Lion Recalled to Duty

By David Holmberg

An emergency recall to active duty finds Daniel bodyguarding a valuable Intel asset in the Middle East, and she turns out to be much more than expected. Daniel is introduced to the world of clandestine Bible smuggling even while hit teams search for them. Going on the run for their safety, they drop out of sight. Meanwhile, Evangeline is frantic to find her boyfriend and enlists the help of his mentor, Carl. With only a cryptic message as a clue, she and Carl venture across the globe on a rescue mission. It turns into an epic adventure for Daniel and the redhead reporter as they maneuver their way through an ancient landscape, evade hit teams, and seek to safely return home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Holmberg
• Release date: Nov 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005031053

David Holmberg

David moved to Maine over thirty years ago, after college. He has studied martial arts for years and holds a high degree black belt. A veteran of over 20 medical mission trips to the Dominican Republic, he is also a Sunday School teacher, an avid photographer, and an obsessive reader. Having consumed over 5,000 books by his own estimate, David felt it was time to give back and write his own book at last. He and his wife, Peg, have a grown son. Peg read an early draft of his first book and said it sounded like it was written by a Sunday School teacher who read too many detective novels. Truth in advertising.

Book preview

Chapter 1   Uncle Sam says, ‘Greeting’

The Redhead adjusted her footing, sliding her right closer to her left…then chambered her left leg…paused…then slashed out with a sidekick, aiming for Daniel’s ribs.

Daniel caught her foot in both hands, holding it motionless for a moment, then releasing it.

Evangeline wobbled, regaining her balance only when dropping her foot to the floor.

Not bad, Red. You’re a natural kicker…got those nice loose hip joints. A sidekick to your opponent’s ribs is pretty impressive for a first try, Daniel advised.

Feels really awkward…like I’m going to fall down. You make it look so easy…how do you do that? Evangeline wanted to know.

Years of practice. No secrets. Just lots of reps, Daniel smiled. I’ve been throwing sidekicks most of my life…at least as far back as my first Bruce Lee movie. Must be twenty years ago.

So….I should practice them a lot? Maybe kicking the heavy bag? Evangeline indicated the well-worn brown leather bag hanging by a chain from a beam in the ceiling of Daniel’s home gym.

No. Not at first. It’s very important to work up to that…one step at a time. First, you practice the motion, slowly. Just like I showed you. Aim for perfect form and balance. Check yourself out in the full-length mirror.

Slowly? I’m supposed to fight in slow-motion?

"Absolutely. Slow…that’s the key to practice. Make each move, then pause to check your balance. Don’t worry about speed…that can be added later."

Evangeline executed a second side-kick, in the mirror this time…and nearly fell down. "Zut alors! I’m terrible at this! And you make it look so easy…show-off!"

Daniel smiled. I’ve taught many special ops guys to side-kick…and not one of them got it right the first time. Your first try wasn’t bad, Red. You’re a girl…you’ll soon be kicking above your own head.

"Nice of you to notice…that I’m a girl, that is," Evangeline rarely missed a chance to tease Daniel.

It was dark with wind-driven, slashing rain this afternoon, so they exercised indoors, taking advantage of the spacious home gym Daniel built downstairs in his second apartment. They did cardio and muscle toning for over an hour, really working up a good sweat. Toward the end of their workout, Evangeline had pleaded with Daniel to show her some martial arts.

Reluctant at first, she finally won him over by reminding him that females needed to have some effective self-defense in this world. He agreed.

With great patience he explained, then demonstrated a side-kick.

That’s enough for today. You’ve got the form down pretty well, just a matter of practice. Let’s hit the showers, then see what we can rustle up to eat. I think there’s some haddock thawing in the ‘fridge, maybe vegetables to pan fry…we’ll come up with something.

Evangeline couldn’t say Daniel was a great cook by any means…but he could handle the basics. And she noted he was very careful about what he ate. Lean protein, complex grains, a wide variety of vegetables, and very little sugar. It took effort to properly fuel and maintain his finely-tuned machine of a body, she knew. If only I could show that discipline, she thought to herself. My metabolism runs so high I have to eat every calorie available…including all the junk food I can find. And still I don’t gain an ounce. Such a problem, she laughed to herself. I think my cousin Joline would like to strangle me.

After they ate, Daniel busied himself with cleaning the dishes. Because Evangeline was here, there were no leftovers to store away. Something to be said for her appetite, anyway, he was careful to keep to himself.

