Beneath the Ashes, He Rose

The engines snarled against the darkness as the matte-black Gulfstream fell like a stone through the cloud deck.  The private airfield outside of Washington, D.C., was covered in fog so dense that it choked the runway lights into drab amber smears.  Tires screaming, the plane landed hard and skidded to a stop next to a lone floodlight that sliced a lonely cone through the mist.

The first person out was Alexander Harrington.  His boots crunched on the wet tarmac.  The bite of damp ground and jet fuel was carried by the cold air that struck his face.  With his collar up, he wore a black overcoat, the kind that cost more than most men made in a year.  A black silk mask, its edges smooth from years of usage, rested beneath it, folded in his inner pocket.

His gaze swept the treeline as he stopped on the bottom step.  A glass dagger pierced the sky as Whitaker Tower towered miles distant.  All of the building's security monitors suddenly stopped working.  Across the screens, the word DECEASED flashed crimson before disappearing.

The sharp, light scar that went from Alexander's left cheekbone to the corner of his lips was stroked by his fingers; it was a memento from Blackridge Maximum Security.  He put the communications bud in his ear.  "Grayson, please verify the hack."

"Copy, Phantom," was the prompt response, clear over static.  "The tower is in disarray.  When the lights come on, the guards start scurrying around like roaches.  Their entire universe has been ruined by your ghost code.  Locked coordinates:  O Street, Georgetown.  The left side of the brown brick row house has a broken gutter.  She is inside.

Alexander's heart pounded vigorously.  Tatiana.  The name was like a live coal burning in his breast.  He hadn't seen her laugh in seven years, and he hadn't held her while she whispered hopes for a future that Benjamin Whitaker had stolen with one falsified document.  With gravel spewing beneath his feet, he began walking toward the SUV that was waiting.

"Is it drone status?" he inquired.

"Heat and circling at 10,000 feet."  In the kitchen, Thermal displays two signatures.  child, adult female.  Weapons don't emit heat.

The SUV's engine purred softly as it idled next to a chain-link gate.  The driver, Cole, a tall, shaven-headed former Ranger, leaned out the window.  For now, boss, the route is clear.  However, we have incoming business.

Alexander took the rear seat.  Under his weight, Leather sighed.  "How far?"

"Three miles."  The tail rotor of this military-grade drone is identical to Whitaker's private fleet.  They are aware of your lack of mobility.

From his coat, Alexander took out a burner phone.  Before he could dial, the screen came to life.  Unknown figure.  He gave a thumbs up.

A woman muttered, her voice distorted by a modulator, "She's waiting."  "However, the trap has already been set."

The call went dead.

Alexander's eyes were fixed on the dark screen.  "Trace it, Grayson."

bouncing 12 satellites at once.  ghost signal.  Someone is using professionals to hide their footprints.

Cole pressed the accelerator.  With its headlights creating twin tunnels through the fog, the SUV sprang ahead.  The window was rolled down an inch by Alexander.  His face was whipped by cold air that smelled of a far-off river and wet pine.  When he closed his eyes, he imagined Tatiana on the rooftop the night he proposed, with her eyes as bright as stars and the D.C. cityscape gleaming below. Her hair was blowing in the breeze.  Then the courtroom: the judge's voice announcing life without parole, Benjamin's smirk, and the crack of the gavel.

"Master," Grayson snickered.  The second drone just sent a ping.  identical signature.  They are attempting to intercept by vectoring.

Alexander clenched his jaw.  "Distance?"

"The visual takes two minutes.  Hellfires will be present.

"Allow them to arrive."  Leaning forward, he ended the call.  "Leave the tail behind, Cole.  After that, burn the path.

Cole smiled in the dark, his teeth white.  "Remain steadfast."

Tires spraying gravel, the SUV fishtailed onto a service road.  Alexander looked at his hip-mounted Glock (one in the chamber, full magazine).  The silk mask was cool against his palm as he tucked it into his fist.

He was falsely accused by Benjamin Whitaker seven years ago of stealing the inventions that made Whitaker Dynamics a multibillion-dollar company.  Alexander would begin collecting tonight.

Once more, the burner buzzed.  The same unidentified number.  This time, a picture:  Mira cuddled up to Tatiana's chest like a kitten while she slept on a sagging couch.  Over Mira's heart, a red laser dot glowed.

The blood in Alexander froze.  "Scramble the drone, Grayson.  Arm hellfire.

"Starting in thirty minutes."  Say the word.

Cole veered down a gravel track, where paint was being scraped off branches.  The SUV's suspension groaned as it bounced violently.  Alexander clutched the handle.  Keep the fire going.  This is what we clean.

