Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(104)

I nodded. “I know. Our time.”

“And that’s forever.”

When he moved away, it was with his old, familiar walk. Tall. Confident. A man who could steer the world. He headed toward the trees, his dark clothing blending with the growing night. At the last moment, he stopped, and our eyes met across the distance.

He raised a hand and gave me a small wave.

We had our forever.

My hand was still up when he disappeared into the shadows.



As I headed back in the direction of the car that Zarif had arranged for the airport, my phone pinged. A text from Cohen.

You still coming home tonight?

Home. A beautiful concept. I typed, Yes. Howz Clyde?

Little thief ate my burger I smiled. See you soon We will be at the airport I stared at the phone, the screen swimming in front of me.

Some things will not do themselves.

Some things you have to do yourself.

I typed the hardest seven letters of my life: Love you Then I prayed the phone would die before I did.

Ping.

Love you too. Now get your ass home.

So that was that. I smiled and slid my phone into my pocket. Cohen and I still had plenty to figure out. But he hadn’t kicked me out. And I hadn’t left.

Bad happens to all of us, of course. But if we are fortunate, the good in life balances those things we might wish to forget. We are able to pick ourselves up and brush ourselves off. We carry on.

We’re still good.

The last light of the sun turned the grass into emeralds. I walked back through the park, behind Zarif still on the bench, past the soccer game. I paused for a moment, watching as Malik kicked the ball. It soared into the heavens in an arc that seemed long enough to reach from Iraq to Mexico. From one side of the world to the other.

Ultimately, the universe is a moral place. And while the arc of the universe is long, as Martin Luther King Jr. said, it bends toward justice.

Always, it bends toward justice.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The list of men and women willing to help me with the Sydney Parnell novels continues to grow. It’s one of the greatest things about pursuing this writing gig—the people I meet.

First, to my beta readers. All outstanding writers, they each bring terrific insight and great skill to the editing task. They are patient, forgiving, and generous with their time and creative talent. My deepest and most appreciative thanks go to Michael Bateman, Deborah Coonts, Ron Cree, Kirk Farber, Chris Mandeville, Steve Pease, Michael Shepherd, and Robert Spiller. All of them improved the book immensely, and my gratitude knows no bounds.

To Danielle Gerard and J.R. Backlund, who sat with me in the bar at ThrillerFest and helped me plot murder and mayhem. You guys are genius.

This book would not have been possible without the knowledge and insight of the following people. Career Intelligence Officer Steve Pease. Army Major Thomas E. VanWormer (retired). FBI Special Agents Gerard Ackerman and Matthew S. Harris. And Doctor of Veterinary Medicine Doug Schrepel. I am grateful for the time and wisdom of Denver RTD Chief of Police John F. Tarbert (retired).

And, as always, my thanks to Denver Detective Ron Gabel (retired). Ron, you are truly one of the good guys.

To the veterans I met through Creative Forces. You guys have opened my eyes, expanded my mind, and touched my heart. I know you hate hearing this, but to me, you’re all heroes.

A special thanks to my agent, Bob Diforio of the D4EO Literary Agency, and to my fantastic editors, Liz Pearsons and Charlotte Herscher. My gratitude to the team at Thomas & Mercer—all of you exemplify the best.

Finally, to those who support me in so many ways. Lori Dominguez, Maria Faulconer, and Cathy Noakes (who went above and beyond). To my children, Kyle and Amanda, and to Steve. Always.





AUTHOR’S NOTE

In writing this novel I took certain liberties in how I portrayed some of the countries, cities, and institutions. The world presented here, along with its characters and events, is wholly fictitious. Denver Pacific Continental (DPC) is a wholly fictional railway. Any resemblance to actual events and corporations, or to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

That said, the technology I used in this novel, primarily the gait-analysis software, does exist and is changing the way law enforcement operates in the ongoing hunt for criminals and terrorists.

An intelligence source told me about the brief appearance in Iraq of a weapon that the manufacturers—the Russians, he thought—wanted to test against the US Abrams tank. This sparked the idea for Valor’s Explosively Formed Penetrators. The EFPs described in these pages are real. It is true that Iran was smuggling weapons and personnel into Iraq during the Iraq War, and that some of these weapons were thought to be too sophisticated to have been built in Iraq. If you’re curious, the following articles provide a start:

Fahim, Kareem and Liz Sly. “Lethal roadside bomb that killed scores of US troops reappears in Iraq.” Washington Post. October 12, 2017.

Conroy, Scott. “US Sees New Weapon In Iraq: Iranian EFPs.” CBS News. February 11, 2006.

Gordon, Michael R. “Deadliest Bomb in Iraq Is Made by Iran, US Says.” New York Times. February 10, 2007.



The line about the arc of the universe used at the end of Ambush appeared in a 1958 article written by Martin Luther King Jr., where he placed the line in quotes to indicate its previous use in other sources. The original metaphor appeared in 1853 in a collection of sermons written by abolitionist minister Theodore Parker.