Going to retrieve her journalism notes, Evangeline walked past the window overlooking the driveway. Daniel…there’s a big, black van pulling in the driveway…and some soldiers getting out. Looks like they’re heading for your door. Oh! There’s the bell now…I guess they do want to talk to you.

Daniel pulled on a hoodie sweatshirt and ran down the stairs. This couldn’t be good news. He spotted what looked like a Naval Commander in full dress uniform standing at his door, accompanied by two Marine sergeants in camouflaged battle-dress utilities. This really didn’t look good now.

To what do I owe the pleasure… Daniel started in, as he pulled the door open.

Uncle Sam says, ‘Greeting,’ spoke the Navy officer, as he pushed his way in, followed closely by the two marines. I’m Commander Beauregard, USN, and I’m looking for the recently retired US Army Master Sergeant Daniel Lyons. I presume that’s you?

Daniel had to suppress the urge to throw the officer a snappy salute. Fifteen years in the military, saluting every officer that walked by…a hard habit to break. No, he thought to himself…I’m retired from active duty…nothing but a civilian now. Civilians don’t salute officers…not even ones of this august rank. "Yes, Commander…that’s me. Retired master sergeant, currently civilian first-class Daniel Lyons. I’d ask you why you need to know that, but I think you’re about to tell me."

Commander Beauregard gave him a look. Because of your civilian status, I’ll overlook your lack of military etiquette so far, Son. And your cheeky attitude. But all that is about to change, believe me. He reached into his uniform jacket pocket and withdrew some folded papers. "Orders for you, from the Secretary for the Navy, passed through the office of Admiral Higgins, Commander of Naval Special Warfare. To wit: Daniel Lyons is now recalled to active duty. Effective immediately." The Commander unfolded the papers and offered them to Daniel.

It took Daniel a moment of staring at the papers being waved in front of his face before he reacted and reached out and accepted them. This can’t be happening! Retired sergeants don’t get called back to active duty…not unless there’s some kind of national emergency, like World War III breaking out. Even then…they recall officers, guys with command experience or very specialized skills, not lowly grunts. What gives?

Daniel tried to concentrate and read the fine print…to no avail. It was written in that peculiar language known as ‘military-speak,’ and he was a bit out of practice with it. He found French grammar and syntax to be a piece of cake by comparison.

"Allow me to interpret for you, Sergeant. As of this moment, consider yourself once again on active duty with Uncle Sam. And Uncle wants you…now. I’ve been sent to fetch you. By the way, you can salute me any time now, the Commander informed him. It was not merely a suggestion Daniel realized and quickly complied. That’s better, Sergeant. Many changes have been instituted in Uncle Sam’s Armed Forces, but proper respect for your superiors is still held in high regard."

Commander Beauregard took the orders from Daniel’s hand, folded them, and replaced them in his uniform jacket pocket. I must secure these documents, considering their classified nature. Looking back at Daniel, he went on, "My orders are to escort you to Brunswick Naval Air Station, where you will be sworn in. And I’m to do so immediately. No unnecessary delay. In case you show reluctance to obey these orders, I’ve been authorized to use any means necessary to secure your compliance…up to, and including, deadly force," the Commander motioned to his two marine escorts, both of whom unbuttoned their uniform blouses and revealed concealed shoulder holsters.

No need for that, Daniel hurriedly added. I’m coming along…peacefully. If they were so hot-and-bothered to recall me to active duty, why would they even consider shooting me? What possible good would that do? Just another example of military idiocy, he thought to himself. He glanced back up the stairwell. Just let me go up and talk to my girlfriend, explain it to her. And a change of clothes, too. As he said this, he picked up a leather-covered book from the table in the hallway and slid it into a sling bag.

"No time. My orders say ‘immediately,’ and that’s how I interpret them. Once you’re on base and sworn, maybe someone in authority will allow you make phone calls to civilians. But I kind of doubt it. Not my circus, not my monkeys." Commander Beauregard nodded to the marine escorts, and they each grabbed one of Daniel’s elbows and force-marched him out the door and toward the van, still clutching the sling bag.

In case you’re wondering, Sergeant, I’ll be up front and tell you: I have no idea why they sent a ranking US Navy officer with a Marine security detachment on this errand to fetch a lowly Army sergeant and bring him to a US Navy base. You’d think a mob the size of the Army would have enough lackeys to run their own errands here on land, the Commander shared a grin with the marine escorts. As my marines will tell you, when it’s time to go somewhere to fight, you can count on the US Navy to give you a ride.

