Chapter One

He ran in the darkness, diving into a body of water as it reached for him, holding his breath beneath the surface to get away. Sharp things pulled and tore at his body. Out of breath, he surfaced, but it stalked him still. Faster, he must swim faster. But the water dropped away and he saw them: faces and hands, fingers and claws.

A scream caught in his throat as he was pulled under. His lungs constricted, filling with ... oh God, blood ... he was dying.

“Oh shit, oh no, not again.” Jason Johnson awoke with a start. Wrenching himself into consciousness, he opened his eyes and tried to shake off the effects of the dream. Would it always be this way? Was he going insane? Jason rubbed his head with both hands to wake up. He was okay. At home in his own bed. With a groan, he pulled himself to a sitting position and reached for his clock. It read 0600, Wednesday, January 4, 1995.

Slowly his breathing eased. It was only a nightmare.

Jason rolled out of bed and shuffled into the apartment’s bathroom. He looked at the thermometer outside the bathroom window: sixty-five degrees, cold for Florida. The window overlooked the ocean where he could see the surf, which rolled in on gentle swells. Good. It will help. Any help would be welcomed today.

Turning the shower on full blast and stepping under the spray, Jason remained motionless until the water warmed, then stretched and lathered up his six-foot body. Endless training kept his weight at 205 pounds with 5 percent body fat.

Master Sergeant Johnson, thirty-five years old, was a fifteen-year Special Forces Pararescue Specialist stationed at Patrick Air Force Base on the Space Coast of Flor