Half-Past Dawn

CHAPTER 18

Mia Norris was thought to have grown up in a life of privilege, the girl with everything, but nothing could be further from the truth. While Mia was the stepdaughter of the successful businessman and former director of the FBI Sam Norris, she was born Mia Sullivan, daughter of Joe and Patricia Sullivan.

Joe was a lieutenant in the Navy-a SEAL in his twenties, a strategic analyst in his thirties-and as a result, according to her father, the world was their home. While the world may have been their home, where she laid her head at night was in constant flux-eighteen beds, thirteen different countries, in fourteen years.

In all of the eighteen homes she lived in by the age of fourteen, she was never bitter. When her father would arrive home and announce a new exciting assignment in some foreign land, she would feel a tinge of sorrow at being suddenly uprooted when she was just getting her feet wet, but at least they were together. So many children in the military wouldn’t see their fathers-and in some cases mothers-for six months or more at a time, and many of them kissed their parents for the last time when they left, not realizing that they would lose them on the battlefield. Mia was fortunate that her father had already spent ten years in serious combat around the world before she was three. His body proved it, dotted with scars from all types of minor wounds-except for the long not-so-minor squiggly one on his neck-with which Mia played connect the dots. Since becoming an analyst, he only endured paper cuts and jet lag, leaving the threat of dying for his country in the past.

Since Mia was a young child, she dreamed of flying, staring up at the soaring birds, riding the updrafts, the air current carrying them higher and higher, only to nose-dive back to earth. It was a child’s fantasy, one she shared with her dad on more than one occasion. They would lie in a field or on the beach, staring at the clouds and the birds flittering about. He would feed her fantasy, telling her to close her eyes and imagine the feel of turning to and fro in flight.

Her mother, Pat, would always admonish him for encouraging her, but her dad would laugh her off and turn to Mia and say what he always said when faced with adversity: “Remember, Mia, nothing is impossible.”

She loved her father. She loved that they shared a passion for junk food, candy, and chips; movies and early rock ’n’ roll; sports and puzzles. Joe Sullivan was handsome, broad, and tall, unlike most kids’ round-about-the-middle dads. He was sympathetic, knowing how difficult it must be for his daughter to sacrifice her childhood for his career. And so he compensated. His free time was not spent playing golf or cards, racing off to some hobby; his time was spent with Mia, teaching her to sail and shoot, showing her the cultures they dropped into for six months at a time. He taught her the value of being happy in your work, of the pain of sacrifice in pursuing your dreams, that the value of life was not in riches but in the richness of one’s existence, in loving someone, in putting others before oneself. Simple lessons that had been forgotten by so much of the world.

It was on a Friday that Mia turned exactly fourteen and a half. Her father believed in celebrating not only birthdays but half-birthdays, too, always saying one shouldn’t rejoice in someone only once a year. They had been back in the States all of three days, settling into a small two-bedroom house just outside of Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach, Virginia. It was a late-spring morning; school didn’t start for an hour. Her mother was busy unpacking and getting breakfast ready when her dad snuck into her room and kidnapped her for a day of fun.

With the windows rolled down, the radio blaring, and two bags of chips, candy, and waters on the seat between them, they escaped.

Arriving at NAS Oceana, they drove around a road crew repairing pavement near the front entrance and stopped at the security gate. Joe introduced the three guards to Mia and, with a wink and a smile, continued on to a large hangar. Without a word, her father led her inside. The cavernous space was filled with F-35 Lightning II’s, F/A-18 Hornets and Super Hornets, the greatest fighter jets the world had known, capable of speeds in excess of mach 1.8. Mia looked at her father with curious eyes as they walked toward a locker. He reached inside and pulled something out.

“Put this on,” Joe said as he handed Mia a flight suit.

“What are we doing?” Mia begged with a smile

“Just go into the ladies’ locker room and put that on.” Joe pointed to the door before turning into the men’s locker room.

Mia stared at the tan jumpsuit before looking at the two-seater jets and her heart began to race with excitement.

Three minutes later, Mia exited the locker room, but her father was nowhere to be found. She left the hangar, looking at the nearly vacant runway, seeing nothing but a 757 jet, its engines whining in anticipation of takeoff. She saw no fighter jets prepped and ready, no planes of a smaller stature that her father would be taking her up in.

