The Last Regret

By Anthony Sideris

The U.S. Secretary of State and the Iranian Foreign Minister are in Istanbul negotiating the future of Iran’s nuclear and ballistic missile program when the unimaginable happens. Suddenly the entire Middle East is thrown into chaos and uncertainty. Those responsible are convinced their foolproof plan will keep their true intentions and ide

• Language: English
• Publisher: H&B Radiance Inc
• Release date: Jun 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780960000944

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The Last Regret

A Novel

by

Anthony Sideris

ISBN: 978-0-9600009-4-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018913660

Published 2019 by H&B Radiance Inc

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-0-9600009-9-9 paperback edition

© All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permission requests, please address: H&B Radiance Inc

PO Box 23

Manchester, WA 98353

www.anthonysideris.com

To all the men and women who selflessly serve their country, protecting it from those wishing to do it harm. At great sacrifice to themselves and their families, they serve in the silence of their profession, mostly without ever receiving the recognition or thanks from their fellow citizens.

Chapter 1

It was 11:00 p.m. on a cool and damp Friday night in March. Michael Blackstone ran down the empty streets of Queen Anne, one of Seattle’s oldest residential neighborhoods. From the top of the hill just north of downtown, he watched a ferryboat pull away from the terminal down on the waterfront. The lights of the high-rise buildings glimmered in the background as he took in the view. He could smell the freshness in the air of spring approaching as he ran under the glow of each successive streetlight. For fifty-four years old, Michael was in pretty good shape despite his back injury. He tried to maintain a healthy lifestyle, watching what he ate and exercising regularly. His only weaknesses were pizza and soft chocolate chip cookies, which he managed to avoid except for special occasions. He was obsessed with staying fit. He worked out six days a week, maintaining a strict exercise regimen to compensate for the three damaged discs in his lower back.

He was amazed at the pace he was keeping. He hadn’t run this hard for over twenty years, the way he used to before his injury and the steady decline of stamina that came with age. His legs burned and his heart pounded, but his kick was strong and he was actually picking up his pace. Perhaps it was the thought of it being his last run that pushed him beyond what he normally could endure. He knew that, despite the oxycodone he had taken to dull the pain, he would pay dearly the next day for the beating he was giving his back, but he was no longer concerned about that.

Michael always ran when he faced a big decision and needed to clear his head. This one was the biggest decision of his life, one that would change things forever. It had finally reached the point where he felt he had no other options left. He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten to this point, only that he couldn’t bear to let the situation continue any longer. He had thought it through a hundred times, and each time, he’d arrived at the same decision. It was a drastic thing he was about to do, but he had made up his mind and was determined to go through with it. Shortly, it would be over and done with. He felt no apprehension. If anything, he felt a sense of calm.

The fifteen minutes Michael had been running felt more like five. Time seemed to have slowed. It was as if the memory center in his brain had been stimulated with an electronic probe; he recalled scenes from his past as if they were being displayed on a screen in front of him. Some of those memories, he had not thought about for decades. Those from his earliest childhood, recalled often only as scattered images of people and places, he now remembered in vivid detail. The summers he spent as a child with his grandfather and grandmother at their home in New Jersey came back to him. He remembered riding bikes with his best friend Gary behind the mosquito fumigating truck that drove through the neighborhood in the evenings, billowing out thick white smoke into the street. He laughed at the thought of how horrified mothers today would be at the idea of their kids riding their bikes behind a giant can of bug spray. How much life had changed during the past fifty years. Today it was unusual to even see a kid outside riding a bike. He remembered the sound of the mesmerizing tune coming from loudspeaker of the Italian Ice truck as it drove through the neighborhood each afternoon during the summers. He would run to his grandmother and beg for a quarter so he could buy one of those delicious frozen treats. Those were the days before cell phones and video games. In later summers, he and his friends would head out on their bikes in the morning and not return until dark. When he would finally get home, his mother would chastise him about being gone all day without her knowing where he was and what he had been up to. Unlike the fear parents had today about all the possible harm that could come to their children, back then, there was never any real worry of something bad happening. It was the last age of innocence.

Michael revered his grandfather George. He remembered hearing his grandfather’s stories about growing up in Greece amidst all the poverty and hardships during World War I, then immigrating to the United States and fighting against the Germans in World War II. Michael could sit for hours listening to his grandfather tell those stories over and over, as if they were enchanting fairy tales from a faraway mystical place. How in 1929, at the age of nineteen, he had illegally immigrated to the United States by jumping ship off a Greek freighter that had docked in New York Harbor. He had been working in the Merchant Marine since the age of fifteen, supporting his widowed mother and brothers and sisters back in Greece. After arriving in New York, he found work as a laborer with Starrett Brothers, the company that was building the Empire State Building.

Michael remembered being transfixed as his grandfather told him about walking untethered along eight-inch-wide steel I-beams a thousand feet above Fifth Avenue. Those who worked on New York’s skyscrapers were called roughnecks. It was dangerous work, but if one had nerves of steel, they could make a good living compared to most of the other low-paying jobs that were available to newly arrived immigrants. George had only completed the sixth grade, but he was a fast learner and not afraid of hard work. He quickly gained the respect of his coworkers and foreman, rapidly moving up to positions of greater responsibility. By the time construction was completed two years later, he was supervising a crew of fifty riveters. He had even come to the attention of Paul Starrett, the president of Starrett Brothers, as their youngest foreman. George rose through the ranks of the company and by the age of twenty-six had become a project supervisor. Throughout those years, he’d regularly wired money back to his family in Greece. He had even saved enough for a trip back to visit them, but there was one small problem: he was in the US illegally and had no passport. Even if he could get into Greece, he would not have any way to get back into the United States legally. It was a growing concern that made him feel more uneasy with each passing year. He knew he needed to figure out a way to get his citizenship or it would catch up with him someday.

