A Failed State: An International War On Terror Novel

1

Prologue

0950 06 OCTOBER 2017

Whenever Damien Collins flew commercially, he couldn’t breathe. Damien was never sure about the exact onset of his anxiety; it just materialized somewhere along the myriad of countless deployments. He agonized over the safest seating choices, the molasses-like pull-back from the gate or how far the flight would drift out of the posted schedule. Damien always prayed he would arrive on time, and whenever the airplane was delayed or there was a maintenance issue, he panicked. Today, sitting in the terminal and waiting to board, he envisioned how when he would finally squeeze into the narrow seat in coach, his chest would tighten, and he would start to become predictably agitated. He swore under his breath and clenched his fists. His phobia made little sense. Damien had flown in dozens of military aircraft. He had been on board rotor and fixed wings performing evasive maneuvers like combat approaches and takeoffs in a C130 where he dangled from a single contact point as the pilots dropped the bird’s nose to the earth or climbed out of a hostile airfield like a rocket. Or on Blackhawk helicopters, conducting touch-and-gos or auto-rotations where he could feel the hard landing in his jaw. He had seen hydraulic fluid dripping from rotor housings and flight mechanics blowing ever-present, dust-like sand out of turbine intakes. He had flown in aircraft missing external parts, the air frames sometimes riddled with bullet holes. For some unknown reason, none of those flight missions managed to elevate his heart rate even one beat above resting. Now, watching multiple mechanics and baggage handlers swarm around a squeaky clean Airbus A320, it felt like all hell was going to break loose.

Damien had one more commercial leg, from Chicago to Salt Lake City, before he could see his family after nearly three months of deployment. Although he used the term family literally, it didn’t seem to mean as much to his wife anymore. As upside down as things had been for them, he was excited about seeing Anna and his little Tia. Nothing made him miss them more than finally setting foot back in the United States. All this despite the fact that his best friend and teammate, Loki, or Ty Mansour as civilians referred to him, was still rotting in a Kabul prison awaiting sentencing. This thought alone was enough to cause him respiratory distress.

Mister Damien Collins, please come to the ticket desk. Damien Collins….

It had been a while since Damien had heard his given name spoken out loud. He was so used to responding to his call sign that he hardly recognized it. Damien shouldered both bulbous day packs and stood in line behind other annoyed travelers queued in front of the airline counter. Each of them overheard a woman telling whomever was first in line that the flight was overbooked. She asked each one whether he or she would mind being bumped for a hundred dollars in airline credit, a hotel room, and a flight the next morning. When it was Damien’s turn, he stepped forward and said, No thanks before she could even finish the offer. He wasn’t going to let anything keep him from going home on schedule. The last deployment and its disappointments had him needing to be there. His arrival felt way past due.

When everyone finally boarded, Damien tried to control his breathing as he hoisted his bags above the seatbacks and walked down the narrow aisle. In his mind, he didn’t trust the pilots or the equipment, even though deep down he knew all of it was top notch. Something about flying with so many civilians freaked Damien out. He could laugh it off if the guys on his team puked all over while their insert helo picked its way between turbulent thunder cells, but if an old lady’s elbow competed with his for the shared armrest, it was a bad day. Damien perceived everyone on board a commercial airliner to be little more than an individual who didn’t know or care anything about the plight of his or her fellow passenger. He just couldn’t recede into his own space any farther than the cramped conditions of the lowest-priced domestic flight would allow.

The last hour of the flight, Damien had difficulty sitting still. He was so worried something would go wrong during the landing that he repeated the Lord’s Prayer in tempo with timed inhaling and exhaling. In through the nose for four seconds, hold for four seconds, out through the mouth for eight. Damien ignored the looks from the passengers next to him and ran his sweaty palms over the tray table’s rounded edges. One of the flight attendants kept an eye on him, although he wasn’t sure whether her concern was for his welfare or that of all the other passengers. When the front wheel made contact with the runway and the turbine’s reverse thrust engaged, he exhaled and thanked God. When he stepped clear of the aircraft, he walked swiftly down the corridor, trying to put the entire experience behind him until the next time.

The Uber driver who picked him up was surprised by the amount of luggage he had waiting on the curb. After all, two fifty-pound bags and two carry-on packs seemed excessive for anyone, and especially, Damien realized, someone who had spent almost ninety days in one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Damien lived only twenty minutes from the first turnoff, so when the driver asked whether his last name was Irish, Damien asked him specifics about his own genealogy and let him ramble. As long as Damien nodded every now and then, he could allow his thoughts to drift for most of the ride.

The Uber driver’s Camry pulled up to the front of Damien’s house a little after 11 p.m. After heaving his bags clear of the trunk, Damien thanked the driver and punched in the garage code. He didn’t expect anyone to be awake, so he left his luggage in the garage and quietly let himself inside. Across the hall, he could see the amber glow from Tia’s nightlight through the narrow crack of her partially open door. He slid inside and stood over his little girl’s bed. Her brown hair spilled across the pillow, and her favorite stuffed animals were tucked under the comforter next to her. Damien wanted to watch the rise and fall of her chest and those little pursed lips the rest of the night. How he could have ever created something so beautiful mystified him. He couldn’t be a very good dad when he was over seven thousand miles from home eight months out of the year. She deserved better than what he was able to give her, and soon, he would need to face a very difficult decision: Stay and raise his daughter or be a full-time absentee father.

