Quantum, The chemistry of love and the fusion of the atom spark a global race for the future of power. Bella Arensico, a brilliant quantum physicist in love with Payman Mehri, the charming heir to a world-renowned banking dynasty, But the future of energy—and the fate of nations—shifts dramatically when Jack Douglas, makes a startling breakthrough.
days left
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Quantum early reader feedback:
“Wild!!! It really has a Da Vinci Code flow.” – Beta reader
“Dude — you know so much about EVERYTHING! - Beta Reader
"It reads like a Dan Brown — from Rolex trivia to esoteric travel bits. Wow - you packed in soooooo much!” – Beta reader
Bella Arensico, a brilliant quantum physicist who grew up along the sacred Camino de Santiago, has risen to global prominence through her groundbreaking work at Oxford University. Passionately in love with Payman Mehri, the charming heir to a world-renowned banking dynasty, Bella’s life seems to strike a perfect balance between love and ambition. Their journey takes them from the shores of serene seas to the heights of the Alps and the cutting-edge laboratories of CERN, where science and passion intertwine.
But the future of energy—and the fate of nations—shifts dramatically when Dr. Jack Douglas, a driven researcher at the University of Arizona, makes a startling breakthrough. His creation, Zeliconite, promises to unlock a new era of clean, limitless energy through quantum fusion. It’s a discovery so powerful that governments, corporations, and clandestine agents will stop at nothing to control it.
As global superpowers and shadowy organizations collide, Bella and Jack are thrust into a high-stakes game of intrigue, strategy, and survival. From the deserts of Arizona to Europe’s ancient cities, the pursuit of knowledge becomes a race against time, with alliances tested and loyalties questioned. Amid the chaos, the chemistry of love and the power of science propel the story toward a breathtaking climax.
Mark Ziska, the visionary author behind Quantum, draws on a distinguished career in the U.S. defense industry and a lifetime of expertise in defense technology and law enforcement consulting. His deep understanding of quantum mechanics and relativity, refined during his studies at Oxford University, provides the scientific foundation for this gripping tale.
Coupled with his extensive world travels, Ziska crafts a story that seamlessly blends cutting-edge science, international intrigue, and the complexities of human connection. In Quantum, he masterfully intertwines the chemistry of love with the fusion of the atom, igniting a global race for the future of energy and power.
This compelling narrative showcases Ziska’s ability to bring his real-world experiences and knowledge to life, creating a thrilling exploration of science, strategy, and the human spirit.
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Book club and scientific thriller readers.
Mark Ziska brings a wealth of experience in leadership, strategy, and advanced defense systems to his writing, blending technical expertise with a deep understanding of global dynamics. A lifelong learner, Mark pursued studies in quantum physics at Oxford University’s Continuing Education program, further fueling his passion for scientific discovery and exploration. An avid traveler, Mark has journeyed extensively across the globe, drawing inspiration from diverse cultures and landscapes. His transformative experience hiking the Camino de Santiago—a pilgrimage renowned for its spiritual depth—served as the spark for his debut novel, Quantum. Through Quantum, Mark weaves together his fascination with science, his strategic insight, and his love of storytelling, creating a thrilling narrative that explores the boundaries of human ambition, discovery, and the interconnectedness of our world.
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Chapter 5 - Oxford University
Bodleian Library, Physics Club University of Oxford, Oxford England 18:00 04 August Bella’s 18th year of age
Oxford University was considered the epicenter of education in the English-speaking world, or so those at Oxford would have had others believe. It was true that the 39 colleges making up Oxford University had had a significant impact on the world. Many scholars referenced the beginning of teaching in Oxford as dating back to the establishment of the first Abbey. Formal documented teaching at Oxford could be traced to 1096, making it the oldest English-speaking university in the world. It was the second-oldest university overall, behind the University of Bologna in Italy.
In the 13th century, the first University Chancellor had been appointed, and the first college, University College—known simply as "Univ"—had been founded. However, this detail was disputed by Balliol and Merton Colleges, as all three were founded during the 13th century.
The colleges resembled what one might picture in the mind’s eye: antiquarian residence halls and meeting chambers, where students in long robes sat at long tables. The hierarchy of the college placed the Dons and Deans at a head table on a raised dais. Students were seated in rows at long tables running perpendicular to the head table so that all could see the power positioned at the dais.
The gothic buildings housing education, literature, research, administration, and worship appeared as they had for almost a millennium. The famous Bridge of Sighs, modeled after Venice’s Rialto Bridge, spanned a cobbled street connecting two university buildings. Gargoyles smiled down upon students as they meandered through the lush, verdant English midlands and the Cotswolds.