The last thing a speechless redhead saw from the second story window was three uniformed men quickly walking Daniel to the van and pushing him in, before pulling out and driving away. The image of the fading tail lights crossing the Sandy River Bridge burnt into her mind.

Chapter 2   Desert Operation

Two figures in flowing white Arab dress and headgear trudged up the hill. They tied their horses up to a palm tree a few kilometers back, leaving them enough slack to reach the small water hole. It had been a long ride across the burning sand this morning. Leaving the horses, they set out on foot for the village. Other riders would be along later to collect their horses. Once dismounted, they were on their own out here.

A few feet below the crest of the hill, they lay flat, then edged forward to peer down at the village. The desert sand gave way to parched, rocky soil. The settlement lay a few hundred yards downhill, to the east.

Al-Awati by name, it was little more than a couple dozen homes and a building that served as a combination neighborhood store, post office, and petrol station. It was an obscure destination that served as a minor crossroads in a largely desert wasteland. Two unpaved highways crossed in front of the petrol pumps, meandering their way back towards civilization in either direction.

The two figures were getting on in years, both being somewhere north of sixty. They were dressed in traditional male Bedouin robes, though the smaller one was a female in disguise.

The female was guiding her companion across this trackless waste, serving also as translator when necessary. Fortunately, they had little contact with people all day on their journey. Though fluent in Arabic, the female was not a native of the Middle East, and her disguise did not hold up well face-to-face. The Bedouin robes were sufficient only at some distance.

Her companion was not a native, either. His pale skin was a dead giveaway. Unlike the female, he had not spent much time here, so did not even show a tan. His disguise only worked at long distance.

The Bedouin get-up was her idea. In this arid region, Bedouin tribesman wandered back and forth, rarely drawing much official attention from border guards. A couple of figures in white robes riding horses were of little consequence, just part of the scenery….as they had been for thousands of years.

And now we wait. Shouldn’t be long…the sun is already high. His truck should be coming from that direction, she pointed to the north. He’ll stop for fuel…that’s our cue to approach. Here…take a look for yourself, she handed her companion a pair of binoculars.

He hesitated before reaching for the binoculars. They were old, the non-reflective matte green paint well worn, showing brass along the abrupt edges. Holding them, he could see the lettering on the edge of the lenses. Zeiss Optics. For just a moment, he flashed back over four decades to another time and place in his life.

What’s the matter? Why the hesitation? They’re old, but they’re still in good shape, she assured him.

Wehrmacht Heer issue…from late in the war. Vintage field grade German officer gear, he turned them over in his hands before bringing the eyepieces up to his eyes to take a look. I recognized them…even after all these decades have passed. Rugged as a panzer tank, no doubt. Took me back in my memory there for a moment, that’s all.

War memories from your youth never really fade away, she knew what she was talking about, having lived through World War II. Her companion was introduced to her as an American…and spoke with that distinctly broad accent. But she wondered to herself. He recognized Wehrmacht military gear. That’s odd, isn’t it? But he used the phrase, ‘panzer tank,’ a horrible redundancy if there ever was one. No German was likely to ever use that phrase.

Best not to pursue that line of thought, she knew. Whatever his background…it didn’t matter. The two of them were here for a purpose. They knew little about each other…and that was good for security. What you don’t know about someone, you can’t give up under interrogation.

Time passed slowly. Minutes seemed like hours. Shifting positions, they tried to restore circulation. Lying still was more difficult than it appeared.

I’m a bit saddle sore, I’m afraid. That was a long ride this morning, and I haven’t been on a horse for a while…maybe a couple years now, she offered as a means of starting a conversation.

Couple years? That’s like yesterday to me. I don’t remember being on a horse since way back in my army days, he replied casually. "Yeah, I’m so old they still had active horse cavalry units when I served. Horses. It’s hard to imagine, I know, in this day and age of jet fighters and nuclear-tipped missiles on the battlefield. Just one generation ago, we still used horses."

The conversation lagged. Finally, she spotted a dust cloud on the horizon. If I’m not mistaken, that should be our boy. Looks like the truck. She accepted the binoculars back and focused in on the moving dust cloud. Yes, it’s him. Time to wander in and make contact. Remember, keep it casual. I’ll do the talking, of course. Beware, the British colonized this region not so long ago. Anything you say may be overheard and possibly understood. Even if they don’t understand you, they’re likely to recognize your speech as English.

The male nodded his understanding. Best not to say a word.

They stood up slowly, pausing to shake the sand from their robes, then walked casually downhill toward the truck.

