Hold On! - Season 1 (4 page)

The Heart of a Hero

Brandon allowed himself a moment of relief for a myriad of reasons, and a liberating calm came over him. He knew Belinda would be safe in the cabin, and there would be no reason for him to keep running. For the first time in two months he’d have someone to talk to. He would finally be spared the soul-destroying isolation, which could have been compared to perpetual solitary confinement.

It was three in the afternoon when they arrived back at the cabin, and it had become particularly chilly since they left. He walked over to the log fire and lit it.

Once the flames were spreading, he turned to Belinda. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

“It’s . . . OK,” she said. “Or, at least it might be, if I can get some answers.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. I’ll go make us some coffee, and then we’ll talk, all right?”

She smiled approvingly.

He entered the kitchen and picked up the kettle from the counter. As he took it over to the faucet, he noticed, through the window, a bear cub coming toward the cabin from the forest. It left a line of tiny footprints in the snow, and then stopped as it noticed him through the window.

Brandon beamed. Setting the kettle aside, he turned back to one of the kitchen cupboards. After taking out a jar of honey and a large ceramic bowl, he collected a packet of nuts, berries, and an apple. He filled up the bowl, took the honey jar, and returned to the living room.

Belinda looked at him, puzzled. “Is everything all right?”

With a glow of enthusiasm, he said, “Would you just excuse me for a moment?” He moved over to his snow boots by the door and briskly slipped them on. “I’ve got a little friend and I think he’s hungry. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He closed the door behind him, walked around to the back of the cabin, and carefully sat on a small bench positioned just beneath the kitchen window. The bear kept its distance until he was completely still.

Slowly, he placed the bowl of fruit and nuts and opened jar of honey approximately two feet before him in the snow. The bear immediately trotted toward them. “Hey there, little guy. Are you hungry?” Brandon said in a soft, child-like voice. “How’ve you been?”

The cub began to eagerly devour the offering. Brandon sat back and watched with a stab of conscience. “You almost missed out on this today, bud.”

Belinda looked around the place trying to imagine it might become her home for the foreseeable future. It was absurd. All she knew was that the life she’d had twenty-four hours ago was no longer. It was as though an invisible hand had picked her up, taken her out of reality, and placed her . . .
where?

She stepped into the kitchen and moved closer to the window. The bear was so engrossed in its feast that it didn’t see her. She watched Brandon slowly outstretch his arm until his fingertips were a mere inches away from the bear’s forehead. It looked up finally and sniffed his hand. She could see he was extremely cautious not to frighten it. He gently petted the soft, light-brown fur, and the bear edged closer to him.

A lump formed in her throat as she watched the scene unfold before her. It was such a heart-warming sight, complemented by the beauty of the surroundings. She was more convinced than ever that this man, who had brought her back to his secret home, was, in no way, a bad guy. Only a person with a most caring nature would become so enthusiastic about feeding a little furry creature. It was most probably lost.

She’d heard animals had an instinct that enabled them to be repelled by an aggressor or a predator. Clearly, this lone, wild, bear cub sensed nothing of the kind in Brandon, and she became more intrigued by him than ever.
Who are you, Brandon Drake?

Empathy came over her. She had no idea how long Brandon had been alone, but she could understand how he would have been drawn to the cub. Not only was it an irresistibly beautiful creature, it would have easily struck a chord with him: two lonely souls who had connected in a vast, isolated wilderness.

She remembered when she’d told him that her living alone and not getting involved with people made her life so much easier. He’d questioned whether she truly believed it and she hadn’t replied.

But he was right. She didn’t believe it. She was just being stoical, putting up a barrier. Her life had been almost as lonely as his.

Transfixed, she continued to watch the exchange between Brandon and the cub.

The bear decided it’d had its fill, turned, and walked away. Brandon picked up the bowl and the honey jar, and waited until his little friend disappeared through the trees.

He returned to the porch, opened the front door, and removed his snow boots.

“That is one gorgeous little bear cub.”

He looked up, surprised to see Belinda standing in the kitchen doorway. “You saw that?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, he’s a cutie, but he’s not going to be for too long, that’s for sure.” He paused for a moment. “Actually I don’t know if it’s a he or a she. It’s been coming around here for about four weeks. I figured it’d either been abandoned by its mother, or the mother may have died. Maybe she got shot by hunters.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“OK, I’ll go make us that coffee.” His tone was far more cheerful than it had been. It was clear that being back home had removed the dark cloud that had been hovering over him when they’d left.

“Thank you so much, Brandon. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. At least now we’re back, we can chill, maybe watch some TV. There’s a home-made satellite receiver I’ve got fixed up on the roof, so it’s not a part of any subscription.” He winked at her mischievously.

She smiled heartily. “That’d be great.”