This was the world Bella entered during Week 0 (the week before the term began), referred to as Freshers’ Week, when new students descended upon the hallowed halls of the University of Oxford. Freshers’ Week was filled with tours, orientations, and registration, culminating in the annual Freshers’ Fair. This event allowed incoming students to explore the over 400 clubs and organizations suited to their interests outside their academic studies: sports, politics, literature, social events, punting, and, to Bella’s excitement, a physics club.
The Oxford Physics Club was meeting in a conference room at the Bodleian Library, the principal—although not the oldest—of Oxford’s many libraries. After signing up for the club, Bella crossed the quadrangle on her way to its first meeting. It was a rare, beautiful autumn day, sunny and temperate, which allowed her to wear her favorite red Aran cable knit jumper, skinny blue jeans, and matching red Repetto low-heeled ballet flats. Normally, the outfit was classic and proper, but on Bella, it resembled something out of a runway show as she crossed the quad. The eyes of both male and female Oxonians tracked her as she progressed.
She entered the library and took in its intoxicating atmosphere, which sunk deeply into her with a sense of joyful anticipation of the learning she was about to dive into. A gentleman holding the door for her carried a stiff, uncomfortable posture. She asked him for directions, and he stuttered, pointing a finger in the right direction.
“Thanks!” she said cheerfully before moving on, her energy perhaps a bit much for him.
She climbed the stairs, hearing the noise of conversations before she reached the meeting room. As she entered, she noticed the décor: polished wood, a large central table, and surrounding leather chairs that appeared both welcoming and intimidating to a Fresher. To Bella, it seemed like a place where Shakespeare and his contemporaries might have gathered.
The door squeaked as it closed behind her, and several heads turned in her direction. While a few continued their conversations, most of the noise stopped. The echoes of the quieter room seemed sharper. Bella calmly approached the group.
“Please,” she said politely, raising her arms slightly. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’m only here for the audition.”
The previously talkative young men stopped speaking, their collective faces momentarily intimidating—even for someone with Bella’s confidence.
An upperclassman eventually piped up. “Well, although this is an exclusive club, you’ve passed the audition!” He smiled warmly. “I’m Payman. Third year. Specializing in nuclear physics. Don’t be put off. Join us. We’re a friendly bunch.”
“Not the geeks so often generalized?” Bella asked with a teasing smile.
Payman chuckled confidently, and the other men began stepping up to introduce themselves. However, Bella turned to the two women in the room first and introduced herself to them.
“I always appreciate women in science,” she said warmly. “What are your names?”
A petite blonde with large glasses, responded comfortably. “Jenni, fourth year,” she said. “But with my interests, I’ll probably be here for a lifetime. Quantum physics and astrophysics—looking into new interstellar propulsion possibilities. Don’t mind the guys. They’re our mates, but women aren’t exactly their forte.”
The other woman, added with her right hand extended, “I’m Sarah, we women stand together, but honestly, you were right the first time. We’re all a bunch of geeks; the guys just think only men can be intellectually gifted. They’re playing above their league with us.”
“Mean,” Payman said casually. Bella smiled as Sarah pinched her tongue between her teeth.
“Really,” Sarah continued, “we’re all equals in this club. Sometimes women just have to take charge—and it’s easy with these guys!”
“Okay,” Jenni interjected, clearly amused. “Let’s be nice and welcome our prospective members, even those who have ‘already passed the audition.’ If you’re interested in physics, then you’re in.”
The ice was broken, and the budding physicists made their introductions. Jenni, who appeared to be something of a leader, discussed the club’s objectives. It quickly became clear to Bella that this was more of an intellectual think tank than a pseudo-social club. The discussions went beyond standard physics topics like energy, force, and power. They explored the expanding universe, the bending of the space-time continuum, antimatter, baryons, charmed quarks, and quantum indeterminacy. Bella felt at home and welcomed in this rarified intellectual company.
She turned to Jenni with a smile. “All kidding aside, my reference to John Lennon’s quote about the audition was more out of nervousness than anything. I wasn’t sure if I’d fit in, but you’ve been so welcoming. The ideas are challenging, and if you’ll have me, I’d like to join. I think I’ve found a place where I belong.”
“Of course, you passed the audition,” Jenni replied with a grin. “I look forward to getting to know you better, exchanging ideas, and challenging time and space. We girls need people like you. We stick together.”
