44
Drake felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at his phone. There were some calls that were never supposed to happen.
His personal cell phone was a holdover from a happier time when he’d trade hot and heavy texts with his wife from wherever they each were. A Doctor Without Borders wasn’t supposed to be struck down by one of the diseases she was chasing, and she hadn’t been. Instead an Al-Qaeda murder squad had done it for vaccinating a bunch of kids. Both his boys were far more likely to reach out from their ever-changing selection of video face-to-face apps—he’d installed about a dozen and just answered any of them that buzzed at him.
There were only four other people who had his personal number rather than the one issued by the government. That the incoming number was block
