1

Jordan never dreamed he’d enjoy France this much. It stood against everything he believed in. Or everything they programmed me to believe in, he thought. I mean, the French are a bunch of cheese-eating surrender monkeys!

He smiled. He liked that line. It was from an old TV show. Smiling at all was a welcomed change for Jordan. A lot had changed for him in the last eighteen months. The ambush, the trauma, the aftermath. Executive Command had blamed him for the disastrous raid, of course. He agreed he’d made some mistakes, but he’d thought the Army was a brotherhood.

One for all, all for one, and all that shit.

Instead, they’d fucked him. Turned their backs on him. Made him their fall guy and destroyed his psyche and his career. Still, it was amazing how a person could rebuild. His French shrink called it “metanoia.” Whatever it was, it had surprised Jordan. He never imagined he’d make it out of the fiasco with his sanity intact.

Yet here he was on the Seine, watching swans drift by as the wind swept back his light brown hair. The air smelled of fresh lilacs, the pace was slow, and the people were nice. Better still, for the first time in his life, he was alone.

No one depending on him. No one to save.

He sipped his Cafe Francais—a mix of coffee and cognac—as a text box appeared in his vision.

VIDEO CALL (UNKNOWN ORIGIN)

Damn, I should’ve left the earpiece at home, he thought. Jordan considered ignoring the call. He never answered calls from unknown origins, but it could be one of his new French friends. “Answer,” he sighed. “Make opacity forty percent.” Jordan took a deep breath. “Bonjournooooooo!” he exclaimed with an exaggerated French accent.

His brother’s translucent image appeared in his vision. Jordan groaned and felt his mood plummet. Ethan was the last person he wanted to hear from.

“It’s about Dad.”

“What?” Jordan asked sarcastically. “Did they promote him higher than CEO?”

“Jesus, you haven’t heard anything?”

Jordan gulped his Cafe Francais and watched as a French boy dashed across the boardwalk toward a woman wearing a blue dress. The woman glared at Jordan suspiciously. He understood her apprehension. France had categorically rejected IID implants, and most of their citizens didn’t use the devices. But Jordan did. And to that woman, he was a strange man with wires sticking out of his head, talking into thin air. “No, Ethan,” he answered. “Who would I be hearing from? And, besides, I’ve been off the radar the past few weeks.” And don’t expect me to be concerned about dear old Dad, he thought. He’s one of the reasons I’m out here, on this self-imposed exile, to begin with. Do you remember that, Ethan? You, little brother, you made the grade. Me… not so much.

“Dad’s been missing for days,” his brother said.

“Well, Ethan,” Jordan said wistfully, “I’ll let you know if he turns up.”

Behind his brother’s image, he saw that the French boy had reached his mother now, and they began strolling along the boardwalk. It’s so peaceful here, he thought. I think I’m gonna hang up now, little brother—

“They know where Dad is. I’ll be on the team going in to rescue him and I want you with me.”

Jordan laughed. “You may have heard. I’m not in the military anymore.”

“Look,” Ethan replied, “I don’t blame you for what happened—”

“Well, that makes one of you,” Jordan muttered and took another swig of his coffee.

“Listen to me.” His brother was getting agitated. “You and Dad might have had a falling out, but he’s still our father and he’s in big trouble. Jordan, I need you to cover my back. This one isn’t exactly textbook.”

“Okay, okay, little brother,” Jordan said, using a phrase he knew Ethan hated. “So, where is Dad being held?”

Jordan took another sip as he listened, then spat out his coffee.

2

After speaking with his brother, Jordan made arrangements for the next flight back to the states, but he was apprehensive about his decision. It had taken months to get himself returned to some version of normal. Now he was going to jump right back into the fire. And he was doing it… for Ethan. “Who woulda thunk it,” Jordan muttered to himself. A French couple passed him on the boardwalk and looked at him suspiciously. He scowled at them in response.

The day’s pleasant vibe was gone, his mood was sullen, and Jordan decided he was done taking anyone’s scorn. So what if I have IIDs sticking out of my head? he thought. Mind your own fucking business! Jordan sighed and wondered why he suddenly felt like an outsider. That was something he had never experienced in his time in Paris. Was it Ethan’s call that changed it? He shook his head. That makes no sense, Jordan.