As Jenni looked around, it was clear everyone was excited and engaged. There were even a few laughs. Then she suggested they retreat to The Turf, one of the oldest pubs in Oxford, to continue their conversations.
Chapter 10 - The Victory
Yacht Club Costa Smeralda’s (YCCS) Porto Cervo, Sardinia, Italy
09 September
17:30 Local Time
The ‘Falkin and its crew celebrated their victory as they cruised into their slip. Their triumph in the Maxi class of the Rolex Cup, was the pinnacle of yacht racing and the ultimate aspiration of every competitive sailor who yearned to reach the top of the sport. The crew basked in the knowledge that - on the water, the level of competition had been of the highest order. The race courses were some of the most challenging and spectacular in sailing, offering an unrivaled combination of competition, conditions, and scenery. Held at Yacht Club Costa Smeralda, off the coast of Porto Cervo, Sardinia—it was one of the most stunning and diverse places in Italy. Nestled in the Mediterranean to the west of the Italian mainland, the five days of competition had offered a program of primarily coastal races, allowing the fleet to navigate some of the world’s most impressive natural courses. The action unfolded in alluring waters, set against the wild, rocky islands and islets of the Maddalena archipelago.
The Maxi Yacht Rolex Cup embodied the very essence of superlative yacht racing. The environment, the organization, the yachts, and the participants were all exceptional. The crews comprised the world’s foremost sailors—a veritable who’s who of the yachting world. Even for those accustomed to success, victory at the Maxi Yacht Rolex Cup remained a significant achievement.
On the ‘Falkin, the crew was a mix of the owner's friends and professional racers, led by British and French sailors experienced in the America’s Cup and around-the-world races. In the true Corinthian spirit, the team celebrated their victory with a wide variety of spirits. When in Italy, Asti Spumante was the victory celebratory beverage, and the crew had happily partaken. Spirits weren’t the only draw of the evening; the natural beauty of the local women—many of whom were world-class sailors in their own right and present at the club for the post-race excitement—did not go unnoticed.
Lewis was Payman’s best mate on land and his first mate on the ‘Falkin. The two had known each other since their days at Oundle School, a primary school in the quaint historical town of Oundle, England. The two were opposites in almost every way, and when this was pointed out, one—or often both—of them would simply respond, “Opposites attract.”
Lewis was all muscle yet lanky, with fiery red hair and emerald-green eyes. An extrovert by nature, he was loved by everyone and had a natural magnetism. The life of the party, Lewis was not equally blessed with intellectual gifts. He attended Oundle largely because of his family’s influence rather than his academic abilities and was sometimes referred to as ‘frivolous.’ Despite their differences, Lewis had been by Payman’s side since they met.
Lewis had desperately wanted to be a sailor and asked his father, a wealthy import/export businessman, to allow him to spend summers learning to sail with Payman. Reluctantly, his father had agreed—with the condition that Lewis maintain a 5 rating in all his classes. Apparently, that was all the incentive Lewis needed. Though it had been a challenge, with Payman’s help, Lewis had worked hard and achieved the required 5’s. Payman, who regularly received 8’s and 9’s in his ratings, had happily tutored his friend through the process.
_____________
Once on land, the crew of the ‘Falkin celebrated under the warm but wanning glow of the Mediterranean sun. Porto Cervo, nestled along Sardinia’s rugged coastline, was alive with energy. The hum of luxury yachts echoed across the marina, their polished hulls gleaming in the light. The salty tang of the sea mingled with the rich aroma of freshly grilled seafood and the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine lining the streets. Nearby, glasses clinked as other teams toasted their efforts, laughter and lively conversation filling the air like a melody.
Beyond the bustling marina, the Maddalena archipelago stood as a striking backdrop, its rocky islands and jagged cliffs painted in hues of gold and orange as the sun began its slow descent. The evening light cast dramatic shadows over the wild landscape, creating a breathtaking contrast against the azure sea. Small fishing boats bobbed gently in the calm water, their nets stretched out to dry, while seagulls circled above, their cries blending seamlessly with the sounds of celebration.
At the Yacht Club Costa Smeralda, the energy was palpable. The iconic building, with its sleek white façade and terraced balconies, offered sweeping views of the harbor. Inside, the club buzzed with activity as sailors, locals, and visitors mingled. The air was a tantalizing mix of salt, perfume, and the earthy undertones of Sardinian wines. Candlelit tables spilled onto the patio, where couples leaned into one another, their conversations intimate yet animated.
