Chapter One

The villa sitting on the edge of an oceanfront cliff on the Hamakua Coast of the Big Island of Hawaii had a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean to the east. It was owned by a grateful client of Adam Drake’s who had made it available to him for a short vacation. He had needed a little R&R after a particularly hellish week.

A band of radicalized female college students, recruited by ISIS, had planned to massacre Catholic parishioners while they worshipped at mass in Portland, Oregon. Drake and an FBI agent, aided by a team from Puget Sound Security where he served as special counsel, had uncovered the plot and stopped the terrorists.

The man who recruited the young women, a Muslim computer science professor at their college, had fled to Roatan, an island in the Caribbean, to avoid capture. When his hideaway was discovered, Drake and his team had flown there in the PSS Gulfstream. Allowed to choose between a trip to Gitmo, if they turned him over to the U.S. Army stationed in nearby Honduras, and voluntarily returning to face federal charges in the U.S., the professor had wisely agreed to return with them to Oregon.

An inquisitive press wanted to know why and how Drake and PSS had been involved, and taking a short vacation allowed him to avoid their questions.  The Big Island was the perfect place to vacation. Lush tropical beauty surrounded the secluded villa and he was there in the company of the woman he loved.

Liz Strobel was sitting on the other side of a teak patio table on the villa’s lanai, wearing a white bikini and eating a blueberry croissant. She was stunningly beautiful, and he knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it.

When she turned and saw him looking at her, she smiled. “Are you enjoying the view as much as I am?”

Drake winked. “Probably more so. I’ve always loved looking at beautiful things, the endless blue ocean … a woman in a white bikini.”

“You’re such a gentleman. What would you like to do today? We could stay here and relax or go to the botanical gardens.”

“Let’s see the gardens tomorrow. The guy who owns the best helicopter charter service here is a friend. He flew a helicopter in the 160^th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, the NightStalkers. He was air support on some of the missions Mike Casey and I were on in Delta Force. His name is Riley Bishop, and he’ll be here at ten o’clock to fly us over the volcano and that incredible lava flow.”

Liz reached across and turned his wrist over to look at his watch. “We have an hour and a half. Why don’t you get your swimsuit on and join me in the pool? You could use a little sun,” she said with a smile.

It was Drake’s turn to smile. He was wearing cargo shorts and a blue polo shirt. He’d been wearing less than that the night before.

When he joined her minutes later, she was standing on the far side of the infinity pool. Her chin was laying atop her folded hands and seemed to be resting on the horizon. He dove in and came up beside her.

Brushing his hair back out of his eyes, he said, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“I can’t get the young women who died last week out of my mind. What makes college students want to be jihadists and kill people?”

“Terrorist recruiters offer them whatever they’re seeking. If a woman sees herself as a victim, it’s a chance to get back at whoever, or whatever, they feel victimized them—a society that doesn’t value them or their religion; men who have abused them; friends who have turned their backs on them. ISIS does it, but terrorist groups have been doing the same thing for a long time.”

“Will it ever stop?”

Drake slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Not any time soon. In the meantime, why don’t we get out? You could use a little sun to get rid of those tan lines that I’ve noticed. I’ll be happy to put sun lotion on for you.”

“Once again, you’re such a gentleman.”