That day came on February 8, 1942. George had just entered the lobby of his apartment building in the evening following a long day at work. He noticed old Mr. Costello, the building manager, sitting behind his counter with a nervous look on his face. As he walked past Costello on the way to the stairs, George saw him give a nod to the two men sitting on the tattered sofa in the lobby. Before George could get to the stairs, the two men walked up to him and flashed their badges, identifying themselves as US Immigration officers. Mr. Costello shrugged at George with a guilty look on his face that said sorry, he had no choice.

With the entry of the United States into World War II, the country was scurrying to draft a military to fight on two fronts. As part of that effort, the Immigration Service was ordered to round up all illegal aliens and offer them a choice. They could either fight for the United States and obtain their citizenship after the war, or be deported back to their country of origin. Because Greece was occupied by the Germans, he couldn’t be deported to Greece. Instead, he would be sent to Egypt to be used as manual labor by the British, who had been fighting the Germans in North Africa. It didn’t take long for George to decide. Rather than work as slave labor for the British, he chose to take his chances with the US military and obtain his citizenship if he somehow managed to survive the war.

George, along with fifty-nine other illegals, was taken by bus to the military induction center at Fort Dix, New Jersey, where he lined up with several thousand other inductees in a large hangar waiting to enlist. George thought that since he had served in the Merchant Marine and was familiar with life at sea, the US Navy would be the logical choice for him. As he moved to the head of the line, he realized the line he was standing in was for the Army since it had a soldier at the front processing the inductees. He looked around for a line with a sailor. As he heard next, he stepped forward and stood in front of a burly Army master sergeant sitting behind a table. The master sergeant looked up at him and asked him his name. Rather than giving his name, George told the master sergeant he wanted to enlist in the Navy and asked where he could find that line.

The master sergeant, looking George up and down, sneered. In a Southern drawl, he said, All youse illegals is going into the Army. We gonna use yas as cannon fodder against the Natzees and Japs, before we start going through aw boys.

Realizing what his chances were of surviving the war in the infantry, George asked, Do I have any other choices than the infantry?

The master sergeant looked at him impatiently. The Army is a-startin’ a new unit called Aebone. It pays an extra thirty dollars a month if you’se interested.

Thinking he may as well get a little extra money if he was going to be risking his life either way, George said he would take it. He then asked, Uh, what does Aebone do?

The master sergeant looked back at George in annoyance. What part of Aebone don’t ya understand, boy? They call it Aebone because y’awll be gettin’ to your destination in an aeplane, and once you get there, then y’awll gonna jump out with a pareeshoot.

George felt the first wave of nausea hit him as what he had just heard began to sink in. The master sergeant asked him his name again. George, in a mild state of shock, answered, George Mavropetrakis.

Gioj Maevo what? Shiiit, I can’t even say that. What the hell kind of name is that?

George, not quite sure what the master sergeant was asking, answered, Actually, it means a black stone in Greek.

Well, now that’s somethin’ I can pronounce. He wrote Blackstone down on George’s induction form, and from that day, Michael’s grandfather became Private George Blackstone, 82nd Airborne, US Army.

After seeing significant action in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy, George was recruited into a special commando unit under the control of the US Army’s Office of Strategic Services. The OSS was the predecessor of the Central Intelligence Agency, which was established after the end of World War II. The unit was comprised of Greek-American GIs who could understand and speak Greek. They were sent into German-occupied northern Greece with the mission of sabotaging German communications and supply lines, along with causing general mayhem behind enemy lines. Awarded a Silver Star and two Purple Hearts for his role in capturing a critical railhead held by the Germans, to Michael, his grandfather was a hero, larger than life.

After the war, George obtained his citizenship and went to Greece to marry Grandma Stella, the girl from his village that he’d had a crush on as long as he could remember. Returning to the United States, George and Stella went on to have four children: Pete in 1946, Anna in 1949, Nick in 1952 and Michael in 1955. Tragically, Michael had died three years later after contracting pneumonia. It was devastating to the family; however, with the passing of each year, the rawness of their loss slowly dissipated, and life went on for the Blackstone family. George started his own construction company. He grew it into a successful business with over thirty employees by the time he retired in 1975 and turned the reins over to Pete, Michael’s father.

Pete graduated high school in 1963 and married his high school sweetheart, Mary Ann Ortello. He immediately went to work in the family construction business, but with the escalation of the Vietnam War, he was drafted into the Army in 1964. Before he shipped off to Vietnam in early 1965, Mary Ann became pregnant. Pete was trained to be a medic in the 1st Cavalry Division. In November of 1965, he fought in the Battle of the Ia Drang Valley, which was the US military’s first major battle of Vietnam. During that battle, Pete risked his life repeatedly while under enemy fire, saving the lives of seven men before getting shot in the chest. That same day, halfway around the world back in New Jersey, Mary Ann gave birth to a baby boy. Pete, barely hanging on to life, was medivacked to an army hospital in Pleiku. After four hours of surgery, he finally pulled through. He was awarded a Purple Heart and the Bronze Star for valor in action. After being discharged from the Army because of his injury, Pete returned home to see his two-month-old son for the first time. Pete and Mary Anne named him Michael, in memory of Pete’s youngest brother who had died ten years earlier.