The driver was pumping petrol into his truck and paid little attention as they approached. Topping off the tank, he switched the nozzle to one of several auxiliary tanks and began to fill them as well. His truck was well equipped to make long hauls across desert highways where petrol stations were few and far between.

The female greeted the driver at a distance. He stopped and stared, not sure what he was seeing. The gender of the voice did not match the robes and headgear. Only when she continued with her greeting and spoke the password did he recognize her as the contact.

They spoke in Arabic for several minutes while the male waited silently. He stood back several meters, almost as if not wanting to eavesdrop or intrude on their conversation, though he did not understand a word.

She turned back toward her companion and spoke, All is well. This is Aziz, our contact. He extends his greetings. She paused, then continued, In his culture, greetings are an important ritual, so it is best if you speak a bit now. I will translate a proper reply and we can get past the formalities here.

The male nodded to her, then spoke several polite sentences in his American English. He was unfamiliar with Arab cultural etiquette, so he kept his greetings general and vague, trusting his companion to translate them into whatever she deemed appropriate.

Satisfied, Aziz motioned for them to come to the back of the truck while he unlocked the cargo door. Reaching in, he pulled a cardboard box into view. It was sealed with security tape.

The Arabic script says it contains school textbooks…this box indicates elementary level reading texts. The security tape has the Iraqi Ministry of Education seal on it, the female explained. This cargo is virtually untouchable….guaranteed by Saddam himself, as it were. No one in these parts would presume to interfere.

The male stared into the cargo hold. Similar boxes were piled floor-to-ceiling….easily over a hundred. If each box contained twenty books – and that seemed a reasonable guess to him – then this one truckload carried over 2,000 books. Maybe a lot more.

Is it wise to move so many at once? Wouldn’t it be better to move smaller consignments…mixed in with legit cargo? Putting so many eggs in one basket is a good way to lose the entire basket all at once, it seems to me, the male observed.

The female hesitated. Reluctant to give anything away, she considered ignoring her companion’s questions. The less said the better. But after reflecting a moment, she changed her mind. Her companion had been introduced to her as someone absolutely trustworthy, a man who was personally invested in this business. The fact that he took the great risk to be even a peripheral part of this smuggling operation did a lot to confirm his credentials.

"Our local group knows what it’s doing. Binding and printing these books in Arabic was expensive, as you can imagine. Not a lot of Arabic language publishers would touch this job…even for a good price. With cargo this expensive, they went to extraordinary lengths to protect its movement. That security tape didn’t come cheap, either, I can assure you. In Saddam’s Iraq, nearly everything is for sale. Prices always negotiable. Bribery is an art form here, and how nearly all business is conducted.

There’s always risk when payments are made under-the-table. We do what we can to manage it, but in the end, after all precautions have been taken, we have to step out and take action. Our mandate is clear.

You might call it an act of faith," she concluded. Looking up at her companion, she saw his worried look dissolve into a smile.

Chapter 3   Red Runs into a Wall

It took Red nearly a full minute of staring across the bridge where the taillights disappeared to get over the shock. Her boyfriend was in that vehicle. And he didn’t appear to be going voluntarily with those soldiers, or whatever they were.

And they didn’t let him come upstairs to kiss her goodbye! The nerve.

A bit of her shock was due to a flashback. Barely a year ago, she had to endure watching the prison guard in Nevada come and lead Daniel away in handcuffs. Back to his cell. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Of course, they were both playing a role in an undercover operation involving a federal witness….but even so, it was the hardest thing she ever had to endure, a living nightmare.

And tonight, the nightmare returned. Some government authority was taking Daniel away to parts unknown. At least in Nevada, she knew where he was being taken…and why.

Shaking off the effects of the flashback, her first reaction was to run downstairs and try to chase the black van in her car. No good. Been gone over a minute by now…no way to even know which direction they are headed once across the bridge. Light traffic…they could be moving at the speed limit, miles away already. They’re professionals. They’d spot me chasing after them.

Who are they? Well, they had military uniforms on…that much I know. One in some sort of navy blue dress uniform, and two more in camouflage utilities. Navy and Marines? I’m not really familiar with US military dress and ranks, but that’s what I’d guess.

Red pulled out the Yellow Pages phonebook and flipped to the US Government listings. Perusing the list, she noted that Department of Defense and military-related offices were mostly listed in the greater Washington, DC area. Only recruiting offices had local Maine listings.

It was getting late, well past normal office hours, but she gambled that military offices had at least a skeleton staff around the clock, and began to dial.

