King’s stunned silence was interrupted by his cell phone. He ignored its ring as another question entered his mind. “What’s my real last name?”
“Our last name was Machtcenko. Yours has been and will always be Sigler.”
The phone chimed again.
“My maiden name,” his mother added. “Your grandfather really was German.”
“And a jeweler?”
She nodded.
As the phone rang a third time, King looked at the caller ID display and frowned.
“Who is it?”
“Unknown.” Which on King’s phone was virtually impossible. Thanks to Deep Blue, absolutely everyone who called this phone appeared in caller I.D., regardless of their personal preference. That this call showed as “unknown” meant the caller had impressive resources of their own. King stood and answered the phone. “Who is this?”
The unfamiliar voice on the other end was deep and strong. “Where are you, King?”
“You’ve got ten seconds to tell me who you are and then I—”
“Get back to Bragg, King. I’ll do what I can, but I’m not sure it will be enough.”
The line went dead.
As the pieces of the puzzle came together, King moved toward the front door.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
“She’s in trouble.”
“Who is?”
“Fiona.”
His parents were on their feet, trailing him out the front door to the car, which his father had moved into the driveway. “Who is Fiona?”
Upon reaching the driver’s side door, King turned to his parents. “My daughter—foster daughter.”
He entered the car and started the engine. But before he could put it into reverse, the doors to the backseat opened and his parents climbed in. “What are you doing?”
His mother leaned over the backseat. “We’re coming to help.”
“This is going to be dangerous.”
His father put a hand on King’s shoulder. “Son, listen to your parents. For once in your life.”
The car spun out of the driveway a moment later and shot down the street. It was a four-hour drive back to the base. King would make it in three. He just hoped it would be fast enough.
TEN
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
“GET DOWN, THEY see you.”
“I can’t see them.”
“Above you. Flood infections!”
“Oh no … ahh! They’re everywhere. I think I’m dead.”
“Lew. Lew! They killed Lew. Ugh!” Fiona paused the game, put down the Xbox remote, and threw her hands up. “Every time, Lew.”
Lewis Aleman smiled as he stood. “Sorry kiddo. If they designed joysticks as guns we’d be all set. I was great at Duck Hunt.”
“Duck Hunt? Seriously? You are old.”
“Forty-one isn’t old,” he said, moving from the sparsely decorated lounge to the small kitchenette. The college dorm–like space typically held a good number of off-duty soldiers playing pool, cards, or watching TV, but Lewis had made sure the space would be empty. A room full of soldiers looking to relax and have fun was not typically the right environment for a tween, boy or girl.
“If you weren’t born in the nineteen-eighties or sooner, you’re old.” Fiona was dressed in all black pajamas and slippers—her favorite, she said, because they looked like special ops nighttime gear. The only aberration on her smooth, slender little body was a small rectangular lump on her hip. Hidden beneath her shirt, clipped to her waist, was the insulin pump that kept her blood sugar levels optimal. With a curtain of straight black hair hanging down around her head, only her brown hands and face weren’t shrouded in darkness. “Popcorn time?”