Michael stopped on a corner, running in place as he waited for a car to pass. He remembered working during summer vacations for his father, who had taken over the business after Grandpa George retired. His father had always encouraged him to consider other opportunities and challenges in life beyond the construction business. He would tell Michael from an early age that there was nothing a man couldn’t accomplish if he used his head, had determination and worked hard. He encouraged Michael to become involved in athletics and was unyielding when it came to Michael’s education, not cutting him any slack for anything less than his best effort. Pete wanted Michael to have every opportunity possible. He realized a good education didn’t guarantee success in life, but it went a long way towards opening doors. Going all the way back to grade school, when Michael brought home anything lower than an A, Pete, rather than chastise him, would look him in the eye and ask if it was truly the best he could do. That question alone motivated Michael to try harder. He realized it was the stories about his father and grandfather that had caught his imagination from a young age and fed his hunger for action and adventure. They instilled in him his sense of identity and a desire to accomplish something meaningful with his life. That desire was what drove Michael to succeed in everything he attempted.

At six foot tall, Michael was a handsome and athletic teenager. He grew up excelling in sports and academics. He was the quarterback of his high school football team and graduated with a 3.8 grade point average. He was recruited by many top universities his senior year, but of all the schools, Columbia University in New York City appealed to him the most. Columbia offered him only a partial scholarship to play football, but more importantly, it provided him the opportunity to pursue a degree in finance at one of the country’s most prestigious universities. A finance degree from Columbia would open many doors for him, with the possibility of getting hired by one of the big Wall Street investment firms. What better way to achieve success in life and control his own destiny? Or so he thought at the time.

Michael went off to Columbia during the fall of 1983. There, he met Karen Sumner, a journalism major who wanted a career in television news. She was intelligent and attractive, with an easygoing personality and a smile that would put both men and women at ease. That concealed a hidden drive and determination for success in whatever challenges she faced, a trait that made her even more appealing to Michael. As it happened, Michael only played backup quarterback at Columbia, but he studied hard and graduated magna cum laude with a degree in finance. Following graduation in 1988, Michael was hired by Bear Sterns, one of the heavy hitters of investment banking on Wall Street, as an assistant portfolio manager. Karen got a job with WNBC, the local network affiliate in New York, as a reporter covering city hall and other New York City politics. Michael and Karen married the following year. Michael felt he was on top of the world. What more could he have wanted out of life? He was living in Manhattan, with a beautiful and intelligent wife and a career that would lead to financial security at a young age and possibly even make him rich if he played his cards right.

Michael recollected those years. He had done well at Bear Stearns, earning large commissions from managing several multimillion-dollar investment accounts. Between their two salaries, they had lived very comfortably in an upscale condo on the Upper East Side and still had managed to put money away into savings. After four years at Bear Sterns, however, he had become bored. Although he was making tons of money, he had felt something was missing in his life. He had a desire for something more than wealth. He wanted challenge and excitement. It wasn’t that his job was not challenging, but it hadn’t provided him the type of challenge he desired, and certainly not much excitement. His grandfather’s stories had left him with a longing for something other than sitting in an office behind a desk staring at numbers all day, regardless of how much money he was making.

Despite trying his hardest to maintain a brave face, Karen had sensed a restlessness brewing inside Michael. He remembered the evening that brought the first big change to their lives. They had been relaxing on their couch, finishing off a bottle of red wine after dinner, when Karen asked Michael if he was happy. Michael sat there silently for several moments, searching for the right words to explain how he felt.

He finally blurted out, I hope you know how much I love you and how thankful I am for all the blessings we have in our lives. But I hate my job. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand sitting in an office for ten hours a day. I can’t stand the greedy and superficial people I work with. But what bothers me the most is that I feel like such a fool for having invested so much time and effort in pursuing a career I thought would bring me a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment, only to realize that there’s more to life than just making money. I need something more than that.

Well, what would you do if you could start over? Karen asked.

Michael hesitated before answering, knowing that she would think he was crazy when she heard what he was about to tell her. I want to join the Army and go into Special Forces.

Oh, Karen reacted, surprised, I didn’t know you had an interest in the military. You never said anything about that in all the time I’ve known you.

Yeah, I know. I always figured I had to do what everyone else thought was important in life. Making lots of money, a big house in the suburbs, having kids, Little League, vacations in Florida—you know, the American Dream.

You don’t want to have kids? Karen asked.

Of course I do, sweetheart, eventually. I just don’t want to be stuck with a conventional boring life, waking up every morning and hating what lies ahead for that day. Doing it over and over again for the next thirty years. That’s just not me. I guess I tried to convince myself it was, but it’s not. I know you probably think I’m nuts, but the thought of that just terrifies me.

After a long silence, Karen spoke up. Well, if you’re sure that’s what you really want to do, then do it.

Michael looked into her eyes, not expecting that kind of reaction from her. But what about your career? You love your job. I couldn’t take that away from you.

Yeah, I love what I do, but I can do that even if you’re in the military. And besides, I wasn’t planning on working when the kids were born. I want to be home with them until they’re in school. My family is the most important thing to me.

You know, I won’t be making the kind of money I am now, not even close. We’ll probably be moving around a lot. I’ll be going on deployments, leaving you alone with the kids, sometimes for weeks or months at a time. That’s going to be a big change from what we have now.

Of course it will be a big change, but money’s not everything. We’ve managed to put a good amount away in savings. As long as we have a roof over our heads and can live fairly comfortably, I’m okay with that. It’ll be a big adventure. And besides, I thought you knew me better than that. I’m not the kind of girl that cares about driving around in a new Mercedes and living in a huge house in the suburbs just to impress everyone with how much we have. I grew up with that, and I can’t stand being around people like that. They’re so shallow and superficial, like most of the people you work with. I got enough of that growing up in Seattle with my mom and all the other Boeing executives’ families. They bore me to death, Karen reassured Michael.

