gone over the last few weeks, staying where I’d been for the last twenty-eight years was simply impossible.

I should consider myself lucky that I hadn’t been locked up or conveniently killed. That was normally what happened to people like me. Frankly, a very large part of me wondered why it hadn’t happened. Not that I wasn’t grateful for being able to walk away, but I was curious to the why. So whatever temper tantrum Mother Nature was throwing, she’d just have to get over it, because no matter her opinion I was coming home, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent it.

We were flying in an F-15 that wasn’t accustomed to such long flights or the inclement weather we’d run into over the Gulf of Mexico. The storm was so vicious that the helmet did little to keep the sound of rain crashing into the canopy or the rolling thunder from hurting my ears. Over the next hour things progressively got worse as we flew deeper into the heart of the storm covering Louisiana, Mississippi, and a good bit of Texas.

Luckily we were on final approach and the plane touched down with a rough bounce. Strong winds threatened to thrust us back into the sky, but the craft groaned as the pilot fought back, forcing us down one last time, and taxied the length of the runway. We were about a hundred yards out when he let out an audible breath as he allowed his shoulders to go slack. Looking out the window, I barely recognized the Naval Air Station of New Orleans, or more accurately, Belle Chasse.

We’d been stuck in flight for nearly twelve hours, and while I wasn’t sure about the pilot, I was stiff, sore, and generally grumpy. My shoulders were unaccustomed to being shoved into such a small space for so long, not to mention my knees and legs were cramping up from being in such close quarters.

It didn’t help that I’d been unceremoniously let go—fired—after twenty-eight years of loyal service. I “WAS” an employee of the Department of Defense, assigned to special operations for the navy and marines. All things considered, I hadn’t been surprised by the decision, but it still hurt. I’d been through nine types of hell and back a few times because of them, but now that life was over.

The base commander in Naples was new and hadn’t approved of the way I’d handled my last engagement. To be completely honest, that wasn’t the only reason; the man hated me on general principle. In his words, I “represented everything wrong with the world today.” Frankly, I thought he exaggerated just a little. Even so, I gave him the perfect excuse to “ask” me to “retire.” It wasn’t as if I really had a choice in the matter.

He gave me a one-way ticket to anywhere in the world, and I chose New Orleans, of all places. Something was nagging at the back of my mind that told me I needed to be there. I hadn’t the foggiest idea why. For a moment I’d thought about going back home to Montana, but everyone I knew there was probably dead. Something was telling me to follow through with my hunch and stay in New Orleans until I figured it out. After that I’d move on to whatever was next.

On a rather depressing note, I was forty-five years old, and everything I owned fit into one knapsack. Hell, I even had a little room left over in there since I was wearing a pair of size twelve black Wolverine Raiders, blue jeans, and a white button up long sleeve dress shirt that hadn’t seen an iron in weeks.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford more, but I’d never bothered with acquiring things…which was about to change very rapidly. Normal people needed phones, computers, cars, and a place to live. One thing I’d learned a long time ago was to blend in as best I could and not draw too much attention to myself. A hard thing to accomplish given my size, but one that I’d mastered over the years. I’d need to repeat that success in the civilian world if I was going to “fit in”; fitting in was survival.

The pilot turned his head to one side as he settled back in his seat and said, “We’ve arrived, sir.”

I felt my lips curl into a crooked half smile as a one-breath laugh escaped my lips. “You don’t have to call me sir, I work for a living.” I clapped the back of his headrest harder than I meant to, making him jump in his seat. “Thanks for the ride.”

The pilot’s helmet moved forward a fraction. “You’re welcome. If it had been up to me we would’ve landed somewhere else, but I’m under orders to get you ‘here’ ASAP.” Unfastening his oxygen mask, he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Either you’re really important or you really pissed someone off.” He held up a hand for me to see. “I don’t want to know which.” He stretched his neck and yawned. “All I want is a shitter and then a shower before I sack out.”

Grinning, I unclasped my mask and let it dangle from one side. “You’re a wise man.”

The kid in front of me was maybe twenty-five, with a lot of life ahead of him. I, on the other hand, had more in common with the aircraft we’d been flying…a large, out of date relic that was best forgotten.

The hangar doors were open, allowing us to disembark out of the downpour happening just a few yards away. The canopy opened and the pilot scrambled down the ladder, where an officer promptly escorted him away for “debriefing”; which meant that this flight never happened. I could only hope that it wouldn’t ruin his career.

Climbing down the ladder and turning around, I stood there looking at a dozen of the biggest marines I’d seen in a long time, but even the tallest was a few inches shorter than me. Each of them wore full combat gear, right down to combat issue body armor. More than a few of them looked confused, while the rest appeared to be amused, as if someone were pranking them.

Only their sergeant wasn’t amused or confused. He appeared to know who I was…or more likely, who I might be. The sergeant was nearly a head shorter than I was, putting him around 5’10”, and maybe thirty pounds lighter at around 205. He eyed me with calculated intelligence, waiting to see what I’d do.