Still, the sky was becoming overcast, seeming to refute his own objection. His shoe heels clicked on the weathered boardwalk as he walked back to his pied-à-terre, the small apartment he rented. A cold wind blew up from the river, pressing his white shirt against his chest. It would be nightfall soon. He’d need to pack, then head to bed early for the morning flight. Another couple passed him, staring at him disdainfully.

What the fuck?

Jordan chuckled at the absurdity of it all. “Goddamn pathetic fallacy,” he complained. And that made him laugh out loud. Now, the Parisians were giving him a wide berth. Jordan shook his head and chuckled again. “Call Francine,” he spoke into his mic, hoping to see one of his friends before he left Paris. In the lower-right side of his field of vision, a text window appeared with the word “Calling…” flashing in blue. Jordan’s pace slowed as he waited for her to answer. He gazed out at the Seine. It looked different now. Less welcoming.

“Pick up, Francine,” he whispered.

After ten beeps, Jordan ended the call.

He tried Henri next. Henri had been the first person to befriend him in Paris. He was a kind man, older than Jordan. The call went to Henri’s personal message. “Bonjour, vous êtes bien sur le répondeur de Henri. Je ne peux pas vous répondre pour le mom…”

Jordan disconnected the call without leaving a message. “Fuckin’ figures,” he muttered. Before turning down his street, Jordan stopped at the Pont Alexandre III, a famous bridge that crossed the Seine. “One last moment to enjoy Paris,” he sighed.

He gazed at the massive gilt-bronze statues that decorated the edges of the bridge. They dated back to the nineteenth century. Their golden color gleamed brightly in the twilight. He stared at the contour of the statues and then gasped.

“I’ll be damned,” Jordan whispered.

He stumbled onto the bridge, gaping at the statues. Although he had seen them before, he’d never realized that they were sculpted mythological creatures. As he shuffled along the bridge’s walkway, nymphs, sea monsters, angels, and winged horses stared back at him from their iron and stone pedestals.

3

Fifteen minutes later, Jordan stepped off the bridge, feeling disoriented, and walked down the street toward his apartment. White ornate limestone buildings lined up on both sides of the cobblestone street. The scent of freshly baked bread made his mouth water.

On the way, Jordan called his shrink and landlord, leaving messages for both of them. The sun was setting as he passed through the main wooden doors of his apartment building and climbed the stairs up to the eighth floor. Jordan walked into his kitchen, grabbing a glass of red wine and a piece of bread, then stepped out onto the tiny wraparound balcony that overlooked the street. The view was impressive. He stood near the edge of the black iron railing as the sun burst yellow hues across the Parisian metropolis. The Eiffel Tower, only two miles away, was the only structure that rose above the skyline of Haussmannian buildings.

Jordan bit off some bread and washed it down with the cabernet. As he observed the city, the sun’s rays changed to pink and then purple. A cool breeze drifted by, not chilling him this time, but refreshing him. The strange sensation that he was an outsider left him. He felt at home once again. He didn’t want to leave France, and knew it was solely his decision to make.

But Ethan was the one who’d gotten him out of the mess in Nigeria, after the failed raid. If it wasn’t for him, Jordan would have faced a court-martial.

“And here I am,” he muttered. Although he had spent most of his life clashing with Ethan, even hating him, he felt indebted to his brother now. “Let that go,” he whispered. “Do what’s best for you, Jordan.” He scoffed at the idea.

The last bands of purple vanished from the deep blue sky and the lights on the Eiffel Tower switched on. Orange, yellow, and gold hues illuminated the steel structure. Jordan exhaled. He waited for what he knew was next. As the blue sky shifted to indigo, the Eiffel Tower lit up like a Christmas Tree. Hundreds of sparkling lights flicked on, dancing and flickering throughout the structure. In the distance, he heard cheers rise from the streets.

Jordan ate more bread and drank the wine. “City of lights,” he whispered.

He stood there for another hour, ignoring the small wicker chairs that adorned the balcony. At one point, he tried to reach his friends again, but it was as if they’d disappeared. As the sky darkened and the tower shone more brilliantly, Jordan turned and walked back into his apartment to pack.