Free Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense by Carter Wilson

red and white stripes shimmering against a brilliant blue morning sky. Springtime in Washington, his favorite season. The misery of the frozen months was just distant enough behind him, and the misery of the sweltering summer was just far enough ahead. He pushed open the entrance door and felt the building’s staleness replace the fresher air just feet away.
    “Morning, Mr. Osbourne.”
    Jonas nodded at the security guard. “What’s happening, Roger?”
    The man shrugged. “Nothing exciting.”
    “Then you’re doing your job.”
    “Yessir.”
    Jonas pulled out his cell phone and put it in the white plastic tray, checking for any new calls before doing so. The earlier phone call had given him a jolt. He’d received strange phone calls before—even threatening ones—but those were always on his office line. Not many people had his cell number, but this morning two new people had called him on it. Anne, and whoever had said Hooah .
    Hooah. It was the Army battle cry. It pretty much meant anything except “no.” Jonas hadn’t used the term in years.
    Why someone would call him and simply say one word before hanging up was unknown to him. The voice had been monotone and threatening at the same time.
    Most of the threatening calls were about Denver. Senator Sidams was to be a major player at the Denver Peace Accords, and even the most fragile of agreements would cap the already distinguished career of the Senator and Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee. Could even be a springboard to a presidential run in seven years. But Sidams’s angle for the Accords was controversial, as were all things concerning a truce in the Middle East.
    Truce, not peace.
    Hatred was a learned thing, and elders in that region of the world would be teaching it to their children for endless generations to come. There would never be peace. Just fleeting moments of quiet while everyone reloaded.
    Hooah.
    Jonas passed through the marble rotunda and saw an Army Staff Sergeant walking with brisk purpose toward the elevator. The man’s posture was extreme enough to seem robotic, and Jonas could see discipline and strength chiseled into his face. In that moment, as in many of his moments, Jonas missed the Army. He missed the camaraderie. The discipline. Even the fear. At least he was in as good as shape now as he ever was thanks to a fierce regimen of boxing and mixed martial arts. He sparred frequently, fought occasionally, and rarely found himself on the losing side of a decision. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger.
    He pushed his shoulders back and walked a bit taller as he jogged up the stairs to office 301. He never took the elevator.
    Jonas could feel the energy behind the door before he walked into the Senator’s offices. It was often like this, the kinetic pulse of politics. Once inside that office, there would be little time to relax. There were the endless meetings. There were the agendas to follow, then change, then abandon completely out of futility. There were the requests to see the Senator, the requests from the Senator to see others, and the requests from both sides to cancel for fear of actually seeing each other. There were the promises and the lies, often mixed together into a smooth cocktail of delusion and hope. And, once in awhile, if the country inched forward into the right direction, there was the satisfaction.
    Those days were rare.
    He opened the door and felt the energy wash over him, sweep him up, and beg him to get on the raft before the big rapids came up.
    V whisked by and Jonas caught the soft wind of her perfume. She smelled like the right kind of morning.
    “You look like shit,” she said, walking by, a coy smile on her face.
    “Thanks. That’s what I was going for. Hang on a sec, V.” She turned and smiled. “Yes, boss?”
    “You know anyone at the FBI?”
    “I had a brief fling with a Special Agent last year. Verdict? Not so special.”
    “You still in touch with him?”
    “Did I say it was a