A few minutes later he came out of the kitchen, handed her a coffee, and moved toward the leather couch. “Come and take a seat. We can talk for a while, and then I’ll start preparing dinner. ”

“You cook?” she said.

“Enough to get by, but I’m not very good at it.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Sure, but only if you want to.” He couldn’t be sure if it was gentlemanly to have his guest toiling in the kitchen with him. Neither could he shake the feeling that he should be taking care of her, and not the other way around.

“Actually, I love to cook,” she said jovially.

“OK. In that case, thank you. Should be fun.” Nervously, he sat down. “So, where do I start?”

She sat beside him, fidgeting. “How about you tell me who you are, Brandon? Does this cabin belong to you?”

“The cabin used to belong to my grandfather,” he said. “It has a fairly sordid history.”

“Sordid?”

“My father told me about the cabin before he died. My grandfather was somewhat unscrupulous,
you might say.”

“How so?”

“He had women who he used to bring here in secret, behind my grandmother’s back.” His mind momentarily flashed back to when he was a small boy, no older than four or five. He was standing with his father and grandfather in the front yard of the home where he’d grown up in New Mexico. It was his last memory of his grandfather, but he distinctly recalled him being tall and broad-shouldered—a giant to his infantile eyes. He recalled how hard and cold the man’s face had been. There hadn’t been a hint of warmth in him, and his eyes . . .  Brandon tried to bring to mind the word that described them.
What was it about gramps’ eyes?

And then it came to him, sending a shudder coursing along his spine:
cruel.

“Are you OK?” Belinda said.

He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I just spaced out for a minute.”

“I can see that.” She made a move to place a supportive hand on his shoulder, but immediately held back. “Please go on. So, you inherited the cabin from your grandfather. But who are you? What do you do? You know . . . for a living?”

“I am . . . I mean, I
was,
a soldier.”

“So, what happened? Did you resign from the army?”

“Not exactly. I went absent without leave. But it’s not what you think. I’m not a deserter. I got injured in Afghanistan and was reassigned to a research facility in Washington. I was happy there.”

“Research facility? What kind of research?”

“Weapons and tech development. I’ve always loved working with engines and gadgets. Guess that’s why they posted me there. Two months ago, I accidentally uncovered something at the lab I was assigned to and everything went to hell.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Tech development? Like that flying car thing?”

Brandon chuckled at how understandably wrong she was. “It’s not a car. It’s called the Turbo Swan
.
It’s a Vertical Take-off and Landing turbo-jet aircraft.”

“A what?”

“Well, it’s like a jet aircraft, but smaller than the size of a sports car. We just put it together to test the miniaturized engines, the alloy shell material, and some of the internal electronics.”

“Why’d you call it ‘Turbo Swan’?”

He laughed. “Because it’s like a turbo-charged, low-flying bird.”

“Did you steal it? Is that why you’re running?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. What I’m actually running from is the reason I had to go AWOL. It’s just difficult to explain, and I’m still really concerned about you knowing too much, for your own safety. If you were to insist, I’d take you back to Denver. But I’m much more comfortable knowing you’re here where it’s safe.”

She shuddered.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“Just when you said ‘where it’s safe’. It brought back the sound of the machine gun fire.”

He looked at her sympathetically. “I’m here working on this because another attack is going to happen soon. I just haven’t figured out where or when yet.”

“If you know who did it, and who’s going to do it again, isn’t there some way you could tell the authorities?”

He closed his eyes despairingly at her impossible question. How was he going to explain it? When he first found out what was happening, it had frightened him almost as much as the battlefield had. He knew he had to look at it objectively and consider how a civilian would react. Would Belinda cope with knowing? Or would she panic? “I . . . I need you to give me some time to figure this out. Please, could you just hang in there for a while? Let’s just take things one step at a time.”

Reluctantly, she agreed. “OK.”

Conspiracy

As night fell once more, Brandon prepared a meal of spaghetti bolognaise and he and Belinda dined with a bottle of wine. It hadn’t required much effort on Belinda’s part. Boiling spaghetti and heating up a can of pre-prepared bolognaise on the stove was as basic as it could get. She found it rather amusing and somewhat endearing. The simplicity of the way in which he lived had a certain charm that she couldn’t define.

Afterward, they sat on the sofa sipping chardonnay. The heat from the log fire, the crackling, and the aroma of the burning logs, seemed to create the perfect atmosphere. The cabin and Brandon’s kindness enabled her to relax in the aftermath of her traumatic experience. But occasionally, when she looked into his eyes, she could see fear. There was so much about him for her to uncover.

Her desire to rush into an intimate connection with him was strong, far more so than her dates with the suits. She’d meet a visiting executive or representative at work and he’d give her the eye. They would go out for dinner that night, then to bed. In the morning, it would all be over. Usually, she would never see them again. She knew it wasn’t healthy. “So, what was life like in the army?” she said, distracting her train of thought.