Then, from the doorway of the 757, she finally saw her dad in his jumpsuit, his short dark hair blowing in the morning breeze, waving to her. She waved back, a smile on her face that expertly hid her disappointment. Being the daughter of a naval officer, she had been in the cockpits of large jets such as this one on too many occasions to count. She had gotten her hopes up for something exciting and new. But she would never let him know.

Mia climbed the stairs and entered what she realized was not a typical 757. The room she stood in was like a scientific lab; instruments and computers abounded. Four young officers stood when she entered the plane and nodded hello. Her father quickly introduced them as naval scientists who were studying the effects of spatial awareness in low-gravity environments.

Her dad pointed her to a door that led into the cabin of the jet, and they entered what looked like an insane asylum. There were no windows, and the walls and ceiling were padded. Against the walls were harnesses, spaced evenly apart. Along each wall, the ceiling, and the floor were ladder rungs affixed to the body of the plane, running the length of the large tubular room.

“Let’s strap in,” Joe said, smiling at his daughter.

“What are we doing, Daddy?” Mia asked, her curiosity growing.

Joe just smiled as he sat on the floor against the padded wall and strapped himself in. Mia followed suit.

“What kind of plane is this?”

A red light on the far wall lit up, its glow painting the white wall padding bright crimson. The whine of the jet grew, and she could feel the four large engines vibrating as the jet lurched forward, quickly picking up speed. And although there were no windows, she could imagine the Virginia countryside whipping by. After thirty seconds, the roar of the engines peaking, she felt the jet jump into the air, the engines screaming as they climbed high into the sky.

“Mia,” her father finally said, “in life we are faced with adversity, with tough choices, difficult decisions, but what you must remember is that there is always a solution. Nothing is impossible. Your mother doesn’t believe this, and that’s OK. But I do, and I know you do, too. I can’t imagine what your heart must go through every time we pull you away from friends, how difficult it must be always to feel like a stranger, but that will soon end. I’m going to retire and move into the private sector. We’re finally going to have a normal life.”

Mia looked up at her dad and smiled. “To me, it’s always been a normal life. I wouldn’t trade a single moment.”

The red light on the far wall winked out, replaced by a yellow one, and with it, the whine of the jet’s engine disappeared.

Joe unstrapped himself, stood up, and nodded for Mia to do the same. He took her hand, and they walked to the rear wall.

“Remember, Mia,” Joe said as he stared into her eyes with such love, “nothing is impossible.”

The light on the far wall turned green, Mia felt her stomach grow light, and all at once she was floating, drifting hand-in-hand with her father. The weight of the world was literally gone.

“Put your feet against the wall,” her father said, which they both did effortlessly.

He held tight to her hand, and they pushed off.

Mia couldn’t help it-she could feel the tears forming in her eyes. Her dream had come true. She was flying.

They were soaring through the air, light as feathers, like birds on invisible wings.

Her heart was more alive than it had ever been. She was doing the impossible. Her mother said it could never be done, but her dad was right.

Holding hands, they sailed through the air down the length of the jet. Arriving at the far wall, her father released her, and they both planted their feet against the wall, quickly pushing off.

She was flying solo; as she had always imagined, she put her arms out, spinning around. She flipped over effortlessly, somersaulting over and over again without getting dizzy.

For two minutes, they defied gravity.

The light on the wall turned yellow, and Joe and Mia grabbed the ladder on the floor and pulled their way back to the wall. She could feel her weight returning as the engine’s cry returned.

Her father explained that they were in a modified 757, which some affectionately called the Vomit Comet for those who experienced adverse reactions to weightlessness. The plane flew up and down in long parabolic arcs, the effect of which created a zero-gravity environment within the confines of the plane. The 757 was used to study weightlessness, train astronauts, and conduct experiments; today it was used for teaching Mia how to fly.

Eleven more times the light turned green. Eleven more times Mia flew. It was, without question, the greatest experience of her life, not just because she flew but also because her father made her realize her potential; he made her realize that nothing was impossible.