I love you! he told her and gave her a big hug, not believing how lucky he was to have such a wonderful wife.

A few weeks later, Michael gave notice to his boss at Bear Stearns. His boss thought Michael had suffered a nervous breakdown and tried to convince him to see a therapist. That didn’t bother him as much as his father’s reaction. Pete was incredulous. He blasted into Michael. Are you crazy? Enlisting in the Army!

I’m not enlisting, Dad, I’m going in as an officer, Michael corrected him.

I don’t care if you go in as a general, you have too much talent and ability to waste in the military. You’re throwing away your future. What does Karen think of this harebrained idea of yours?

She supports me. And besides, I don’t understand why you’re so against it. You and Grandpa both served.

That was different. Neither of us had a choice, his father replied testily.

What about all the times you told me to consider other opportunities in life beyond construction? Michael persisted.

I didn’t mean the military!

There was a long uncomfortable silence between them until Pete finally said, Son, it’s your life and your decision. I just think you haven’t thought things through very well and you’re going to eventually come to regret this decision.

You’re right, Dad, it is my life and my decision. I already made one decision I regret because I didn’t think it through and just did it because everyone else thought it was the right thing to do. You always told me to think for myself, and that’s what I’m doing now.

Grandfather George, on the other hand, now eighty years old, told Michael not to pay too much attention to what his father said. Michael, life passes by quicker than you realize. Sometimes it seems just like yesterday I was a young man with my whole life in front of me. Every morning when I look in the mirror, I’m reminded just how fast the years have rolled by. You only have a short amount of time to pursue your dreams in life. You don’t get a second chance. Don’t end up with regrets later, when it’s too late to change things.

Michael always felt better after talking to his grandfather. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect his father’s opinion, but Michael was a different type of person than his father. His father lived life conservatively. Michael was more like his grandfather, with a thirst for challenge and adventure. Karen stayed at her job in New York while Michael went off to Army Basic Combat Training and then to Officer Candidate School at Fort Benning, Georgia. After graduating first in his class, Michael had a choice of follow-on assignments. Knowing that the route to Special Forces was through Ranger school, Michael continued his training. Ranger school was one of the toughest courses, both physically and mentally, in the Army. Lasting over two months, the course started out at Fort Benning, then moved on to a mountain phase located in the rugged mountainous terrain out in the middle of nowhere in the Chattahoochee National Forest north of Atlanta. Following the mountain phase, training continued in the coastal swamp environment near Eglin Air Force Base in Florida, where students received training in waterborne and small-boat operations. The course concluded with desert training at Fort Bliss in Texas.

The grueling physical fatigue, sleep deprivation, dehydration, cold, and psychological stress made this the most difficult challenge Michael had faced in his life up to that point. There were times during the course when Michael questioned whether he would be able to complete it. Of the 357 students who started the course, only 153 graduated. Michael was one of them. Despite his concerns, Michael excelled at everything that was thrown at him. At graduation, he received the Ralph Puckett Award as the officer honor graduate for passing all graded leadership positions and the LTC Keith Antonia Officer Leadership Award, which was awarded to the commissioned officer chosen by his peers for demonstrating initiative, motivation and outstanding leadership. Receiving one award was an honor; receiving two made Michael stand out above his entire class. It boosted his confidence that he had made the right choice with the new direction his life was taking him.

Michael was again given a choice of assignments. It wasn’t the norm for a second lieutenant to go directly into Special Forces without first having a command position, but the Army was engaged in an effort to expand its Special Operations and needed officers to fill those positions. Because of Michael’s stellar performance in Ranger school, he was offered the opportunity to advance directly to the Special Forces Qualification training, known as the Q course. The Q course lasted for another fifty-six weeks, and although not as physically demanding as Ranger school, it was mentally challenging training in unconventional warfare and small-unit tactics. Michael thrived in that environment. It was everything he had imagined it would be going back to his earliest memories of the stories of Grandpa George’s exploits with the OSS during World War II.

Michael and Karen had been separated for close to nineteen months by the time he graduated from the Q course. They would see each other between courses and anytime Michael could take any leave, which was pretty much limited to long weekends on federal holidays. Karen tried to make the best of it, but the time spent apart was tough on them. Michael missed her dearly, but he was preoccupied with the excitement and challenge of his training, making his awareness of their time apart much less noticeable. She tried to keep herself distracted by delving into her career back in New York, but she felt a distance forming between them. They both became aware of small cracks that were developing in their relationship. For the first time, there were awkward silences when they were together. Although it seemed as if their lives were starting to diverge, both of them believed things would return to normal when they were reunited.

After Michael completed the Q course, he was assigned as the executive officer of 1st Platoon, Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 10th Special Forces Group at Fort Devens, Massachusetts. Karen quit her job in New York and joined him. She intended to look for another news job in Boston, about an hour away, but became pregnant shortly after joining Michael. Their time at Fort Devens was very brief. Michael picked up his promotion to first lieutenant along with orders to 1st Battalion, 10th Special Forces Group at Panzer Kaserne in Stuttgart, Germany. They arrived there in August 1995. He was excited about picking up command of a platoon, as was customary for new first lieutenants. Because of his experience on Wall Street, however, it became apparent to the battalion’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Danforth, that Michael possessed exemplary administrative skills. Thus, he was assigned as the battalion’s planning officer, or S5 as it was called in the Army. Michael was disappointed at not having been given a command, but he soon fell into the rhythm of his new assignment and began enjoying the challenge it offered. He had a natural ability for evaluating complex tactical situations and coming up with innovative operational plans. He quickly established his reputation as a highly competent officer with insight and the ability to think outside the conventional box that went beyond what was already a hallmark of Special Forces.

