Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense Read Online Free PDF

of him. It was a window on mortality, a reminder that to dust we all return, and that time is short, and life not to be taken for granted. Jonas had almost died in the Mog that day. He nearly died on the Beltway. And in front of him, the reminder that even those who survive wars succumb to unconquerable foes.
    Yet there was something connecting both events. Jonas realized in both of his near-death moments, they were the only times Jonas felt truly and utterly alive . It was something beyond the adrenaline rush. Beyond the fear. His mere survival buttressed his ego, telling him he survived for a reason. That, despite all his success in life, he was meant for something more .
    The Captain tried to say something, but it only came out as a long, anxious warble.
    Time went at a different pace when you were the only side of a conversation. After an hour, Jonas had nothing else to say. If the Captain had any idea his son came to visit, the memory would soon be gone, and Jonas could only hope the time he was there gave his dad some level of comfort. Small slice of warmth. Maybe a flash of a happy memory. It all made Jonas want to live only in the moment, because sometimes it seemed that’s all there was.
    He ended his visit as he always did, with a phrase that was alien to the father and son when Jonas was growing up.
    “I love you, Dad.”

6
    PHILADELPHIA
    A BRISK wind caught Jonas as he stepped off the rental car shuttle in Philadelphia. Jonas had been to Philly more times than he could remember—almost as many times as he’d been to Harrisburg, the state’s capital. Every time the
    Eagles lost, a little part of him died. He should have become a Steelers fan, he knew, but he just couldn’t do it.
    The trees on the side of the interstate whipped by in a flurry of barren branches. The drive took him just outside the city, and the rental car’s GPS system told him he’d arrive in twenty more minutes.
    Gave him time to think.
    His first thought was what the hell was he going to say at the funeral. The Senator had called just before Jonas boarded his plane, informing Jonas he was expected to say a few words at Calloway’s service, assuming, of course, he was agreeable to it.
    Jonas agreed. He always agreed.
    As the drive lulled him into a deepening ennui, Jonas thought about what he wanted, really wanted , with all of it. Jonas was on a trajectory, and that path was going to take him far in politics. He thought a House seat wouldn’t be too hard, and a Senate slot not beyond question in another ten years or so. And if Sidams kept ascending, Jonas could rise with him. Sidams could one day be President. Jonas could be his Chief of Staff.
    But is that what he wanted?
    He kept rising because he was good at what he did, and when you’re good at what you do, it’s easy never to question if it’s what you want to do. For all Jonas knew, he could have been a great software engineer, or police detective, or even a goddamn rodeo clown. But he always took the path that opened up before him, never bothering to look past the trees on the side of the road, never wondering if something a little different could be found by doing a little off-roading. Jonas’s life felt scripted, and even if that script led to success, it didn’t always make it fulfilling.
    The accident had woken something inside of him. Something raw. That piece of him that was pure instinct, that could smell blood, that could feel danger before it presented itself. It was the piece of him that made him want more.
    He hadn’t sensed those feelings in a long time. Not since the Mog.
    Mogadishu, Somalia.
    He’d been an Army Task Force Ranger back then. Nineteen ninety-three. Sent to a starving little country to see if something could be done about the warlords there. Jonas was twenty-three and had been with the Rangers for two years already, a young age for such an elite group. From the moment his transport had landed in-country, things had been both clear and blurry,