As Payman took it all in, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. The location was unlike anywhere else—exceptional in its natural beauty, yet welcoming in its spirit of camaraderie. The victory combined with the setting that made the moment unforgettable. Above, the sky shifted into a gradient of deepening blue, stars beginning to shimmer faintly against the backdrop of the twilight.
Lewis greeted Payman with a bro-hug and a bottle of Spumante. “Cheers, mate! We did it! Oh my God, we did it!” Lewis beamed with pleasure and pride.
“We did it together,” Payman replied. “It’s really our celebration.”
Lewis turned to the gathering crew and raised his glass. “To our wives and sweethearts!”
The crew responded in unison, “May they never meet!” Laughter erupted as glasses clinked. Payman, loyal to Bella, blushed at the toast but chose to highlight the crew’s accomplishments.
“As with any contest of speed, precision is key,” he said. “We raced with precision and determination. With several Super Maxis withdrawing due to technical failures, this was a war of attrition. A big hand to the crew and Chris, our maintenance director, for ensuring everything stayed in perfect working order.”
Laughter and cheers echoed through the crowd as Payman raised his glass again. “To the best sailing team on any sea!”
The crew erupted in cheers, their voices blending with the lively marina ambiance. Payman continued, “Coming to Sardinia, working together as one, we conquered one of the most challenging courses we’ll ever face. Now let’s enjoy this Sardinian evening!”
“Here, here!” the crew roared, their camaraderie unmistakable.
Payman chuckled as he spotted Lewis returning, flanked by two stunning local women. Lewis, ever the charmer, introduced them. “Payman, meet Francisca and Maria. Ladies, this is our skipper and my best mate, Payman. They’ve been cheering for us every day!”
The women laughed warmly. “You both enjoy sailing then?” Payman asked.
“Hell yeah!” Maria replied enthusiastically, her hazel eyes sparkling. “We both sail on our own team. The races here were incredible.”
Payman admired their athletic builds, noting the strength in their shoulders and arms, certainly sailors. “And now,” Lewis interjected, “we’re off to Francisca’s family restaurant for the best seafood you’ll ever taste, made with love by her brothers, the chefs!”
Payman, caught between the emotions of victory and the charm of the two women, smiled. “Hello, Francisca and Maria. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I thought our ship was the most beautiful thing in the world, but you’ve made me rethink that.”
The women laughed, and even Lewis looked impressed. Payman continued, “How about joining us on board for a toast? Lewis can give you a tour of our victorious but slightly messy boat.”
Lewis eagerly agreed, saying, “Can’t turn down an invitation from the captain, surely.”
As they boarded the ‘Falkin, the women showed their appreciation for what they saw, while Lewis enthusiastically demonstrated its features. Moving from the racing deck to the creature comforts, they explored every corner. There were two identical berths in the bow, one each for the captain and the first mate. Lewis, eager to impress Maria, quickly showed her his bunk. To Payman’s surprise, it was perfectly made and spotless—Lewis must’ve enlisted a deckhand and had tidied it beforehand. Now Payman understood; Lewis clearly had intentions beyond the usual camaraderie.
All around the deck, the crew bustled with energy. Some were cleaning and stowing gear, while others prepared the boat for the journey home to Plymouth. Several of the crew had been sent ashore to shop for the freshest vegetables, meats, and, naturally, a generous supply of Italian wines.
Amid the flurry of activity, Chris, the maintenance director, approached Payman with a rare grin. “Skipper, I think we deserve some kind of engineering medal. Keeping this beauty in one piece during those winds? Miraculous.”
Payman smirked, clapping Chris on the shoulder. “You pulled it off, Chris. A well-oiled machine, thanks to you.”
Nearby, one of the younger deckhands, Marco, leaned against the railing, catching his breath. “Captain,” he called out with a cheeky grin, “thanks for not pushing us too hard out there. Easiest race of my life.”
The crew erupted in laughter, fully aware that they’d worked harder than ever before. Another sailor, Jake, chimed in, “Yeah, Marco here only missed two trims this time.”
“Three, actually,” Marco admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender.
Payman chuckled, shaking his head. “You all gave it everything. That’s why we’re standing here, victorious. Well done, everyone.”
The camaraderie was touching, the kind of bond forged only through shared trials and triumphs.
_____________
Later, to allow the crew some downtime and space to prepare the boat, Payman, Lewis, and their guests stepped ashore. The streets of Porto Cervo beckoned them with their winding cobblestones and glowing lamplights, casting a soft, golden hue on the picturesque town. The warm air carried the mingling scents of saltwater, freshly baked bread, and blooming jasmine. Musicians played lively tunes at corners, their melodies weaving through the laughter and chatter of locals and visitors alike. Some free sprits danced as the music moved them.