After all the time spent apart, life for Michael and Karen in Germany transitioned into a wonderful period in their lives. Karen gave birth to Samantha, three months after they arrived in Germany. The three of them spent weekends exploring Germany and neighboring Austria. Michael had a fascination with World War II history going all the way back to the stories he’d heard from his grandfather, so they visited many of the historical sites of the war. Michael’s other passion was skydiving. From the first time he’d stepped out of an airplane at jump school and experienced the exhilaration of free-falling through the sky, he had been hooked. Michael became good friends with Lieutenant Bill Pickett, the battalion’s training officer or S7, whose office was next to his. This allowed Michael the opportunity to finagle training jumps from Bill and tag along with the different platoons of their battalion every time he could come up with an excuse to get out from behind his desk.

Michael’s attention was drawn back to the car in the intersection in front of him. He paused on the corner, running in place as he waited for the car to make a turn. He sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold, trying to catch his breath, yet felt as if he could continue running all night. The surreal vividness of his memories, along with the thought of what lay ahead, had put him into a trance-like state that caused him to lose all concept of distance and time. The car made its turn, and he resumed running as his thoughts returned back to last training jump in Germany.

He was tagging along with 2nd Platoon, Alpha Company on a C-130 transport for a jump from fourteen thousand feet. It was late afternoon on a clear and crisp autumn day during late October 1993. As the rear cargo door of the C-130 opened, Michael could see the German countryside below, a dazzling collage of red, orange and yellow. The soldiers of 2nd Platoon stood and lined up to prepare for the jump. Michael was second from the rear. Not being a member of 2nd Platoon, he would be the second-to-last man to exit the aircraft. The last jumper was the platoon staff sergeant, whose responsibility it was to verify every jumper had left the aircraft. They stood one behind the other with their eyes on the jumpmaster as the cold air whipped through the fuselage. At the thirty-second mark, the jumpmaster gave the hand signal for one final check. Each jumper responded with a thumbs-up. When the green jump light came on and the jumpmaster yelled, Go, go, go, the soldiers quickly shuffled down the ramp and stepped out of the aircraft. When it was his turn, Michael paused momentarily and then stepped out into the frigid air. Adjusting his body position to stabilize his descent, he closed the distance with the rest of the platoon. The training jump called for the platoon to keep a tight formation and land within the designated drop zone. As the air rushed by him, he glanced at the sun, which looked like a huge orange ball low on the horizon. He looked down at the approaching ground and marveled at the array of brilliant colors. Although he had done close to one hundred jumps, the thrill he experienced each time was just as intense as his first.

Michael glanced at the altimeter strapped to his wrist; it indicated he was falling through three thousand feet. The designated altitude to deploy chutes for this jump was two thousand feet. As he saw the first canopies deploying below him, he prepared to deploy his chute, waiting to see the jumper in front of him deploy his own first. He watched as the chute below him came out and then collapsed, twisting itself into a propeller and sending its jumper into a spin. Michael waited for the jumper to detach his main chute and deploy his reserve, standard procedure for a main chute malfunction. Seconds ticked by as Michael fell through two thousand feet, and the jumper below was still attached to his main chute, spinning even more wildly now. Michael realized he had only seconds to act before he would pass him by. Glancing at his altimeter again, he saw that he was passing through fifteen hundred feet. Adjusting his body position, Michael dove towards the jumper in the hopes of intercepting him. He knew if he timed it perfectly, he would detach the jumper’s main chute and deploy the reserve, leaving him barely enough altitude to then deploy his own chute, assuming both of them weren’t knocked unconscious by the midair collision. As Michael closed on the jumper, he spread out his arms and legs just before colliding with him. After recovering momentarily from the impact, Michael reached for and detached the jumper’s main chute, then pulled the reserve rip cord. As the reserve chute deployed and yanked the jumper away from him, Michael pulled his ripcord. His canopy deployed and slowed his descent for the remaining five hundred feet. He prepared for a hard landing as he saw the ground coming at him fast. He hit hard and felt a sharp pain in his lower back as he tucked and rolled.

Michael lay on the ground motionless, trying to catch his breath after having the wind knocked out of him. Second Platoon’s medic came running over to Michael and told him to lie still while he assessed his condition. Able to move his fingers and toes, Michael knew he was not paralyzed but could tell from the severe pain that he was seriously injured. As he lay there, Sergeant Thompson, the jumper with the parachute malfunction, came running over and knelt beside him. With tears streaming from his eyes, he looked at Michael and thanked him repeatedly.

You saved my life, Lieutenant, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.

Don’t mention it, Sarge. Anything to get me out of the office for a few hours, Michael replied, trying to make light of what he realized was his serious condition. He closed his eyes and lay on his back, thinking that he wouldn’t be jumping again anytime soon, perhaps never.

Michael was transported to Landstuhl Army Hospital. After having a CAT scan and MRI of his spine, the orthopedic surgeon came to Michael’s room and broke him the news. He had sustained spinal compression fractures in two vertebrae and had ruptured three discs in his lower back. The doctor told him he would eventually recover after several months in a back brace and restricted activity, but his days in Special Forces were over. His spine would never be able to withstand the punishment imposed by the physical demands of Special Forces, let alone jumping out of aircraft. Michael tried to come to terms with what the doctor had just told him. It didn’t seem real. Michael recalled all the hours spent in his hospital bed, somehow hoping it was all just a bad dream, and he would eventually wake up in his bed and find Karen lying next to him. Reality slowly set in over the course of the next month as Karen made the daily drive with Samantha, or Sam as they’d started calling her, to visit him, until he was finally released to return to limited duty.