It was slow going. Quite a few of the listed numbers maintained normal business hours and rolled the call into an answering machine. But a few dealt with afterhours routine calls and had live personnel. She introduced herself as a journalist, looking to contact serviceman Daniel Lyons. It wasn’t much of a cover story…but at least it was close to the truth. Daniel had always told her to keep her cover story as close to the truth as possible…less chance to be tripped up that way.

If only I knew for sure what branch Daniel was in, she thought to herself. He’s mentioned Army, Navy, and Marines…that I remember. Also different last names….maybe Lyons isn’t his service name? Or, maybe it’s only one of several names he’s known by?

Daniel seldom talked of his military service, and she had been content to consider that almost a past life, not part of their relationship. Whatever girlfriends he may have had during his service was over and done, so she hadn’t questioned him closely. Now, she regretted not being a little more curious about the basic details of that life. A little knowledge would come in handy about now.

It wasn’t much of a compelling reason, but playing the journalist gave her at least a plausible explanation for wanting to contact him, she felt.

No dice. Six phone calls answered, and no usable info. Everyone answering the phone was formal and polite, but had nothing to share. In fact, none of them offered any advice on what office she should contact for the information she sought. Typical bureaucrats. Won’t stick their necks out.

She found a Defense Department listing for administration of civilian employees…might be just the thing. Daniel was given a medical discharge and retired two years ago, so he’s a civilian. That much I know for sure. Dialing the number, she finally got through to some low-level office flunky who was at least sympathetic sounding. Must be slow duty on the evening shift, he seems willing to chat.

Careful to suppress any sound of panic, and mustering every bit of French schoolgirl charm she could, Red flirted shamelessly over the phone with the young man. It seemed to work. At least he stayed on the line and talked with her. He seemed interested in her story of being a journalist writing a feature article about a civilian employee of the Defense Department.

After a few minutes, she persuaded him to look up contact info for Daniel Lyons. He agreed, as long as it didn’t turn out to be restricted in any way. He was away from the phone for a bit, then came back on the line.

"No civilian listing for Daniel Lyons in the Defense Dept…..as of the most recent database update minutes ago. But, oddly enough, the name cross-linked to a retired army master sergeant…and about five other military personnel files. Different branches…all now retired…different last names, but every one with the first name Daniel. Must be a glitch in the computer software. This particular database does not list retired personnel so there is some kind of foul up here.

Oh, wait a minute…my supervisor is saying something. Muffled sounds, as if his hand was covering the mouthpiece…a voice in the background. He came back on the line, but his tone was much different, more formal, The information you requested cannot be obtained through this office. We are experiencing technical difficulties with our system. I suggest you direct any further inquiries to the DOD Public Relations Dept., located through the main directory at the Pentagon during normal business hours. Goodbye, Ms Rousseau, and I wish you luck."

That was it. The line disconnected. DOD Civilian Admin just said very little…and confirmed a lot. No civilian employee by the name of Daniel Lyons, but the active duty roster showed a supposedly ‘retired’ army master sergeant. A retired sergeant on active duty.

Evangeline mulled it over in her head. Mais bien sur…but of course! I must’ve called just as his ‘retired’ status was being changed to ‘active.’ The multiple last names and branches of service are no glitch…that’s the classified part of his service record. No wonder that guy’s supervisor interrupted and shut him down just now.

I didn’t get much to go on, she thought to herself. No military base, no commanding officer, not even which branch. But I think I just confirmed Daniel’s been recalled to active duty.

Evangeline sat still for a moment, cradling the phone on her lap. I must talk to Carl. Maybe he knows something about this…or at least can find something out. He’s all tied-in to that spooky security stuff the government does…that’s why he contracts Daniel for special assignments.

She glanced at her watch. Getting late…but Carl always said he’d answer his beeper any time of day or night. He’s really dedicated, even if this policy of his means he doesn’t get enough sleep.

Evangeline dialed the beeper number. Nothing. She checked the number written down in her wallet and dialed again. Still nothing. No recording, or even a dial tone. No way to leave a call-back number or voice message. Strange, she thought to herself. Must be turned off…or out of range, or something. Carl said this beeper number was good anywhere in North America, she recalled.

Daniel’s special satellite phone! Carl gave us sat phones when we went to the Caribbean last winter. I turned mine in to Carl, but I think Daniel still has his.

With that thought, Red was off and running. Where would he put it? He’s such a neat freak, so OCD about everything…so where would he store the sat phone? Out of sight,