True Faith and Allegiance

Russia was quiet now, more or less. Yes, they still controlled a significant portion of Ukraine, but the Borei-class nuclear sub they’d sent to patrol off the coast of the United States had allowed itself to be seen and photographed north of the coast of Scotland on its return voyage to port in Sayda Inlet, north of the Arctic Circle.

And the Russian troops that had rolled into Lithuania had since rolled back over Russia’s border to the west and to the Belarusian border to the east, ending the attack on the tiny Baltic nation.

The Russians had been embarrassed by their defeat in the Baltic, and it would certainly surprise everyone in this outdoor Mexican restaurant in New Jersey to know that the average-looking dad sitting at the big table under the umbrellas had played a big part in that.

Hagen was fine with the anonymity. The forty-four-year-old was a pretty low-profile guy, anyway. He didn’t hang out with his family in his uniform and regale them with tales of combat on the high seas. No, right now he goofed off with his kids and his nephews, and he joked with his wife that if he ate any more chips and guacamole before dinner, he’d sleep in tomorrow and miss game time.

He and his wife laughed, and then his brother-in-law, Allen, got his attention. “Hey, Scotty. Do you know that guy over there on the sidewalk?”

Hagen shook his head. “No. But he’s been eyeing this table for the past few minutes.”

Allen said, “Any chance he served under you or something?”

Hagen looked back. “Doesn’t look familiar.” He thought it over for a moment and then said, “This is too weird. I’m going to go talk to him and see what’s up.”

Hagen pulled the napkin from his lap, stood up, and began walking toward the man, moving through the busy outdoor café.

The young man turned away before Scott Hagen could make it halfway to him, then he dropped his beer in a garbage can and walked quickly out onto the street.

He crossed the dark street and disappeared into a busy parking lot.

When Hagen got back to the table Allen said, “That was odd. What do you think he was doing?”

Hagen didn’t know what to think, but he did know what he needed to do. “I didn’t like the look of that guy. Let’s play it safe and get out of here. Take everybody inside to the restaurant, use the back door, and go to the van. I’ll stay behind and pay the bill, then take a cab back to the hotel.”

His sister, Susan, heard all this, but she had no clue what was going on. She hadn’t even noticed the young man. “What’s wrong?”

Allen addressed both families now. “Okay, everybody. No questions till we get to the van, but we have to leave. We’ll get room service back at the hotel.”

Susan said, “My brother gets nervous if he’s not sailing around with a bunch of nukes.”

The James Greer did not carry nuclear weapons, but Susan was a tax lawyer, and she didn’t know any better, and Hagen was too busy to correct her because he was in the process of grabbing a passing waiter to get the bill.

Both families were annoyed to be rushed out of the restaurant with full plates of food on the way, but they realized something serious was going on, so they all complied.

Just as the seven started moving toward the back door, Hagen turned and saw the young man again. He was crossing the two-lane street, heading back toward the outdoor café. He wore a long gray trench coat now, and was obviously hiding something underneath.

Hagen had given up on Allen’s ability to manage the family, and Susan wasn’t proving to be terribly aware, either. So he turned to his wife. “Through the restaurant! Run! Go!”

Laura Hagen grabbed her daughter and son, pulled them to the back door. Hagen’s sister and brother-in-law followed close behind with their two boys in front of them.

Then Hagen started to follow, but he slowed, watched in horror as the man on the sidewalk hoisted an AK-47 out from under his coat. Others in the outdoor café saw this as well; it was hard to miss.

Screams and shouts filled the air.

With his eyes locked on Commander Scott Hagen, the young man continued walking into the outdoor café, bringing the weapon to his shoulder.

Hagen froze.

This can’t be real. This is not happening.

He had no weapon of his own. This was New Jersey, so even though Hagen was licensed to carry a firearm in Virginia and could do so legally in thirty-five other states, he’d go to prison here for carrying a gun.

It was of no solace to him at all that the rifle-wielding maniac ahead was in violation of this law by shouldering a Kalashnikov in the middle of town. He doubted the attacker was troubled that in addition to the attempted murder of the one hundred or so people in the garden café in front of him he’d probably also be cited by the police for unlawful possession of a firearm.

Boom!