On Michael’s first day back at the battalion, he was told to report to LTC Danforth’s office. He wondered what his commanding officer was going to say to him as he hobbled down the hallway towards Danforth’s office. Stopping outside his door, he knocked and waited for a response.

Enter, Danforth barked from inside the office.

Sir, Lieutenant Blackstone reporting for duty. Michael saluted as he entered his CO’s office.

Have a seat, Lieutenant, Danforth instructed him.

I’d prefer to stand, sir. A lot more comfortable.

Oh yeah, I suppose it is after what you did to yourself. How ya feeling?

I’m doing okay, sir. Just feels like I got blindsided by a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker coming at me with a full head of steam, replied Michael.

LTC Danforth looked at him silently from behind his desk for a moment before he continued, I read the accident report and spoke to Sergeant Thompson about what happened. You have some pretty big balls, Lieutenant, doing what you did. You saved that man’s life, while risking yours. Your selfless actions are a shining example of the type of bravery that has made Special Forces worthy of the honors earned by them throughout their history of fighting for this country. I know from your file that both your father and grandfather served their country bravely and were recognized for their heroic actions. Let me just say that you’ve done them both proud. I’ll be putting you in for a Soldier’s Medal. It would have been a Bronze Star if this had happened during combat, but nonetheless, I just want you to know how damn proud and honored I am to have men like you under my command.

Thank you, sir, but I really didn’t have time to even think about what I did. I just reacted. Any one of those other men who jumped with me would have done the same thing if they were in my position.

Hey, Lieutenant, just learn how to accept a little recognition and say thanks. I’m sure many other men would have displayed the same type of courage, but the fact that you were able to keep your wits about you and act quickly and decisively under such stressful circumstances is an ability not all men possess. It’s that type of trait that can make the difference between life or death, victory or defeat on the battlefield. You would have made an outstanding officer.

Michael realized Danforth said, would have made rather than are going to make and was about to respond to him, but Danforth continued. Lieutenant, I’ve read the medical report and spoken to your doctor. The extent of your injuries precludes you from remaining in Special Forces and qualify you for a medical discharge. You could probably stay in the Army behind a desk somewhere, but knowing the type of soldier you are, I don’t think you could live with that. I know these are hard words for you to swallow, but I would suggest taking the medical discharge and getting on with your life. It pains me to say it, but as your commanding officer and more importantly a fellow Green Beret, the most decent thing I can do is to be brutally honest with you.

Michael stood there in stunned silence, his head spinning. After recovering, Michael addressed his commanding officer: Sir, I know I messed myself up pretty bad. But I also know that I can fully recover physically, at least get myself back to ninety-five percent, which will make me fit enough for anything that’s expected of me in Special Forces. I just need a little time.

LTC Danforth looked at Michael compassionately, as a father would a son. Lieutenant, I’m sure if anyone could do it, you could. But even if you were able to get yourself back to that level of conditioning, there’s no way you would be cleared medically to stay in SF, or any other combat unit for that matter, with your injury. That’s the type of injury most people don’t bounce back from, and the medical regs aren’t flexible about those things. That’s just the way it is. You can’t fight Army bureaucracy any more than you can pull an elephant with a dog leash. Hell, it wouldn’t matter if your father was the Army chief of staff.

Michael felt as if his whole world had come undone. I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t stay in the Army behind a desk. I’d rather not have survived that fall. The words slowly drifted out of his mouth.

Listen, Lieutenant, there’s someone I want you to talk to at the US embassy in Bonn. I think he would be very interested in you, especially your analytical skills. There’s still a way you can serve your country, Danforth told him. I’ll let you know after I talk to him in the next few days. In the meantime, you may want to start with admin on the paperwork for your medical discharge. If you decide to consider this other opportunity, you’ll probably want to get moving with the next phase of your life as quickly as possible.

Okay, sir, thanks, Michael answered with a slightly renewed sense of hope.

All right, then. You’ll be fine, Lieutenant, in whatever your future holds for you. You have that rare quality I’ve seen in only a handful of men who can excel in whatever challenge life throws at them. Don’t get discouraged. Anyway, we’re going to have one hell of a drunk before you escape from here. Dismissed.

Michael saluted and walked out of LTC Danforth’s office, a million thoughts flying through his head. He felt like his world had come crashing down around him, but at the same time, he was intrigued by what Danforth had said about the man at the embassy. After a week, LTC Danforth instructed Michael to report to the embassy to meet with Mr. Bob Johnson.

Two days later at 7:00 in the morning, Michael pulled out of his driveway on base housing and drove up the A61 to the US embassy in Bonn. After passing through security screening and obtaining his visitor’s badge, Michael waited in the security office for his escort. A few minutes later, an attractive brunette in her mid-thirties, dressed in high heels, a snug charcoal-gray skirt and a white silk blouse, which showed off her tall, slender figure, walked into the security office.

Lieutenant Blackstone?

Hi, uh, yes, that’s me.

Would you please follow me? I’ll show you to Mr. Johnson’s office.

Yes, ma’am—I mean miss. Sorry, it’s an occupational habit, he fumbled, a bit embarrassed.