I took a few seconds to size up the situation as I stretched. Not including the sergeant, I counted a dozen marines who were most likely reservists, who’d probably never seen action. That meant they were well trained but had little to no experience…bonus for me. I noticed several exits I could get through without permanent injury....

Taking in a deep breath and told myself to focus. I wasn’t in danger, nor was I going to be arrested…otherwise the flight would’ve been useless. They could have arrested me with less trouble and with veteran troops back in Naples. Releasing the breath slowly, I forced myself to relax.

I needed to cooperate with these men and go with the flow, or things were sure to get very bad very quickly. I reminded myself that I wasn’t a wanted man and I shouldn’t treat these men as if they were the enemy. I needed to allow whatever was going to happen to unfold naturally.

The barrel chested sergeant stepped forward. His voice was uncommonly high for a man of his breadth, and the deep southern accent made it sound even more annoying. “Mr. Randall, we are here to escort you to the commander’s office.”

Snapping myself upright, I yanked my bag over my shoulder and gave the man a curt nod. “Carry on.”

Four men fell in front of and behind me, allowing the others to flank me as they escorted me through the base into the main building. It felt like a mini parade for the damned as the procession silently made its way. People stared and gawked as we passed through their cubical domains until we reached the commander's office. The sergeant, along with three of his men, escorted me through the door that stood ajar.

I forced myself not to duck as we traversed the opening, and the top of my hair brushed the doorframe. For most men this would be an oversized office, with a massive oak desk at the rear of the room. For me it was a comfortable size, with a desk befitting a man of my stature. Instead, the brass placard read Captain Scott R. Gootee. I could only guess that this was the commander of Belle Chasse Naval Station.

Captain Gootee didn’t bother to look up until he finished reading a report. He was in his mid-forties, thin, and his dress uniform was immaculate. We stood there in silence, then he tore his eyes away from the paperwork. He stared at me for several seconds before looking over at the sergeant and with a curt nod dismissed him. “You can leave us.”

The marine wanted to object, but he and his men snapped to attention and closed the door behind them. Captain Gootee continued to eye me closely as if he were trying to fit some sort of puzzle together in his head. “I thought you’d be bigger. I’m not sure how that would be humanly possible, but there you have it.”

Standing at parade rest, I stifled a snicker. “I get that a lot more than you’d think.”

Captain Gootee motioned for me to take a seat. “You’ve caused quite a commotion over the last eighteen hours.”

With a step forward and to the side, I reluctantly took my seat. The burgundy leather chair creaked when my oversized form sank into the buttoned cushion. It was comfortable enough, but I’d just spent the last dozen hours on my ass and it was starting to hurt. “I suppose I have, but I’m only following orders.”

The captain looked sympathetic as he nodded. “I know.” He appeared genuinely conflicted, sitting there searching for the right words. “You don’t know me, but I know of you. You saved some friends of mine in Iraq, and others in Afghanistan over the years.” He grumbled as he picked up a sheet of paper and read it again. “I’ve got orders as well.” He shoved the papers onto his desk with a disapproving thud. “I don’t particularly care for them either.”

I felt for him, but there wasn’t anything I could do to make things easier. “It’s okay, Captain; just do what needs to be done. There isn’t anything either of us can do about it.”

Captain Gootee nodded. He reached under his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey. “You drink?”

Tilting my head to the side, I checked the clock on the wall. It read 10:15 a.m. CST. With a crooked grin, I lithely waved a hand. “I’m game if you are.”

The captain put two tumblers on the desk and poured three fingers of whiskey in each before raising his glass in the air. “To those we’ve lost and to those who have lost themselves.”

We both pounded back our drinks and placed the tumblers on the desk. The captain smiled and fingered the papers in front of him. “I can’t do anything else for you. I can’t tell you that there’s a man sitting in a blue sedan outside the gates that’ll drop you off wherever you’d like, and I can’t say thank you for your years of service.” The captain poured himself another drink and tossed it back before looking at me. “You do have somewhere to go, right?”

I nodded. “I do.”

The captain visibly relaxed at the news. “Good. The door’s going to open in a minute and you’ll be escorted to the front gates.” He downed his drink and poured another. “Goodbye, Mr. Randall.”

I knew my time was at an end and stood. “You can call me Gavin.”

The captain downed the third drink and poured another before toasting me. “Have a great life, Gavin.”

With a grin, I bowed my head at the captain. Turning, I stepped toward the door and put my hand on the knob.

As I opened the door the captain called out to me. “You know this is wrong.”

I paused for a moment, locking eyes with the sergeant and forcing myself not to turn around, and nodded. Putting one foot in front of the other, I didn’t look back and I allowed the marines to escort me to the front gate. Once I was outside the gates they turned and marched back to their barracks. A blue sedan pulled up and the driver beckoned for me to get out of the rain. He kindly dropped me off at the St. Charles branch of Chase Bank.

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