Free The Book of Truths by Bob Mayer Page A

envy. A pair of metal whiskers protruded from below the nose of the aircraft. The pilot centered on the blimp and dove down an extra fifty feet, barely missing rooftops.
    The whiskers caught the rope and it immediately slid to the center where a sky anchor locked onto the rope.
    The Pakistani was opening his mouth to say something else when the rope tightened and he abruptly left the ground, followed by his wife, child, and then Neeley.
    The MC-130 gained altitude and speed, turning for the Afghan border as its forward momentum swung the rope along the belly of the plane. On the open ramp in the rear, several air force crew manned a crane. They expertly snagged the rope, then began hauling it in along with its passengers.
    At the very end of the rope, buffeted about, Neeley spread her arms to reduce the spinning and stared down at the lights of Abbottabad as they began to recede.
    Despite the air whistling around and the roar of the engines, she heard Hannah’s voice in her earpiece.
    “Good job.”
    As she was reeled into the MC-130, Neeley finally allowed her thoughts to drift, to naturally think of Gant as the freezing wind ripped into her. Of his strong arms around her, holding her tight against the Vermont winter that penetrated the stout walls of the cabin he’d built. And then how it had been her holding him, keeping him warm, as his body wasted away.
    Those thoughts always led to one place, one she was visiting in her mind more and more often: the grave they’d dug together that last year, in the early fall before the ground froze. Gant always thought ahead and he’d known he would not be around for the spring thaw and this was something that had to be done now. She’d done most of the digging, as he tired easily at that point. Resting, he’d sit on the growing pile of dirt, which he’d soon be part of, drinking a beer, telling morbid jokes and mixing in his Rules, knowing she was soon going to need them more than ever before. They’d had ten years together, long enough for Neeley to learn all his Rules and be taught all his tricks and tactics of covert operations.
    But not long enough for her to grow tired of his arms.
    As gloved hands reached out and pulled her into the cargo bay of the Commando, she pictured his lined, aged face, peering out the window at that dark hole as winter set in. She’d kept the fireplace blazing, the red glow flickering on his skin. She’d used so much wood, she knew the pile wouldn’t last the winter, but neither would he, and once he was gone, she would be too.
    There had been more than the cancer and the specter of the hole eating at him though. He’d been unable, even in love and even dying, to break his oath and tell her of the organization he worked for, the Cellar, and why her life would now be in jeopardy.
    As the back ramp rose up into the tail and shut, Neeley shrugged off the harness. Had he known where the journey he’d sent her on would end? Had he known she’d end up taking his place in the Cellar? Had she even had a choice? It was a question she asked herself more and more as she grew older and knew her life options were closing off with each year.
    Neeley sat on the red web seating lining the side of the plane as the three Pakistanis were met by an interpreter, the parents’ arms gesturing on all sides, mouths open in argument. She tuned out the voices already muted by the roar of the turboprop engines and inadequate insulation of the Special Operations plane. The front half of the Commando’s cargo bay was hidden behind a curtain, covering the screen watchers and countersurveillance experts who kept the plane cloaked from electronic detection and helped the pilots navigate a spiderweb route back to safety. The pilots were flying 250 by 250: 250 feet above the ground at 250 knots, which made for interesting maneuvering as they reached the mountains between Pakistan and Afghanistan.
    Neeley leaned her head back, still feeling the speed surging in her