He covered his face with the mask.  Silk was cool and comfortable on his skin.  It was the Phantom.

"Cole, turn off the lights."

The headlights went off.  With just the moonlight piercing the fog to guide it, the SUV plunged into the night.  Cole kept his hands steady on the wheel and drove by memory.  "O Street is two blocks away.  Drop off location near the alley.

Alexander gave a nod.  "Jam their communications on my mark, Grayson."

"Watching."

Behind a dumpster, the SUV came to a stop.  Silent on crumbling pavement, Alexander moved outside.  The brown-brick row house with a drooping porch and a faintly yellow-lit window was three doors down.

His coat blended with the darkness as he flowed like smoke.  His breath was muffled by the mask.  He stopped at the gate.  A child's painting of a stick figure in black with a billowing cape and the word "DADDY" written in purple crayon was posted to the door.

Alexander's throat became constricted.  After taking the burner out of his pocket, he typed, "I'm here."

Instantly, the response was: Back door.  Act quickly.

His fingers followed brick as he walked around the house.  The chain lock on the back door was hanging loose.  Candlelight flashed on fading wallpaper inside.  Back to him, Tatiana stood in the kitchen, filling a plastic bowl with water.  She had darker, shorter hair that was tangled in an untidy knot.  She had her forearms thin and her sleeves pushed up in an enormous sweater.

Without turning, she stated, "Mira is asleep."  "You're running late."

Alexander removed the mask.  "Traffic."

She whirled.  Her once-fire-filled, piercing, green eyes widened.  The dish broke on the linoleum as it fell out of her hands.  "Alex?"

He took three steps across the room.  With her hands gripping his coat, she met him halfway.  Her fingers quivered as they touched his chest.  "You've passed away.  They declared you dead.

"Near enough."  His thumbs brushed her cheekbones as he clasped her face.  She had the scent of candle smoke and soap.  "Now I'm here."

Her knees gave way.  Arms wrapped tightly around her, he caught her.  Her breath caught as she buried her face in his neck.  They stole everything.  The home, the business, Mira's prospects, "

"I understand."  His voice broke.  "I'm repairing it."

Overhead, footsteps creaked.  Mira's drowsy voice: "Mommy?"

Tatiana drew away and wiped her tears.  "Remain here.  I'll get her.

Alexander observed her as she ascended the stairs, taking cautious steps.  He looked around the kitchen and saw a broken table, two chairs, and a flaming eviction letter in the sink.  He had a buzzing burner.  Grayson: A drone is on its way.  60 seconds.

Typed by Alexander: Divert to warehouse.  0300 Anacostia.

Copy, in response.

Mira was in Tatiana's arms when she returned.  The stormy, gray eyes of the girl stared at him.  "Who are you?"

Alexander dropped to his knees.  "One of your mother's friends."

Mira bent her head to study him.  "You resemble the photo beneath Mommy's pillow."

Tatiana reddened.  "Mira, "

The front glass blew up.  The floor was covered in glass.  Green gas hissed from a black canister that rattled on the linoleum.

Alexander pushed Tatiana in the direction of the back door and snatched Mira.  "Leave!"

Cole screeched to the curb with his SUV.  The rear entrance flew open.  Mira tightened her grip as Tatiana dived in, Alexander at her heels.  As masked individuals spilled out of a van across the street, Cole was completely taken aback.

Metal was pinged by bullets.  Tires wailing, the SUV fishtailed.  Glock steady, Alexander rolled down the window.  He shot three times: knee, head, and center mass.  Two figures fell.

"Now, Grayson!"

The sky became bright.  The van was slammed by a hellfire missile that streaked overhead.  The street was swallowed by the orange blooming fireball.

Cole turned off his headlights and swerved into an alley.  "Warehouse?"

Alexander checked Mira and remarked, "Anacostia."  The girl's eyes were wide yet silent as she held Tatiana.

Tatiana looked up at him.  "What takes place in the warehouse?"

"Veracity," he declared.  "And repay."

The burner made a buzzing sound.  Again, an unknown number.  This time, a video  Benjamin Whitaker grinning at the camera while wearing a fitted suit.  "Hello Phantom, welcome home.  See how long you can last.

Alexander's fist destroyed the phone.

Cole looked at himself in the mirror.  We're free for the time being.  However, by daybreak, they will have the city secured.

Alexander glanced at Mira and then Tatiana.  "Then, before dawn, we move."

With taillights that winked like dying stars, the SUV disappeared into the night.