“Be what?” King asked.

“I don’t know, with the church. A gardener. I thought the graveyard might be closed.”

He was about to ask why he’d run from a gardener, but then thought, Of course he ran, that’s what he’s best at. Running. That didn’t explain the brawling, but his father was a stranger to him now. Who knew who he’d become.

King turned his back on his father, looking toward his mother’s grave, silently asking for guidance and the will to not pull the gun on his father again. “Then you weren’t here to see me.”

King holstered his weapon and moved to walk past his father.

“Well, I’m seeing you now, aren’t I?”

For a moment King’s angry resolve held out. But seeing his father again in the wake of his mother’s death … it was a pain he didn’t want to carry on his own. He motioned with his head for his father to follow him. “You hungry?”

As King walked away, he wasn’t sure if his father would follow or run again. But a moment later, the sound of scuffing shoes on pavement revealed his old man was done running. At least for the moment.

FIVE

Fort Bragg—Decon

“WHAT IS SHE doing here?” Keasling asked about Fiona, who was sitting comfortably in the seat that was normally occupied by King.

“This has something to do with my grandmother,” Fiona said to the stout but gruff brigadier general. “And who killed her.”

Queen quickly cleared her throat. “Sir, everyone charged with watching Fiona and keeping her safe is either in this room or unavailable.”

Keasling looked around. Sitting around the long executive table were Fiona, Queen, Knight, Bishop, Rook, and Lewis Aleman, the team’s former field operator turned computer whiz and walking Wikipedia. The room itself, known as Decon, or Limbo, depending on whom you asked, was nothing to get excited about—simply a rectangle with one wall of glass looking out into the hangar bay that held the Crescent, the team’s high-velocity, stealth transport. But the technology hidden within the table and walls was something else entirely. Concealed computers and a large view-screen allowed the team to coordinate and plan some of the most risky, high-tech, and successful Delta operations no one ever heard about.

“I don’t like it,” Keasling said. “The kid shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s all right, General.” The voice, recognizable to everyone in the room, and most Americans, came from the large screen built into the front wall of the room. To the team he was Deep Blue, their handler. To everyone else, he was the president of the United States. On screen they could see the man’s balding head, charming smile, and kind, gray eyes. The only thing marring his presidential image were a few small scars on his cheeks and eyebrows, reminders of his years as an Army Ranger.

Keasling turned toward the screen that offered them a view of the Oval Office and the hidden camera that allowed Deep Blue to see all of them on his laptop. He nodded. “Mr. President.”