Page 3 of Saving Noor
A soft knock on the door frame made him jump.
“Sammy?” Rhys, Bear’s eleven-year-old son, poked his head in, holding a tangled mess of wires and propellers. “My drone’s acting up again. The gyro is drifting left. You think you can—?”
Rhys stopped, his excited grin fading. His gaze, usually bright with curiosity, sharpened on Sammy’s pale face, the sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. “Woah. You okay, Sammy? You look like you just wrestled a ghost.”
Sammy forced a smile, pushing the lingering dread of the nightmare into a mental box. “Just a bad dream, R. Too much late-night coding, maybe.” He reached out, taking the drone.
The cool plastic and circuitry, familiar and concrete, helped ground him. “What’s the trouble here? The gyro’s probably off because it needs recalibrating. You don’t need me. Remember that YouTube channel? Pull it up. You’re smarter than you think, Rhys.”
Rhys’s eyes lit up with renewed confidence. “Really? You think I can?”
Sammy nodded. “Absolutely. Just follow the steps carefully.”
Rhys grinned, the worry sliding off his face. “Thanks, Sammy. I’ll totally give it a shot.”
Sammy smirked and bumped his fist. “Nice. Just don’t turn it into a total disaster. I don’t wanna be the drone doctor for a bigger mess when I get back.”
Rhys laughed softly. “Deal. But if I nail it first try, don’t get jealous.”
Sammy rolled his eyes with a grin. “We’ll see. Help me grab my stuff.”
Rhys’s smile faded as he lowered his voice. “Is it time?”
Sammy nodded, glancing at his tactical gear slumped against the wall. “Yeah. Can you check that my computer stuff’s all packed in the other bag?”
Rhys gave a quick thumbs up. “Got it. Hey, do you need the extra battery pack? And what about an adapter? Are you gonna need one for Iraq?”
Sammy nodded. “Yeah, grab the extra battery pack for me. And I already packed the adapter, can’t risk being powerless over there.”
As Rhys carefully checked through the gear, Sammy finished getting dressed, pulling on his jacket and tightening his boots. Once ready, he took the drone back from Rhys, who stood with a satisfied nod. The boy who fixed toys was staying behind; the boy who had survived the streets was the one heading out the door.
Together, they walked through the warm, familiar kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the faint scent of sausage, usually a sign of a slow, easy morning, felt strangely out of place. Sammy poured himself a cup of coffee and handed Rhys a sausage biscuit from the plate on the counter.
“Here, you might need this,” Sammy said with a small smile.
Rhys took the biscuit, eyes wide. “Wait—your dad lets you have coffee?”
Sammy looked slightly surprised, then smirked. “Never thought to ask.”
Rhys grinned. “I don’t think I’m old enough for that yet.”
Sammy chuckled softly. “You’ll be there soon enough.”
Rhys took the drone gently from Sammy’s hands, his grip sure and steady. Without another word, he headed toward the back door, slipping outside into the morning light.
Sammy watched him go and gave a quick nod. Rhys returned it, their silent exchange carrying deeper meaning than words.
Turning toward a plain door in the kitchen, Sammy pushed it open and stepped into the pantry, a narrow, dimly lit space lined with shelves stocked with everyday staples. Unsuspecting visitors to the farmhouse would never guess that at the far end of this ordinary storage room lay a hidden steel door.
He slipped through the pantry, the floor creaking softly beneath his boots. The scent of dried herbs and powdered sugar lingered in the stale air, a stark contrast to the serious purpose beyond.
At the pantry’s far end, the heavy reinforced door awaited, tucked discreetly in the corner, framed by the faded farmhouse walls. Against the rustic kitchen cabinets, it looked foreign, a steel barrier marking the boundary between everyday life and the mission ahead.
Sammy leaned forward, aligning his eye with the small panel mounted at eye level. A beam of red light scanned his iris.
Access Granted.
The lock clicked open with a heavy thud.