“I’d been serving for eight years,” he replied pensively. “I was pushed into it by my father when I was nineteen and I always hated it. My dad, Major Howard Drake, was a stiff-upper-lip soldier, but his values and mine were always at odds. He was just like my grandfather, and so were my fellow troopers.”

“It sounds like you were like a fish out of water.”

“I was. But I got through it knowing I was fighting for the one thing that’s the most important to me.”

“What’s that?”

“Freedom,” he said with conviction. “I was absolutely committed on the field. It was the social side of army life that didn’t sit well with me, like the way the guys used to treat women.”

Belinda frowned. “How did they treat them?”

“They’d pick up ladies in bars, coldly take them to bed, and then bid them adios the next day. People have feelings, and they were total jerks.”

Belinda finally gave in to the urge to place her arm around his rock-solid shoulders. He tapped her fingers affectionately, although his anxiety was apparent. She knew he was being gracious, but she could sense his discomfort at her touch and took her hand away.

“You said that you were injured,” she said. “What happened?”

He gazed into space. “It happened just outside Helmand. We went in to take out an enemy cell in the desert. A buddy of mine was on foot ahead of me when we were headed toward the cave where they were holed up. One of them hurled out a grenade and it landed just ahead of him. I ran forward and pushed him out of the way. The grenade blew and a shard of shrapnel caught me in the head. Next thing I remember, I was waking up in a hospital back in DC.”

She touched the scar on his forehead. “Is that it?” Their eyes locked. She could see he was uncomfortable and took her hand away again. “I’m sorry, Brandon. This is personal stuff. I know it’s none of my business.”

“No, really. It’s OK. It healed up and I’m fine now. Guess I got real lucky.”

To Belinda, it was yet another story of his unrelenting heroism, and his self-deprecating attitude toward it made him all the more endearing.

The more she listened, the more intrigued she became. For a soldier who’d seen battlefield action, he seemed like such a gentle and sensitive soul. Wouldn’t his persona have been harder-edged than this, and not so thoughtful? Or could his nervous and pensive nature be the result of battlefield trauma? It was confusing and impossible for her to assess. She couldn’t imagine he was lying to her, especially after experiencing his performance on the Carringby rooftop.

Their gazes lingered upon one another for a prolonged moment, neither of them daring to make the first move.

Awkwardly, he cut the moment short and reached for the bottle of chardonnay beside his feet. “Would you like some more wine?”

***

“Come in.”

Upon hearing the cold invitation, Agent Martyn McKay entered the spacious, opulent office—the domain of his new commander. The aroma of stale cigars was instantly recognizable.

At thirty years of age, McKay, a relatively new recruit to Homeland Security, had difficulty containing his apprehension. Having been assigned to Capitol Hill for over a month, the presence of his superior, Senator Garrison Treadwell, still caused him some angst.

Attired in a dark blue suit, Treadwell wore a full head of thick silver hair like
a narcissistic crown.

McKay considered the circumstances under which he’d been assigned to his position, and it didn’t sit well with him. Treadwell’s previous assistant had died of a brain aneurysm. McKay had been assigned to him as a matter of urgency. He’d known from the beginning Treadwell didn’t appreciate his presence. The senator preferred to make his own selections, but was, perhaps wary of making too much of an issue with the intelligence community. The current situation they were dealing with was particularly delicate. As such, McKay felt nothing more than tolerated.

Treadwell looked up from his desk. “Well?”

The agent swallowed hard. “We’ve had a report from the Denver Police Department, sir. There was a sighting of the Turbo Swan after the attack on Carringby Industries last night.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. The police recovered a mark-four spider cable and an abandoned EG-9 wire-glider unit from the adjacent tower. They’ve been identified by Mach Industries as theirs.”

“Drake,” Treadwell mumbled, and slammed the side of his fist onto his oak desk.

McKay’s lips pursed in frustration. He’d been transferred from Langley to assist the senator after another attack, similar to Carringby, four weeks earlier. He’d never been told directly what it was about. He was vexed further by Treadwell’s persistent mumbling and talking in riddles.

Treadwell stroked his chin as though in contemplation. After a few moments, he turned back to McKay. “This is going to require a more direct approach.”

“What would you like me to do, sir?”

The senator stood and moved closer to his subordinate in an intimidating fashion. “Contact the Delta Unit and tell them to accelerate the agenda by one hour. They’ll know what you mean.”

It was obvious to McKay that Treadwell knew much more about the situation than he was letting on, but that didn’t help him in the least.

“Tell them to be prepared, and if the worst should happen . . .”

“
The worst,
sir? What do you mean?”

“Tell them to execute.”

“Execute?”

Treadwell sighed impatiently and, with a calculating glint in his eyes, said, “Kill Brandon Drake.”