Fifteen minutes after they landed, the bomb went off.

Mia and her father quickly changed out of their flight suits, grabbed their things, and hopped into the car. As they drove through the gate, they said goodnight to the three guards and headed toward home.

Fifty yards past the gate, Joe stopped the car. He looked at the full bag of uneaten food.

“Let me,” Mia said. And without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the bag filled with candy, chips, and waters and took off for the guard shack.

The soldiers took the bag, smiling in appreciation, waving to the lieutenant.

And without warning, an explosion tore the front of Joe’s car apart. A large fireball rolled into in the sky, black smoke curling upward, spreading out in a large cloud.

Joe stumbled from the car in shock, his eyes scanning for Mia. And once he saw her running toward him, once he saw that she was all right, he collapsed.

The three gatehouse guards were ten yards behind Mia, their guns drawn, yelling at her to stop, fearful of another bomb. But nothing could stop her from getting to her dad.

Joe Sullivan lay in the middle of the road, his car in flames behind him. Blood stained his burned clothing as his chest heaved and he gasped for air. Mia came charging to his side, kneeling beside him, lifting him into her lap, cradling his broken body to her chest. He was always bigger than life to her, but now…

“Dad? Look at me.”

Joe struggled to breathe, his body convulsing in short bursts, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“Please!” Mia cried out. “Oh, God, please don’t…”

The three guards looked at Joe, instantly assessing his condition. They formed a perimeter around the lieutenant and his daughter, guns aimed out, searching for the perpetrators, protecting Mia and her father in what they knew would be their final moments together.

Sirens blared in the distance as the soldiers spoke into their radios, but Mia heard none of it. All of her senses were focused on her father.

“Dad!” Mia pleaded as the tears poured down her face. “Please-”

His wheezing breaths grew shallow as every muscle in his body went limp.

Without a word, he looked up into Mia’s eyes, a world of emotions passing between them, and he died.

Joe Sullivan had fought in three wars, had been in countless battles and firefights, had spent his naval career in some of the most hostile locations on earth, only to be felled by a car bomb in his own country.

What was first thought to be an act of international terrorism turned out to have been committed by a small domestic group known as Peace for All whose members preached passivity while demanding the withdrawal of U.S. forces from all countries and the abolition of the U.S. military. After a one-week manhunt, the three American perpetrators were captured by the FBI, tried, and executed.

Mia’s world was shattered. Her father was everything to her. She felt adrift without his words of wisdom, his guidance in life, the sound of his voice as he arrived home at night after work. She couldn’t wipe the image of his dying in her arms from her nightmares. And while her mother comforted her, Patricia Sullivan was equally devastated, often lost in her own grief, unable to function.

Within six months, her mother moved on, falling for the FBI agent who had captured the killers of her husband. No one spoke of the Freudian influence on her heart.

Sam Norris took them in, adopting and embracing Mia as his own. Against her wishes, Mia’s mother made her change her name from Sullivan to Norris, explaining that she couldn’t go through the pain of explaining how her daughter had a different name, that it would force her to relive the agony all too often, never realizing the betrayal it caused for Mia.

They moved to Washington, where her stepfather was made deputy director of the FBI. A year later, he began serving three years as director. He retired and moved to New York to start a security consulting business, a firm where he could capitalize on his vast government connections.

As Sam Norris’s business expanded, their creature comforts grew. Mia’s mother embraced their large home, her fancy car, their life of privilege, but to Mia, none of that could replace her father. The money made her uncomfortable. It seemed to be a patina over the lack of love and affection in their new family.

And so she became focused on herself. Although Sam Norris hadn’t filled the vacancy left by her father’s death, he did offer a window into the FBI, entree into fighting people like the ones who killed her father. As she rose through the ranks, investigating and arresting criminals and terrorists, it was as if she was taking down her father’s killers again and again and again.

Jack would have liked her dad. They were alike in so many respects: wise, selfless, extremely athletic yet always modest and always believing nothing was ever out of reach.

Mia looked around the small room, locked away in who-knows-where, thinking of the impossibility of escape, and she relived that day of flying with her father and embraced his words, knowing them to be true.

Nothing is impossible.