Don’t worry, she replied with a slight giggle and a smile. My father was a Marine and demanded my brothers be respectful to ladies.

As Michael followed her, he wondered whom she worked for and if all female embassy employees looked like her. She was dressed professionally, yet she certainly knew how to accentuate her feminine qualities. She led him up the stairs to the fourth floor and punched the code into the keypad, unlocking the heavy security door. They walked down the hallway and turned left into a room that was the first of an executive office suite. A woman sat behind a desk.

Hi, Sue. Bob asked me to bring Lieutenant Blackstone to see him, his escort said to the lady behind the desk.

He’s inside. Sue nodded her head towards the other door leading past her desk.

The brunette peeked her head into the adjoining office, saying, Bob, Mr.—I mean Lieutenant. Blackstone is here. She glanced back at Michael and smiled.

Bring him in, a gruff voice barked from the other side of the door.

They walked into the office, where Michael saw a man with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing an oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sitting behind a large mahogany desk. He had striking looks. Michael tried to guess his age but couldn’t tell if he was in his late forties, fifties or early sixties. He looked like he kept himself in shape and had a youthful face, although it was weathered, as if he had spent a good part of his life outdoors. It was his eyes, however, that drew Michael’s attention. There was an intensity in those dark blue eyes that made Michael feel as if Johnson was able to peer into his soul and see his deepest secrets. Even without knowing anything about him, Michael could tell this man had seen and done things that the average person couldn’t imagine. He remembered seeing that same look in his grandfather’s eyes when he would tell Michael about his missions behind enemy lines.

Michael, thanks for coming. I know your CO, LTC Danforth. He filled me in on what happened to you. That was a damn brave thing you did, son. Not only brave, but also pretty impressive the way you kept your cool in a tense situation like that. You’re a credit to SF. He stood and shook Michael’s hand.

Thank you, sir, nothing any other SF soldier wouldn’t have done.

No doubt. You guys know how to look after each other’s back when you’re out there operating all on your own. Not like big Army that goes in with overwhelming firepower and air support. I was with the 75th Infantry Regiment in ’Nam. If we didn’t take care of business on our own, there was nobody else we could call on to come get us out of a jam.

Michael had heard of the exploits of 75th Infantry Regiment, or LRRPs as they were called, for Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol. They worked in small units of six to eight men, deep behind enemy lines, for thirty to forty days at a time. They were completely self-sufficient, living off the land while beating the Vietcong at their own game of stealth in the jungle. They had a kill ratio of 400 to 1, the highest of any unit in US military history. Michael realized this man was pretty bad-ass, even if he was now sitting behind a desk, dressed in gabardine wool slacks and an oxford shirt.

You guys definitely knew how to look after yourselves. I read about your outfit’s missions. During interrogations, the Vietcong would refer to you guys as the ghosts of death. Even they were scared of running into you guys, Michael told him, trying not to appear too awed by Johnson’s background.

Yeah, we dispatched our share of Gooks. Still didn’t make up for what all they did to our boys. Too many of them got killed for nothing, and in the end, we just turned tail and handed the commie North everything they wanted. What a damn waste of good men. It was one of the sadder moments in our country’s history. A hard lesson learned, but I hope it finally woke us up not to get involved in wars unless there’s a clear objective and the politicians let the war fighters get the job done right.

I hope so, sir.

So, Michael, sorry to hear about your injury. Tough break. I’m guessing you’ve decided not to stay in the Army and push a desk the rest of your career.

No, that’s not for me. I‘d feel like a caged animal stuck in an office all day.

Don’t blame you, I’d feel the same way. As a matter of fact, sometimes I do now. I don’t get out into the field as much as I used to. Got any plans for when you get out?

No, sir. I worked on Wall Street before joining the Army. I guess I could always go back. If I have no other choice other than being stuck behind a desk, I might as well make some decent money, Michael said, dejected at the possibility.

Well, Michael, how would you like to still be able to serve your country, working for the CIA?

Michael stood in silence, studying Johnson’s face. Here was a man who, after having experienced the things he had in Vietnam, had chosen to go work for his country’s clandestine spy agency. Michael wondered how he would like that kind of work.

Michael asked him, You got any regrets so far?

Nope, not a one. But then again, I was never the conventional type who wanted a house in the suburbs and a wife nagging me all the time about when I was going to cut the grass.

Michael thought about his answer. He wondered how Karen would react if he said yes. Would she understand his decision and be supportive, or would she be upset at the idea of Michael going from being a soldier to a spy? Would it be too much to ask of her? After all, she had given up enough of her life already, following him with his career in the Army. This job would probably be similar to the Army, he thought. They would be moved around every few years, and he would have to travel some. But she’d probably like it better than Army life, he tried to convince himself. He was pretty sure embassy dependents were treated better than most military dependents. The housing accommodations must surely be better. He tried to picture himself trading in his uniform for a trench coat.

I’ll have to run it by my wife. Well, not run it by her, but at least be able to tell her what I’ll be doing once I leave the Army. Otherwise, it’s not going to work. We have an honest relationship, and there’s no way I can go through the rest of my life looking her in the eye every day and lying about half of my life.