Damien gently shut Tia’s door and stepped into the hallway. The house was quiet. He had half-expected Anna to be drinking wine in the living room or on the patio accompanied by the usual lit cigarette. Instead, the lights were off all over the house. When he reached the kitchen, he fished his iPhone from his jacket pocket and connected it to the charging cable. Laying on the counter next to Anna’s phone was another he didn’t recognize. Damien stared at it, wondering whether it was prudent to let his thoughts run wild before knowing more. Anna’s with someone else. Without thinking, he removed his shoes and crept across the floor. He stopped short of the bedroom door, put his ear close to it, and opened his mouth to reduce head noise. Thirty-second count of silence. He shook off his neurosis and was reaching for the handle when he distinctly heard a man’s voice. He took several steps back, his mind sifting through his immediate options. Damien was back home several weeks early, and he hadn’t told anyone from home he was stateside. Clearly, his surprise had backfired. He took a quick inventory of where accessible weapons were stored. A loaded Glock pistol was in the bedside table and two shotguns in the garage safe. He heard Anna’s voice, but he didn’t want to enter until he thought everything through and knew exactly how to react. If he moved swiftly to target, the violence of his action would put Anna’s guest on his heels and give Damien the advantage. He had no intel on this man, his size, training, or fortitude. Damien would need the surprise to dominate the encounter, unless seeing Anna locked him up. Besides, he knew that attacking a man Anna had invited into his home would result in several unwanted outcomes, all of which would prevent him from seeing his daughter again. Damien had to set aside the wild emotion he was so poor at controlling. If nothing else, he had to do it for Tia.

After grabbing a Surefire light from the kitchen, he stood motionless in the living room. What about this man was more impressive to Anna than him? How did they meet? How long had she been seeing him? He could drive himself crazy rolling all the variables around in his head. All he knew was that for some reason his anxiety wasn’t a current factor and he didn’t have any illusions about trying to hurt the other man. He knew he could, just that he shouldn’t. After all, Damien wanted his wife to want him. He wasn’t going to win her heart in some alpha male contest in which he demanded she choose the victor. Anna had almost certainly been drinking, and Damien knew that by morning the regret would be the first thing on her mind; whether that regret would involve the man currently in her bedroom remained to be seen.

With the Surefire light in hand, Damien opened the door wide and illuminated two figures in bed. Both of them were under the covers. The man sat up quickly, using his hand to block the beam. Although Damien expected a competitor, someone more physically imposing than himself, the man shifted his pudgy body back against the headboard and worked the blankets up to his neckline. Anna instinctively knew who was holding the light; a scowl of irritation instead of surprise was written across her face.

Damien, what the fuck? she said. Why are you here?

Damien flipped the lights on and met her dejected expression with his own. He checked on her beta male, covered up in the blanket next to her, and decided he was no factor. Damien would, however, make it clear who called the shots under his roof.

Because this is my house! Damien shouted, motioning to the walls on either side of him. This little arrangement is unacceptable, Anna.

She turned on the bedside table lamp, threw aside the blanket, and stood up stark naked. Damien marveled at her taut shoulder and thigh muscles as she bent at the waist and flipped her dark locks over her head. Anna slid a hair tie over a handful of its length and walked toward him. Damien tensed as she brushed past him, headed toward the kitchen. He looked over her partner stoically.

Look, man, the beta sniveled, she said she was divorced….

The beta’s tone didn’t convince Damien of Anna’s integrity. This man wasn’t what Damien had imagined she would ever choose over him. Considering how easy it would be, Damien thought about venting his anger and frustration on him, but he couldn’t afford to have any situation escalate with Tia sleeping only a few rooms away.

I’m calling the cops, Damien! Anna shouted from the kitchen.

Damien grabbed Anna’s robe, hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and met her at the kitchen counter. She was on the phone, presumably with 911 dispatch, as he took up a position with a section of granite between them.

What the hell’s going on? Damien asked, handing her the robe. Is this really what we’ve become? How’s this good for Tia?

Yes, yes. He’s right here in front of me, Anna told the operator, ignoring Damien’s questions.

Damien was hurt and angry, but he couldn’t put any of those feelings on the table and expect things to swing his way this late in the game. He heard the beta male behind him and reached for his phone. He hoped Anna would say something to him as he snapped a photo of her lover rushing into the rest of his clothes. After Damien heard the front door close, he leaned over and tried to put himself squarely in her field of vision. Anna continued to avert her gaze and lean over the counter. Damien sat on the kitchen barstool and waited for the inevitable ring of the doorbell.

Anna invited two police officers into their home and terminated the call. They were subject to the standard separate and determine the validity of each of their stories protocol by the pair. Damien stepped outside with one officer while Anna sat in the kitchen with the other. Although there wasn’t much to tell, Damien ran the officer through his discovery of Anna and the interloper. He maintained that the only thing he was guilty of since he had walked in the door was raising his voice. All he hoped for now was the chance to spend time with his daughter, but he knew what was coming. He had been gone for long enough already, and yet he would be asked to spend another night in a hotel so things between them would cool off. It should be fine to come home in the morning, the officer said.

Damien looked in on Tia one last time, shouldered one of his day packs, and let himself out through the garage.

The Toyota Tundra was just as he had left it, muddy and in need of a car wash. Damien backed out, past the police cruiser, and roared down the street. The thought of home was what kept him sane during deployments. It was why he felt the need to provide. Home gave him a sense of being needed, and it was his most rewarding source of love. Letting anger take point now would only serve to keep him and his family separated.

Damien drove a short