Hal’s eyes snapped open from the drug-induced dream. His mind groggy, but growing sharper by the second. He was plummeting backward in a near fetal position — hurtling toward the ground in free-fall. Deadly form for a jumper. If he popped his chute from here it would envelop his body and tangle the chute wires beyond recovery.
Looking up at the black night sky, falling at thirty-two feet per second, Hal rolled over. Spreading his arms and legs wide in wind-breaking form. He noticed a digital altimeter projected onto his HMD visor. It spun down rapidly, dropping a hundred feet every three seconds.
At four thousand feet, the countryside details below were sharp and clear in night vision green. A wide river cut through the grassy fields, snaking into the distance toward a sprawling cob-web of lights. The center of the city illuminated in a dense glow. Hal recognized the same terrain from his simulation training. It was identical, but real, he thought.
The river and main highways headed in the same direction, converging at the core of a city that glowed like a sparkling jewel. Hal wasn’t sure of the city, but knew European roads converged to a hub more than American ones. Vineyards draped the hills surrounding him like a net thrown over the land. The vineyards, greenery and road design honed the location down in his mind. He believed he was in France, Italy or Germany.
His attention snapped back to the altimeter, quickly winding below two thousand feet. He reached for the ripcord D-ring, but his chest was bare fabric. He started to panic, knowing he had to pull before reaching 500 feet for any chance of survival. He strained his neck, looking down at his chest. No D-ring or ripcord. He looked for an emergency cord and could find none. Hal’s eyes panicked as the altimeter flew past 1,000 feet. He hoped and prayed the ripcord was altitude activated, watching the digital counter go past seven hundred feet.
At 600 feet, he heard a CLICK and a WHOOSH as the stealth chute caught the wind and streamed straight upward from his backpack. Ballooning open. He felt the tug on his body, and his legs whipped downward into a landing position. Hal exhaled with relief.
Hal looked above, barely able to make out his dark canopy and cables that blended with the sky. Without night vision goggles, the canopy would be invisible against the sky. A flashing light appeared in his HMD.
“Aim for the drop zone,” Beacon’s voice commanded.
Hal leaned toward the target, as he trained in the simulation. The method of controlling the toggle-less chute. He found himself directly over the drop zone. His chute automatically expanded, creating a form of air brake to slow him just before landing. He landed clean and easy, taking only three steps from the downward momentum. Safely on the ground, Hal was about to unbuckle his harness — a muscle memory from all his PJ jumps, when he heard a whirring in his backpack as the parachute reeled back inside.
A new flashing target appeared on his HMD, seeming to hover over a river in the distance.
“Initiating master check list,” McCreary said to Baldo. They ran through the entire checklist and everything was normal and operational — until McCreary called out ACS — the level of sleep-state consciousness.
“NREM stage 1, sir,” Baldo said with concern.
McCreary pondered it for a moment. A voice barked over the speakers in the box — Trest chiming in remotely. “What’s the hold up?”
“Ghost One ACS below normal, sir,” McCreary replied. There was a pause. McCreary added. “It’s below the ideal sleep stage.”
“He’s sleeping though, right? And following commands?”
“Yes, sir,” McCreary answered. “NREM stage one is sleeping, and he is following commands. Ghost One is currently standing still awaiting my orders.”
“He’s in the theater now and following commands,” Trest said, “Mission ready.”
“Yes, sir,” McCreary replied and switched comms to Ghost One’s bone phone implant. “Proceed to target. Get on the boat.”
Hal followed the flashing target icon, trudging through thick grass and weeds toward the river. He clawed through a tree and shrub lined bank, spotting a lone wooden runabout fast cruiser. Idling on the bank with a CIA asset at the helm, staring straight forward. As if expecting a passenger and trained to not ask questions. From the look of the sleek boat with polished wooden deck, Hal narrowed down the guess of his location to Italy or France. He climbed in the back under a canopy and laid down, per commands over the bone phone. The boat surged forward from the bank, the motor revving to full speed. It took off across the smooth, flat moving water.
The boat followed the snaking river. Country became suburbs and suburbs city. The trees on the banks gradually became low barricades and then tall, ancient brick walls. It didn’t take Hal long to realize he was on the Seine River, skipping across the water’s surface, slicing through the wind, straight into the heart of Paris.
With more boat traffic and civilian activity on the banks, McCreary couldn’t risk the operative being seen. He gave the order to activate. Hal instantly felt a warm tingling rush, radiating from his chest and emanating throughout his body. He glanced down to see his arm disappear against the seat he was laying on. He held a hand to his face and it was transparent. He moved it closer to his visor until he could make out a slight ghost outline of his hand and fingers.
A new target light flashed on his HMD. Knowing he was virtually invisible, Hal sat up and took in the City of Light from the Seine. The fast craft quickly approached a fork in the Seine and the tree-shrouded tip of the Ile Saint-Louis. Northbound boat traffic took the fork on the right. Or it was supposed to. The runabout did the opposite, speeding up and flowing against the grain on the left fork of the Seine. There wasn’t much opposing traffic at this time of night, mostly sight-seeing boats that honked and flashed their lights as the runabout sped by.
The flashing target in Hal’s HMD drew closer. The runabout pulled to the west bank and slowed, close enough for Hal to jump out. Upon his landing on the bank, the runabout arced back around and headed south down the Seine. Hal was on his own.
He crossed the cobble stone bank of the Seine toward the flashing light and found himself at a dead end. Staring directly into the ancient city wall, constructed of thick, heavy bricks, fifteen feet tall. He heard the familiar voice through his skull. “Go to the stairs. On your left.”
Hal spotted the brick stairs fifty feet away, mystified that sightseers along the bank had no idea he was there. He carefully slalomed Parisians and quietly crept up the ancient steps.
Hal reached the top of the steps to the sidewalk of Quai de Montebello. The flashing light told him to go further inland. Something else told him to turn and look back. He followed that voice — spinning back toward the Seine, and a majestic view of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, bathed in golden light. Hal paused and uttered a silent prayer of gratitude. For freedom from the flying coffin and for his chute opening, sparing him from being a permanent part of the French countryside.
“What’s he doing?” Baldo asked from inside the box. “Sight-seeing?!”
Douglas sneezed, sitting next to Baldo. He muffled it with his elbow. Never imaging he would be on assignment in a hay-lined barn.
“Proceed to target,” McCreary sternly ordered. They watched a glowing dot representing Hal on screen, from the satellite feed as he moved up the Quai de Montebello. “Go left in fifty feet.” The dot turned the corner as ordered. Moving further into the heart of Paris, down the narrow Rue de L’Hotel Colbert. The glowing light flickered. Obscured by tall buildings of the narrow, alley-like street. “Move to the middle of the street.”