As they strolled, Francesca took the lead, guiding them through narrow alleys that opened to breathtaking views of the harbor. The group paused momentarily at a quaint square, where a fountain trickled serenely. Children chased one another in circles, their giggles adding to the charm of the scene. Payman found himself admiring the quiet elegance of the town, its simplicity contrasting beautifully with the adrenaline-filled race earlier in the day.
“This way,” Francesca said, turning down another narrow street. She gestured to a warmly lit building with colorful awnings. “Welcome to my family’s restaurant.”
The small establishment exuded warmth and authenticity. A wooden sign above the door read Trattoria della Costa, and the air was rich with the aroma of garlic, olive oil, and fresh herbs. Inside, the atmosphere was intimate, with rustic wooden tables adorned with checkered cloths and small vases of fresh wildflowers. The walls were lined with photographs of the Maddalena archipelago and Francesca’s family, capturing decades of love and hard work.
As they entered, Francesca’s parents, a jovial couple with kind eyes and welcoming smiles, approached with open arms. “Ciao, benvenuti e congratulazioni ai campioni Rolex! Benvenuti!” her father exclaimed, shaking Payman and Lewis’s hands firmly. Her mother embraced Francesca warmly before turning to Maria with equal enthusiasm.
“Francesca has told us about your great victory,” her mother said in accented English. “Tonight, you will eat like champions!”
Even as an outsider, Payman could sense the pride and hospitality radiating from Francesca’s parents, who treated them like VIPs. They were ushered to a corner table near the open kitchen, where the aroma of sizzling garlic and the clatter of pans added to the lively ambiance. The restaurant buzzed with energy as diners raised glasses and shared hearty laughter, a celebration of life’s simple pleasures.
The meal began with a selection of antipasti: marinated artichokes, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, and freshly baked focaccia drizzled with olive oil. The group toasted with glasses of crisp Vermentino, the local white wine, and the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Francesca’s brothers, the chefs, occasionally peeked from the kitchen to wave at the table, their faces beaming with pride.
When the main course arrived, it was nothing short of a masterpiece. Payman’s seafood and vegetable risotto glistened with a medley of colors: vibrant orange shrimp, tender white scallops, and the deep green of freshly chopped parsley. The dish was paired with an unusual yet exquisite red wine, its rich, earthy notes complementing the delicate flavors of the seafood. Payman took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring the harmony of textures and flavors.
“This is divine,” he said, setting his fork down momentarily. “I’m beginning to think your chef might actually be a minor deity.”
Francesca laughed, her cheeks flushing with pride. “That would be my brothers. They’ll be pleased to hear that. It will swell their heads.”
As the evening progressed, the group felt increasingly at home. Francesca’s father visited the table with tales of Sardinia’s history and the Maddalena archipelago, his deep, sonorous voice drawing them in. Maria and Lewis engaged in playful banter, their laughter frequently drawing glances—and smiles—from nearby tables. Payman, ever the introverted gentleman, listened more than he spoke but found himself charmed by the warmth and simplicity of the evening.
When dessert arrived—a platter of seadas, traditional Sardinian pastries filled with cheese and drizzled with honey—the group couldn’t resist digging in, their conversation pausing briefly as they indulged in the sweet, tangy treat. Francesca assured them the meal was on the house, but Payman, ever gracious, discreetly left a handful of 100-Euro notes on the table for the servers and kitchen staff.
As they exited the restaurant, their spirits were high. A group of locals, clearly impressed by the ‘Falkin's victory, raised their glasses in a toast. “Salute! Buonanotte ai vincitori della Rolex Cup! Meraviglioso.”
Lewis, ever the charmer, took a proffered glass of spumante, clinked glasses with the men, and, to everyone’s surprise, replied in flawless Italian, “Grazie. Saluti. Ora aspettiamo l’anno prossimo! Arrivederci per ora. Ciao.” (Thank you. Cheers. Now we look forward to next year! Goodbye for now.)
On the cobblestoned street, the warm night air embraced them, and the faint sound of waves lapping against the harbor added a soothing rhythm to their walk. Payman glanced at Francesca, who walked quietly beside him, her smile soft and genuine. For a moment, he allowed himself to appreciate the simple beauty of the evening—the camaraderie, the celebration, and the joy of a shared victory in such an enchanting place.
The group strolled the cobbled streets of Porto Cervo under a sky thick with stars. The warmth of the day lingered in the air, and the distant sound of waves lapping against the marina added a soothing backdrop to their quiet laughter. Francisca slowed her steps as the harbor came into view, letting the others walk ahead.