Michael, if you accept this job, it’s a commitment that you’re devoting the rest of your working life to serving your country. Of course, it’s in a different capacity than what you’ve been used to as an officer in the Army, but no less important. In many ways, the individual impact you’ll have in the CIA protecting your country will probably surpass anything you would do in the Army. I suppose if there was a war, you could have done some heroic deed or taken some decisive action to win a battle, but on a day-to-day basis, you will be in the midst of a battle that’s been going on for almost fifty years between the CIA and the rest of the world, less of course the Brits, Canucks and Aussies. Everybody thinks that it’s a big kumbaya party now that the Soviet Union is no longer and that drunken buffoon Yeltsin is giving Russian bear hugs to Clinton. But let me tell you, between what China’s world ambitions are going to be in another ten years, along with that Russian psyche of hurt pride and a paranoia of the West trying to subjugate Mother Russia, not to mention all the trouble those fanatics in the Middle East are going to be causing, things in this world are going to get much worse despite what most people think. The CIA will need to double its size just to keep up. Think of all the possibilities for someone with your ability. Getting in at the beginning of a drastically changing world, you’ll be able to write your own ticket for what targets and types of operations you want to pursue. There’ll be more work than there are soldiers for the foreseeable future. So, getting back to your question, if you tell me the CIA is where you want to dedicate your life, then, yes, you can tell your wife about what type of work you’ll be doing. Of course, she will have to learn your cover story and sign confidentiality disclosures about not revealing your true employer to anyone, including parents and your children, but that’s about it.

Well, that’s good. That was a pretty long answer to a fairly simple question. You’re not trying to pitch me, are you? Michael asked half-jokingly.

What do you think we do here at the CIA? Johnson stared back at Michael with those piercing blue eyes and a big barracuda smile on his face.

Michael started nodding before the words even came out of his mouth. I’ll do it. What have I got to lose?

Michael remembered that question as he reached the end of his run. Standing in front of his condo, sucking in as much of the cool night air as his lungs could hold as he tried to catch his breath, he now knew what the answer to that question had been. It was more than he could have imagined when he’d originally asked it. In a few hours, it would not matter what the answer to that question had been. He entered his security code on the keypad next to the front door of his building and entered, walking through the lobby. As he stood there waiting for the elevator, he thought about how much his life had changed since then. The elevator door opened, bringing Michael’s attention back to his surroundings. From inside the elevator, he heard his name. As he stepped in, he saw his eighty-year-old neighbor, Dolores Diamond, eyeing him up and down as she smiled at him. She was wearing an orange-and-black oriental silk robe over what Michael could clearly see was black lingerie with fuzzy cheetah slippers on her feet. In her right arm was Chloe, her thirteen-year-old Yorkshire terrier. A gold-tipped cigarette holder with an unlit cigarette stuck out between her bright red lips. She never seemed to be able to get her lipstick and eyeliner quite right in her older years, but she never left her condo without her makeup and her hair done.

Hello, handsome, she greeted Michael with her usual seductive, raspy voice from years of smoking Virginia Slims.

Between the length of the cigarette holder and the extra-long cigarette, Dolores looked like something out of a Humphrey Bogart movie. She claimed that the cigarette holder had been a gift from Sean Connery during the filming of the 1965 James Bond movie Thunderball, in which she had been a supporting actress. Michael had never bothered renting the movie to see if Dolores had actually acted in it or was simply a lonely old lady craving a little attention. Despite often being trapped by her in the hallway while coming or going, Michael was always kind to her, spending more time than he really wanted listening to stories about her days in entertainment, as she called it. Several times over the past five years since Michael and Eva had moved into the building, Dolores had shown them old photographs of her as a Las Vegas showgirl. Michael had to admit she was pretty hot back in her day, especially in some of those showgirl costumes, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. Michael always found it amusing looking at photos of a beautiful half-naked twenty-something-year-old woman as she sat between him and his wife fifty years later. Michael and Eva considered her a sweet old lady, treating her more like their eccentric old aunt than just a neighbor. Always trying to help her out as much as possible, they would regularly pick up groceries for her and fix things that needed repair in her condo.

Hi, Dolores, what are you doing out this late? Michael asked, thinking it was a bit odd she was in the elevator with Chloe at this hour.

I’m just so upset about Johnny Carson passing away. He was such a sweet guy, a real ladies’ man, but always a gentleman, she said as if she knew him personally.

Uh, Dolores, Johnny died about ten or so years ago, Michael responded, trying to sound neutral while determining whether Dolores was mentally all there.

Oh, I know that, tiger. I may have a vivid imagination, but I’m not senile yet. I was just watching a documentary about him on the History Channel. It made me sad, thinking about him and all my other friends that aren’t around anymore.

Did you ever meet Johnny Carson? Michael asked, somewhat intrigued.

"Did I meet him? Honey, I knew Johnny from when he was just starting out on the Tonight Show back in the early sixties. Where do you think he used to spend all his vacations? I knew the inside of his suite at the Sands just like it was my own place," she answered as if stating the obvious.

Is that where you worked as a showgirl?

Of course that’s where I worked. How else would I have met Johnny?

I see. Did you and Johnny have a thing going on? Michael asked delicately, not wanting to embarrass her?

Johnny and I? Heavens, no! She burst out laughing. Her face lit up with a big smile as she recalled happy memories from long ago.

Sorry, Dolores, I just thought from what you said about knowing his room, you and he might have had a relationship or something, he said sheepishly.

Young man, your mind is in the gutter, she teased. Johnny would come to Vegas several times a year to hang out with his pals, Frank, Dean, Sammy and Joey. They would have some wild parties. They were the type of fellas that needed women around them all the time, like a sheik needs a harem. Those parties sometimes went for three days and nights straight, with a never-ending supply of booze and broads. When we girls would finish up with our shows, we’d hang out in the party suite. If you managed to catch a few hours of sleep before your next performance, you were lucky. Those were the days when getting those little black beauties to perk you up before the show wasn’t a problem, honey.

It suddenly hit Michael as he asked, "Dolores, do you