The War Planners

Andrew Watts

Contents (8)

The War Planners

Andrew Watts

First edition 2014.

Photo: POA(Phot) Owen King/MOD

CHAPTER 1 “In war, truth is the first casualty.” -Aeschylus

Present Day

David Manning was kidnapped outside his Vienna, Virginia home on a Friday evening just after he drove home from work.

He had texted his wife to tell her that he was leaving, then he went to pick up their ritual Friday dinner. Pizza night had become a favorite end of week routine for his family. He turned on to I-66 heading west just as the glow of his cell phone lit up the inside of his car. He swiped across the screen to answer, and his wife Lindsay’s voice came over the car’s speakers.

“Hi honey.” she said.

“Hey Lins. How was your day?”

“Pretty good. But now your daughter has decided that the dog is a pony. She keeps chasing it around the house, and trying to ride it. Apparently she picked it up from a TV show.”

“Uh-oh. Maybe we should have gotten a bigger dog?” David smiled, picturing his mischievous daughter and the unfortunate Jack Russell terrier.

“I’m looking forward to date night on the couch tonight. I’ve got the movie all picked out. It’s a chick flick. You’ve been travelling too much. You owe me.”

“Anything you say, babe.” He smiled to himself.

“Hi daddy!” came his daughter’s voice.

“Hey Maddie. How’s it going? Are you being good to the doggy?”

“Yeeesss.”

“Your mom said that you—”

Click. His phone’s screen went red, signaling that the call had ended.

David smiled and shook his head. No need to call back. He would be home soon. David’s calls were often ended prematurely when his three-year-old daughter got the phone. She loved that red button. It was like the phone makers designed it to tempt kids to press. Oh well.

David scrolled through his radio and landed on NPR. They were replaying a news story that he had heard this morning on China beginning to unload much of the American debt that it owned. China’s steel production had also slowed. U.S. markets were getting jittery. They quoted the usual experts who gave their opinions on whether catastrophe was waiting around the corner. David flipped the radio to the oldies channel.

Traffic was heavy. Rain began sprinkling the windshield, blurring the red taillights ahead. I-66 was moving, but slowly. After about twenty minutes of driving he took the Nutley exit towards Vienna.

Joe’s Pizza and Pasta was at the intersection of Nutley Street and Maple Avenue. He pulled into the parking lot and walked inside. The bustle of a Friday night in the suburbs sounded off. Loud conversations drowned out soft rock. Waitresses delivered plastic pitchers of soda and crushed ice. Families stuffed their mouths with salad and hot slices of pepperoni and mozzarella.

The pizzeria employees knew David by sight.

“Hey, Mr. Manning! The usual, eh?” said the mustached man behind the register. It looked like he had a young cousin next to him, learning the ropes.