Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

Miller stared at the photos in his hands. The bodies were so thick that they overlapped each other in red-dust-covered heaps.

“The clock is ticking,” Bensson said, “and no one knows how much time is left. But we know the enemy is risking exposure by heading underground. Whatever else is coming, is coming soon.”

He’s right, Miller thought. But that didn’t change the fact that he needed to rest, at least for the night. “I’ll start tomorrow,” Miller said.

Bensson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He took an iPhone from his pocket and handed it to Miller. “That’s a direct and secure line to me. I’m meeting with the remaining joint chiefs and a few generals I think I can trust. I want you there. Eight o’clock, sharp. I’ll have a team look for that dead German overnight. With luck, we’ll have a direction for you then. We’ll have our best and brightest working every angle of this thing, but since I have no idea if they can be trusted, you’re my point man on this.”

“Copy that, sir. See you in the morning.” Miller took the phone and pocketed it before heading for the door.

“Hey,” Bensson said, stopping Miller at the door. He tossed a small pony bottle to him.

Miller caught it.

“Fifteen minutes of air,” the president said.

Miller nodded his thanks and left. Fifteen minutes of air didn’t sound like much to most people, but to Miller, fifteen extra minutes could change everything. It was a good gift. He just hoped he’d never have reason to use it.

“Wow,” Arwen said. “That’s… a lot.”

Miller leaned forward in his chair. “I know.” After forcing Brodeur to wait outside Arwen’s room, he’d taken a seat next to the oxygen tent and laid out everything Bensson had asked him to do. He probably should have checked in with Fred Murdock, the executive assistant director of the NCIS and the closest thing Miller had to a confidant, but he felt Arwen deserved to know everything—she’d earned it—and Murdock wasn’t there. Hadn’t called, either.

Her hand slid out from under the oxygen tent. She held an empty pudding cup. “All done.”

He took the cup and placed it on the counter next to his, which he’d polished off in three big scoops.

“So what’d you say?”

“It’s not something you say no to.”

She was silent for a moment, and then asked, “You’ll find me when you’re done?”

The honest answer would have been, “If I’m still alive,” but Miller said, “You’ll still be here when I get back. Going to be in the hospital for a while.”

“And if you don’t come back?”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said. Miller felt guilty for saying it. She clearly knew the score, but he couldn’t let her see his fear.

“You don’t have to lie,” she said. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

Son of a bitch. The kid can read my mind. “I’m not afraid,” he insisted. It was a half-truth. Combat. Life-and-death situations. These things didn’t frighten him. But he was afraid for Arwen. He felt guilty for leaving the kid. Had promised he wouldn’t. If he didn’t come back… Hell, if he didn’t come back, it was likely she’d be dead along with the rest of the world.

“I didn’t tell you how I got burned,” she said.

“You don’t need to.” He didn’t want her to relive that memory.

“I smelled the smoke. Did everything right. Stayed low. Checked the handles. Went to the sidewalk. This was before the red flakes, by the way. But the fire started in my brother’s room. He couldn’t get out.”

Miller’s hand rose to his mouth. “You went back in.”

“He was my brother. I’d have done anything to save him. I don’t remember the rest. My father pulled me out. The red snow started the next morning. I didn’t see my parents after that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The last thing my father said to me…” Arwen sniffed. Miller couldn’t see her, but knew she was crying. “He said he was proud of me. And I know Sam is, too. Because I tried.”

Miller rolled his neck and looked out the window. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a pink sunset that filled him with dread.

“You’re like Frodo,” she said. “You’ve been given a quest. To save us all. You need a fellowship, of course.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

A silent beat passed between them.

“Before you go,” she said, “take a shower. I can smell you even under here. The bad guys will smell you a mile away.”

Miller smiled. “I don’t live far from here. Going to take a shower, get some shut-eye, and then I’m off to the White House in the morning. And then… who knows.”

“’Kay.”

Miller stood and felt a wave of dizziness pass through him. He held on to the chair as his vision turned black for a moment. A single night’s rest wasn’t going to be enough. His body was still weak, and even a momentary blackout could mean the difference between life and death. I’ll rest on the move, he told himself, stepping to the door.

“I will come back,” he said from the door. The words were as much for him as for her.

“Linc,” she said as his hand took hold of the doorknob. “Frodo was afraid, too. And he was a hobbit. Just a little guy. And he made it back.”

“Copy that,” he said, feeling stupid for using military lingo.

But when Arwen replied with a quick, “Over and out,” he smiled. Had she been his child he’d see her as a chip off the old block. The kid had guts, nerves, and the spirit of a fighter. It kept her alive. Kept them both alive.

Miller opened the door and stepped into the hall, where he was greeted by the ever-vigilant Brodeur.

“I’m leaving,” Miller said.

Brodeur frowned. “You said that like I’m not coming.”

Miller set a quick pace toward the elevator despite the pain in his legs. “That’s because you’re not.” To clear his head and rest, really rest, Miller needed to be alone. He had a lot to process and only one night to do it in.

“Going home, then?”

After stopping in front of the elevator doors, Miller hit the Down button and nodded. No sense in lying about where he was headed. “Cleaning up, getting some shut-eye, and meeting POTUS for a morning brunch.”

“So that wasn’t just a pat-on-the-back meeting?” Brodeur said.

“You sound surprised.” The elevator failed to meet Miller’s internal timetable. He found the door for the stairs and made for the stairwell. Brodeur shadowed him. Taking the stairs hurt far worse than walking, but Miller tried not to show it.

Brodeur noted Miller’s slight limp. “You’re not exactly battle ready.”

“He was persuasive,” Miller said.

“Dang, man,” Brodeur said, his Southern twang coming through more clearly when unmasked by surprise. “What does he want you to do?”

Miller ignored the question, reached the ground floor, and exited the stairwell. He entered the lobby and headed for the reception desk. He tried to offer the portly man behind the counter a smile, but felt too uncomfortable to manage much more than an awkward grin that looked more like a grimace. “Can you call a cab for me?”

“Uh, sure,” the man said, looking at him with wide eyes.

Miller realized the man recognized him. Great, he thought. He turned away from the desk and found Brodeur there, arms crossed, and a smile on his face.

“How are you going to pay for that?”

A quick pat of his pockets reminded him he didn’t have a wallet. “Shit.”

“Going to have to break into your apartment, too, unless you have a spare.” When Miller said nothing, Brodeur flashed his ID and said, “I can make sure you don’t get arrested for breaking and entering.”