“You know,” she began, her tone light but probing, “you’re not what I expected from a racing skipper. Aren’t captains supposed to be loud and commanding, like something out of a pirate movie?”
Payman chuckled softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve found that a calm captain usually has a calmer crew. Besides, I save the theatrics for the big wins.”
She stopped and turned to face him, her hazel eyes searching his. “So, what’s the act now? Serious captain, heading straight back to the ship?”
His smile faltered slightly, and he hesitated before answering. “A good captain knows when to celebrate and when to prepare for the next leg. And for me, that’s tomorrow.”
Francisca tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You’re a hard man to read, Payman. One moment, I feel like I’m getting to know you, and the next, you’re back to being this perfectly polished skipper.”
He met her gaze, his Mediterranean blue eyes softening. “Maybe I just like to keep people guessing.”
She let out a light laugh, but there was a trace of disappointment in her expression. “Well, you’ve certainly succeeded. I don’t know if I should feel flattered or frustrated.”
Payman stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “You should feel neither. You’ve been a wonderful part of this evening, and I’m grateful for your company. But as captain, my responsibility is to my crew and my ship. They depend on me.”
Francisca lingered for a moment, her gaze held his. She nodded, her playful demeanor giving way to something more sincere. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think your crew is lucky to have you. And so is… whoever has your heart.”
Payman blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He recovered quickly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Francisca. That means more than you know.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, her lips warm against his skin. “Buona notte, Captain,” she whispered. Then, without another word, she turned and walked back toward the restaurant, leaving him standing there, watching her until she disappeared into the soft glow of the streetlights.
For a moment, Payman remained where he was, his thoughts tugging him in conflicting directions. The echoes of Bella’s laughter filled his mind, grounding him in the loyalty he held so dear. Lewis and Maria were nowhere to be seen, off on their own festivities. With a deep breath, he turned and made his way back to the ‘Falkin, ready to face the morning and all it would bring.
Chapter 58 - The Cavalry
Camp David Presidential Retreat
Frederick County, Maryland
10 February
19:03 Local Time
On the ground in Arizona the firefight intensified, with each side exchanging volleys of gunfire. The fusillade of shots echoed off the walls of the narrow valley walls and chipped granite boulders where the last defenders had taken cover. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp scent of gunpowder. Overhead, a drone buzzed, its cameras feeding live footage back to a command center. It was through this surveillance that the confirmation came in: the attackers are indeed elite Iranian commandos, their faces recognized and matched within seconds through facial recognition software.
Gandhi now stood stands slightly apart from the others, his focus on the input coming through his headphones. Despite the chaos surrounding him, he maintained a settled posture. His eyes gave nothing away as they flickered from screen to screen. He focused on the screen displaying the drone footage and the Iranians. The information is critical, yet he absorbs it without visible reaction, a testament to his extensive training and experience in high-stress environments.
The president, observing the almost imperceptible stiffening of Gandhi's posture. Her experience tells her that Gandhi just received a piece of pivotal information. Her voice, when she speaks, a mix of authority and urgency.
"Gandhi, report,” President Wynn ordered. “What's the situation?”
Gandhi turns slightly, acknowledging her with a nod before responding. “Madam President, the commandos are not acting alone. Intel suggests they are a diversion—a part of a larger strategy. There are indications of a cyber-attack targeting our financial and national lab infrastructures, timed to coincide with this assault."
The revelation sends a chill through the situation room. The stakes are higher than anticipated, and the firefight was just the visible tip of the spear. The president's face hardened, her resolve firming. “Prepare all units for a multi-front defense. Gandhi, I want to solve the Arizona situation now and I want options for next steps on the table in five minutes. Please get the strategists spun up on already existing plans. Implement defensive and offensive responses. This Arizona thing must end now! And get me the sit rep on the cyber-attack too."
Gandhi nodded and relays the direction from the president back to the teams. Observing the screens for a moment, it seemed to Bella that the commandos had gained a tactical advantage and were within meters of breaching the lab perimeter. The multiple screens show the continued firefight and the frantic activity in the command center and cyber-defense wing.
________
On the ground in Arizona, the distant thump of HH-60G Pave Hawk helicopter blades cutting through the air began to swell. Reinforcements from DM are on approach, vital support the beleaguered defenders desperately needed. Not just any reinforcements but the elite Guardian Angels spec ops. As the rotors' echo grows louder, it mingled with the relentless crackle of gunfire, weaving a complex tapestry of hope and conflict.
