Boz Hamilton sat on the porch of his old farmhouse and looked out at the rolling field in front of him. The house was said to be more than a hundred and fifty years old, but no one knew for sure. He only cared that it was out of the way, peaceful, and gave anyone who sat on its front porch at 6:15 in the morning a spectacular the view of the sunrise. That, and the unseasonably warm weather, made it an almost-perfect morning.
Boz closed his Bible, having spent the last forty minutes studying the book of Acts—chapter 20, verses 13 through 38. His personal devotion time had been in the letters of the apostle Peter the last few weeks, what with the invasion. Peter’s letter to the church always comforted him whenever he was facing any kind of trial or persecution in his life. And if the last few months didn’t qualify as that, nothing did. But this morning, something had caused him to flip elsewhere in the scriptures. He figured it was God’s Holy Spirit directing him there. And for what reason he had no idea. But it definitely troubled him. He might not have been the most intuitive person on the face of the earth, but the fact that he’d definitely felt God’s urging to study this particular portion of His Word caused his pulse to quicken and his anxiety level to bump up a couple of notches.
He stood up from the old wooden rocker and knelt down on the dry, cracked boards that made up the wraparound porch. With the warm rays of the ascending sun cascading on his neck, he bowed his head and began to pray.
Thirty minutes later, he rose and went inside the house. He could already smell the sharp scent of bacon as it drifted along the fall breeze being carried throughout the house via the open windows. He found Eli Craig standing over the stove with a ridiculous apron tied around his waist and an even more ridiculous chef ’s hat sitting atop his head.
“G’mawnin, Uncle Boz,” the Brit said in his best Virginia drawl. “You want some fried pig?”
Eli Craig was perhaps England’s best operative, sort of a real James Bond. He had served in His Majesty’s Navy, where he’d risen to the rank of admiral in a very short period of time, before being hand selected to serve in England’s most clandestine intelligence service, MI-5, following in his father’s legendary footsteps. If his father had put the Craig name on the map concerning spy work, Eli put it on the globe. He was a world-class operative, with King William’s own personal endorsement.
Eli had been a teenager when he met Boz for the first time. He and his mother had been kidnapped, the target of a wealthy Saudi because of the elder Craig’s involvement in bringing down the Saudi’s family patriarch, a man who dealt heroin and illegal arms. Boz Hamilton and his team had been sent into a volatile, unstable region to retrieve the Craig family, which they’d done without setting off even the slightest alarm; they had gone in and out as if they’d been ghosts. And a friendship—no, a family bond—had been born between Boz and Eli.
Boz became like an uncle to Eli, visiting regularly, sending him birthday gifts and even getting his boss to get the president to recommend Eli to the prime minister for acceptance into the Royal Naval Academy. From there, Eli made his own way, but he always looked to Boz for advice and guidance. Especially in matters of faith.
Boz figured it was the very reason why Eli had risked his entire career a few months earlier, when Eli literally led a mutiny against Prime Minister Bungard and made off with almost the entire Royal Navy, coming to the aid of the United States in its most dire hour. Had it not been for Eli and his actions, who knows where we would be today, Boz thought.
“I’m always down for some fried pig,” Boz said. “But not from a guy wearing that. You look ridiculous!”
“Hey, I’m not the one who bought this getup. I just happen to make it look really good!”
“And make sure my omelet is fluffy,” Boz continued. “I don’t want any of that dried-up rubbery stuff.”
“Don’t let the hat and apron fool you,” Eli joked. “You’ll be lucky if they aren’t burnt!”
Boz moved over to the stove and pushed Eli out of the way. “Listen here, son. If there’s one thing you should’ve learned from me, it’s never screw with a man’s eggs.”
They both laughed, and Eli turned to get some plates while Boz finished off the omelets.
“So I talked to Bungard last night,” Eli said.
“Yeah? What’s he saying?”
“Not much. The man knows how to hold a grudge. He won’t admit it, but he’s still sore that I stole his navy. Not sure why, though. I mean, they made him a national hero.”
“But only because you gave him all the credit.”
“That’s what I said!”
“And?”
“And he quickly changed subjects. He wants me back, though. Said we have some things to work out.”
“You’re leaving soon, then?”
“Well, not before we eat these overcooked eggs.”
Boz chuckled and sat down with Eli at the table. They bowed their heads and Eli gave thanks. They were five minutes into the meal when Boz’s sat-phone chirped.
“Hey Boz, it’s Megan.”
“Hey, kiddo. What’s up?” Boz could already sense the nervousness in her voice.
“Jennings heard from Jon.”
There was silence on the line for a few second before Boz found his voice. “You mean—”
“He’s okay. But it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Megan relayed the conversation she had had with Jennings about Quinn and Jon. Boz felt a huge wave of relief sweep over him. He had been praying diligently that God would somehow bring Jon back to them. His mind was trailing off in thought when Megan’s words brought him back.
“Jennings says we have another problem.”
“What?”
“I don’t know the details, but you need to get in here. Jennings wants to talk with us and we have to figure out what Quinn is talking about. Quinn says it could cripple the nation even worse than it already is.”
Boz was taken back to his time on the porch earlier. He’d learned a long time ago not to question God’s leading; there was a reason God had led him to that passage of scripture. Now it was all becoming clearer. He still didn’t know exactly what it meant for them, but given the content of the scripture, he knew it wasn’t good. “Wolves, Megan,” he said.
“I’m sorry, what?” Megan said, obviously confused.
“We have wolves in our midst,” Boz said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He punched the button and set the sat-phone down on the table.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Eli said, mouth full.
“Call Bungard back,” Boz said. “I may need you to extend your holiday.”