Chapter One
Alexandria, Virginia - September 3
The feeling of the sheets being pulled away from her, quickly followed by a sudden intake of breath from the other side of the bed, woke Christina Dixon with a start. Lifting her head from her pillow, she peered across at her husband, checking to see if he was awake yet. In the faint light that filtered in through the partially closed blinds, she watched as Nathan clutched the sheet to his chest in a death grip. His lips quivered as if he were speaking. It wouldnt be long before he was awake, Christina sadly concluded. It never was on a night like this. Taking great care, she laid her head back down on her pillow before rolling over on her side, facing away from Nathan. Through trial and error shed learned the hard way that the best thing she could do was to pretend that her husbands nocturnal stirrings didnt wake her. For some reason, knowing that his nightmares were depriving his wife of badly needed rest only added to Nathans worries. He had enough on his mind, Christina reasoned. She didnt need to add to them.
With a suddenness that startled him, Nathan Dixon was catapulted from the dark, haunting place where his subconscious had taken him back into the dimly lit bedroom he shared with his pregnant wife. For the briefest of moments, he lay there staring wide eyed at the ceiling, gasping for breath like a drowning man as he struggled to compose himself. How strange, he found himself thinking after hed managed to regain some semblance of mental balance, to find the memories of a battle long since past more terrifying than the event itself. Try as he might, he couldnt remember experiencing anything even remotely resembling fear that night in the jungle. Thered simply been too much to do, too much going on around him. Had there been confusion? Yes, of course. There always was in battle, particularly that one. Cutting through it and maintaining his focus on tactical concerns were the only things he recalled running through his mind as his company came to grips with Abu Sayyaf insurgents. The fear, like the haunting memories from which it sprang, only came later, long after hed been medevaced out of the Philippines. And rather than fading with the passage of time, his recollection of what happened that night only seemed to grow stronger, more intense, causing Nathan to wonder if his mind was hellbent on sorting out the blurred images that he hadnt had the time to pay attention to that night.
Having regained a modicum of self- control, Nathan looked over to see if his stirrings had woken his wife. Only when he was satisfied that she was still sound asleep did he carefully lift the covers off of himself, slip out of bed and quietly make his way to the guest bathroom just down the hall. Waiting until after hed closed the door, Nathan flipped on the light, turning to face the mirror as he did so. The first thought that popped into his head as he stared at his gaunt reflection was always the same on nights like this: was he going mad? Of course not, he quickly told himself perhaps too quickly. Its just the way things were, he reasoned. It was a new normal he hadnt quite yet managed to adjust to. Like the collection of wounds hed amassed along the way, the memories of past events were a natural and not at all surprising psychological byproduct stemming from his chosen profession. That his late father had never seemed troubled by his past didnt matter to Nathan. Scott Dixon had always come across as being one of those people who were bigger than life, a man who always gave the impression of being in complete control no matter how dire the situation. At least, thats the way Nathan and those who knew him chose to remember Scott. And despite his knack for coming across as a nonconformist in a profession where conformity was prized above all else, more than a few well- placed individuals who were privy to such things had pegged Scott Dixon as a shoe-in for the Chief of Staff of the Army.
Without realizing it, Nathans concern over the recurring nightmares that plagued him was replaced by a deep, almost painful longing for his father. If there was anyone who would understand what he was going through, who could help him come to terms with his inability to put things in proper perspective, it was his father. Whether it stemmed from Scott Dixons experience as a long- serving officer or was simply an inherent talent, he had a way of sweeping away all the peripheral fluff and chaff with ease, striking at the heart of the matter at hand with a deftness that inspired envy and confidence.
Planting his hands firmly upon the countertop, Nathan leaned forward, peering at his own reflection. If his fathers incisiveness was an inherent trait, he thought to himself, it seemed to have skipped a generation. Even now, after devoting an inordinate amount of time pondering his future, Nathan had no idea what he would say when the question he knew was coming was put to him later that day. Glancing in the mirror at the clock on the wall behind him, he realized that he didnt have much time left to formulate a suitable answer, one that would address all the issues and concerns he found himself burdened with.
Sadly, the younger Dixon concluded that there was little point in returning to bed where hed do nothing more than toss and turn until he woke Chris. On mornings like this, it was better to head out into the predawn darkness and run. While doing so wouldnt help him reach any sort of decision, pushing his body to the limit would at least give his troubled mind a much- needed break. Besides, Nathan reasoned as he turned to gather his running shorts and T-shirt hanging on the back door of the bathroom, if he did decide to stay in the Army, he needed to get back in shape. Giving into the pain that lingered from his wounds was no longer an option, not if he was going to be the kind of soldier hed been raised to be.
The opening of the front door, followed by the sound of someone removing their shoes before venturing any farther, caused Jan Fields to stop what shed been doing. For the briefest of moments an irrational thought flashed through her mind, one that was as foolish as her efforts to convince herself that the visit by the former Chief of Staff of the Army with the obligatory chaplain in tow had never happened. These absurd little flights of fancy werent helped any by the fact that her stepsons habits, even the noises he made as he climbed the stairs leading up to the main floor of her town house, were all but indistinguishable from those his father used to make whenever he returned from an early morning run. At times like this, Jan almost found herself having to stop what ever she was doing and mutter out loud, "Its not Scott. It is not Scott."
She barely had time to regain her composure before Nathan came plodding into the kitchen where shed been in the pro cess of slicing up a wedge of cantaloupe. Stealing a quick, fugitive glance over her shoulder, Jan took note of Nathans limp before turning her attention back to what she was doing. "Youre up early," she stated crisply, doing her best to sound cheery despite the pain she felt over her sons suffering.
Before answering, Nathan reached around her, quickly snatching a chunk of cantaloupe from the cutting board. He wasnt fast enough