The defenders, now a mix of seasoned warriors, battle tested special operations team members and those they affectionately called guardian angels. They understand all too well the gravity of their predicament. Additionally unmanned drones equipped with precision small payload bombs are enroute. USAF F35 fighters fly high altitude top cover.
News spreads quickly among their ranks—the Iranian commandos, sensing it’s now or never, struck in an escalation of the conflict, daring to bring the fight directly to their mountain stronghold and its defenders. Such boldness is unsettling, and the fact that the president had invoked the Posse Comitatus Act means this is no ordinary skirmish; it was a full-scale invasion on our soil with an unprecedented counter defense.
An RPG exploded near the exterior blast-proof door of the lab. Then another, then another. Bullets and granite shards ricocheted through the air. Smoke and the acrid smell of explosives filled the mountain forest. The overwhelming smell was as sharp as a finely honed KA BAR combat blade and just as threatening. The brave defenders were clearly outgunned, and it was clear these were terrorists were willing to die for their cause. Suicide fighters. The combined defense force will not let the attackers prevail.
_____
The situation room is bathed in the ghostly glow of multiple monitors, each displaying a different angle of the chaos. The scenes captured on these screens were chilling: the Iranian commandos move with lethal precision, their coordination impeccable. They keep coming, they must have reinforcements and additional munitions stowed in mountain caves. This was a well-planned attack. The bad guys continue the upper hand. It shows. Each frame of the live feed underscores their advantage. They, having breached defenses that had been thought impregnable.
Gandhi, his gaze fixed on the largest of the screens, analyzed their movements, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach. The defenders, despite their courage and skill, were being systematically pushed back and outmaneuvered at every turn. The Iranians’ tactics were ruthless and meticulously planned, leaving little room for the defenders to regroup or counterattack.
_______
On the mountain, the rumble of the helicopter side gunners oppressive fire from their GAU-21 .50 caliber machine guns was a deafening roar. Two additional tactical helicopters sliced through the gray sky, arriving just in time to tilt the balance of the fight. Swinging into action, they unleashed a barrage of gunfire against the known positions of the Iranian commandos. Bullets rain down with precise fury, churning the earth and forcing the commandos into cover.
This aggressive onslaught provided a critical moment of respite for the defenders on the ground, creating what could be considered the first semblance of a safe zone in the heat of battle. It was a calculated risk, but one that paid off as it paved the way for the next phase of the operation.
A third and fourth helicopter approached, hovering deftly over a designated clearing, their blades whipping the volatile air into a frenzy. With the enemy momentarily pinned down, the doors of these helicopters swung open and fast ropes were thrown out. Rappelling down swiftly were reinforcements—more warfighters along with additional guardian angels, including the medics known for their bravery and swift action under fire. The medics with pre arrival intelligence know where to find the injured defenders and provide battlefield relief to their downed countrymen. They work with an urgency dictated by the rhythm of the ongoing gunfire, stabilized injuries and pulled others to safety.
The air force troops fanned out, taking positions and reinforcing the beleaguered defenders. The presence of fresh forces breathed new life into those who have been holding the line, their morale bolstered by the sight of their comrades arriving to share the burden of battle.
With reinforcements on the ground and a strategic advantage regained, the tide of the battle began to turn. The defenders, energized with the additional support, launched a counteroffensive. Defenders moved with renewed vigor, pressing forward, reclaiming territory foot by precious foot. Under the cover of helicopter gunships and the relentless determination of their ground forces, they started to gain the upper hand.
The commandos, caught off-guard by the ferocity and timing of the counterattack, find themselves on the defensive. The battle's momentum shifted, and for the first time since the onset of the attack, hope surged among the defenders. They were not just surviving now; they were fighting back with a chance to win.
__________
As the videos screens in the command center displayed the defenders’ rallying, coordinating with the incoming reinforcements, Gandhi’s headset buzzed with surprising news. He listened intently with his back to the conference table, away from the chaos of the screen and the ongoing live dialog from the firefight. The voice on the other end was terse and urgent, bearing news that twists the already knotted situation further.
Gandhi placed his comms on speaker mode. “We have confirmation on the identity of the commando leader,” the intelligence officer reported. “It’s Payman.”
Gandhi's brow furrowed deeply, the name hitting him like a physical blow, “Payman? But intel reported him dead last year.”
“Apparently, those reports were mistaken,” the officer replied, a mix of frustration and disbelief in his tone. “He's very much alive, and leading this assault.”
