Fate of the Union

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Chris Bryson knew he was in over his head.

And not just out of his depth — more like going down for the third time, still conscious but holding his breath, waiting for the darkness to come.

Of course he was not in the water at all, and in fact he was already sitting in the near dark — a former Secret Service agent and Congressional Medal of Honor winner holed up like a bank robber in a seedy two-story motel/hotel in Chantilly, Virginia, where he could hear the overhead rumble and whine of the metal beasts of Washington Dulles International Airport. On the one hand, they promised escape, on the other threatened to consume him.

He grunted a laugh through the slit in his face that wasn’t quite a smile. Such melodramatic thoughts were part and parcel, he supposed, of hiding out in a place called the Skyway Farer. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself, normally. But sometimes even the strongest, most confident man could use a little goddamn help.

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