The battlefield was chaos, but amidst the disarray, a clear signal emerged: the remaining commandos were in full retreat. Drone feeds streamed live footage of the battleground, revealing the grim aftermath—many of the attackers lay dead or grievously wounded, their movements sluggish and defeated. Amidst the scattered and broken, one feed zoomed in on a figure that made Bella's heart stop. There, limping away but unmistakably alive, was Payman.
"It's real... he's alive," Bella shouts, disbelief etching her voice. Gandhi, standing next to her, stared at the screen, his expression hardening. "He didn't perish in the crevasse on the Swiss glacier," he murmured. "It was all a ruse, a deception." Gandhi placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Bella felt profound betrayal, a stinging pain gnawed at her from inside. In a sudden surge of anger, rising from her seat, she rips the Rolex Sky-Dweller watch from her wrist—a gift she had selected for Payman, once a symbol of love, now a mark of duplicity—and hurls it at the monitor. The heavy watch strikes the screen with a thud, the image of Payman obscured by destroyed LEDs. A Secret Service agent, trained for sudden threats, moved instinctively toward Bella, his hand reaching out to intercept any further actions.
Bella's scream cut through the tension. “You bastard, fucking liar!”
As it became clear that there was no physical threat to the dignitaries, only the raw outburst of a wounded heart, the atmosphere shifted from alert to somber understanding. The president approached with a gentle expression and wrapped an arm around Bella's shoulders, drawing her into a comforting embrace.
“I feel for you, young lady,” the president said softly. “Men can have their faults.”
Around them, the situation room slowly settled back into focusing on the retreat and the securing of the area. But for Bella, this moment marks a personal turning point, the emotional battleground proving just as harrowing as the physical one the defenders have begun to master.
_________
Gandhi continued relaying information to the group. Bella took a seat back, quietly sobbing into Jack’s arms. Calmed both by President Wynn and Jack. She is fuming, definitely not over the situation.
Prime Minister Jennings picked up the watch and handed it to Jack. “This watch looks valuable. Sturdy at least. Put it in your pocket, save it for a better day.”
Jack, wondering how to approach the lack of tact, answered awkwardly, “Okay, yes, good money was spent on it.”
“I’ve often heard the President say that if all of us leaders were women we wouldn’t have such brutal wars,” Jennings said. “Maybe we need more women in charge. I’ll let one have my job.” He finished with an audible chuckle.
They continued to observe two different screens: the mountain command center; and the cyber team. Each team tense, with analysts and military strategists murmuring amongst themselves, their centers brilliant with multiple screens providing each with the information they needed to deal with unique threats.
Each center is ringed by live operational screens specific to their tasks—one tracking a firefight in Arizona, the other managing the cyber-attack. The rapid typing of keys and the urgent scribbling of notes fills the air with a sense of anticipation. Well-orchestrated like a symphony.
A small celebration erupted from the cyber team; Gandhi confirmed that the cyber threat had been neutralized and their focus had shifted to retaliatory measures. Meanwhile, the firefight in Arizona has turned. The adversaries have retreated, taking cover amidst what locally was known as the ‘City of Rocks’, a massive forest of granite boulders. The search for the bad guys continued, boulder by boulder, just like clearing a structure. The search for Payman was unsuccessful. Despite their efforts, the drones overhead failed to pick up any adversary heat signatures or movement. Seven Iranian commando bodies had been recovered. Two additional wounded were taken into custody for later interrogation.
Two HRT team members were killed. Four others had been airlifted to a medical facility by the guardian angels. The air force combat teams had retreated to bring the wounded to DM. The remaining team members began fortifying the defenses. The clean-up begins.
For the moment, the immediate threat from the intruders had been neutralized. Several seem to have vanished, with the team speculated that the assailants might have taken refuge in an abandoned mine shaft. A thorough search would have to be conducted for them following the firefight debriefing. Guards were posted to ensure a follow up attack could not happen. The cyber-attack has been decisively quashed. Now, is a moment for everyone—from the fighters in Arizona to the analysts and strategists in the command centers, and even the president and her advisors in the situation room—to take a collective breath, savor the victories, and steel themselves for the next challenges.
Bella, still seething with anger, glowered at the report that Payman might have eluded death, and allowed herself to remain in Jack’s comforting arms.
“Wild!!! It really has a Da Vinci Code flow.” – Beta reader
“Dude — you know so much about EVERYTHING! It reads like a Dan …
I can't wait to read your 2nd book! Best wishes! M.
on Jan. 6, 2025, 8:48 p.m.
Exciting Mark! Can't wait to read it.