by Jason Kasper
Unlike the Indian—unlike myself, if I’m being honest—Ishway wasn’t pale. Though his bottom lip was split and bleeding, his right cheekbone purple and swollen with some abuse between the Handler’s court and this sanctum of death, Ishway didn’t sweat, or beg, or try to reason his way out. He’d lost on two counts—both by believing that Sage would let him reign, and that I wouldn’t betray him given my inherent hatred of the Handler—and he knew it. He’d taken a massively ambitious gamble, and he wasn’t about to apologize for that. So be it.
Had the two men at the cabin not displayed the map of Rocinha with the blast radius of a nuclear device, Ishway would already be dead, and Sage assuming the throne.
“Before you went to Brazil, David,” the Handler said, “you saw a man die in this chair—Upraj Raza Sukhija, a man you knew as ‘The Indian.’”
“Hard to forget,” I allowed.
“During his process of recruiting you into the Outfit, you correctly surmised that he had an inside source within my Organization. The Indian passed off direct contact with his source to Ian, who was ecstatic about the arrangement. You knew this was wrong at an elemental level. On the surveillance recording of your conversation with Ian before you boarded your flight to Brazil, you warned him that the Indian was dead because his inside source ‘burned’ him.”
“Thanks for the recap. I seem to recall that just fine on my own.”
“David”—the Handler swung a hand toward Ishway’s seated form—“meet the Indian’s inside source. A man who was working for me all along, parceling out the misinformation I wanted the Indian to believe. Who enabled the capture of Ian, and led the Indian to this very throne—”
I interrupted, “And now Ishway will meet the same fate. I appreciate the poetic justice, so spare me the vengeful monologue. You want me to kill him for you.”
“Not for me.” The Handler gestured to the switch box with a long, Y-shaped handle canted toward the floor. “For yourself. You failed the test of loyalty when the Indian was in this throne. Now is your chance to prove yourself.”
“I don’t owe you a goddamn motherfucking thing. You have no idea what I’ve gone through while you’ve been holed up in your little palace here. We’re not friends, and you’d better send me to South America because if I see you again I’ll do everything in my power to slit your fucking throat.”
Then I looked to Ishway, eyeing me levelly. He’d never heard anyone speak to the Handler in such a fashion, and he never would again. Whatever his cold eyes held, it wasn’t disdain for me—rather, something that he kept inside, something that he would take into his smoking grave.
If I hadn’t known the details of his planned transition to power, I would have respected him immensely. The sheer audacity of the assassination plot that he had undertaken with Sage at great personal risk had been masterfully choreographed for years leading up to this point.
Until I cast my vote with an ax.
Ishway said, “I make no apologies for what I’ve done. I’m a product, David, like you—of my desires and demons both.”
I stared back at him. Ishway, the last living embodiment of Sage’s horrible plan to incinerate thousands upon thousands of people in a split second. I thought of the favela girl who’d watched me hatefully in her kitchen, who would never forgive me for the danger I’d brought upon her regardless of whether I saved her from it in the end. Had I not used the ax on the command post occupants in the cabin, she’d be dead in the coming days.
“Relax, Ishway.” I grinned, thinking this was like what I’d told Cong: a necessary execution. “I don’t murder innocent people.”
Ishway relaxed for a split-second reprieve, then suddenly tensed as he saw me reach for the switch.
Then he began screaming, his cry replaced by something far worse as I flipped the lever upward.
17
It was the same room that Sage had used to interrogate me, adorned with only a door, a table, and two empty chairs. One wall held a mirror that I knew blocked supervisors and video recording equipment on the other side. The entire room was surely wired for high-definition audio. It was surreal to be back here, now seven months removed from when I’d first entered, my left arm in a sling, to surrender myself to the Handler’s scheme.
And then, to Sage’s.
Two guards had led me in and directed me to take a seat, then said that I wouldn’t have to wait long. Settling into the chair facing the open door, I watched the guards take up positions in the corners.
I scanned the ceiling—a gleaming black orb near each corner, filming every word and facial expression from multiple angles, streaming for analysis by the Handler’s Intelligence Directorate. Hell, they’d probably allowed the meeting just to discover what Ian would tell me.
I wondered where he was at that moment. I’d last seen him on his knees, arms tied behind his back, the Handler’s security team hoisting him up to take him to a cell. Most of all I remembered his vacant stare at the bitter end, when his best efforts and mine had come up grievously short.
And my last words to him before he was dragged away from me, spoken with conviction for his sake, although I’d had no idea if or how they could ever prove true.
I will get you out of this, Ian.
Ian suddenly walked into the room with a confident gait, his wiry form moving easily as he saw me and flashed a rakish grin. He looked healthy and fulfilled, eyes bright behind his thin glasses, very far removed from our last meeting in January.
A guard stopped him at the door and spoke to us both.
“No discussion about security measures for the One or this facility, or the deal’s off. You’ve got five minutes. Then Ian will depart by plane, and you two will never meet again.”
Ian sat in the chair across from me, folding his hands on the table.
I began, “It’s good to see you, Ian.”
He nodded. “I can never thank you enough for freeing me. Whatever you had to do to make this deal, I’m sure it took considerable sacrifice, and I’m very grateful for that.”
I shrugged, grinning. “It took about as much effort as getting you stuck here in the first place. Though to hear the Intelligence Directorate sing your praises, I’m not sure you should leave. Elevated to targeting the executive network? Nice work, Ian.”
Ian’s eyes slid to a guard in the corner, then back to me. He rubbed his earlobe, looking nervous, pensive.
“Don’t worry, Ian,” I assured him. “You’re free. The deal’s been confirmed in front of the entire executive staff.”
He replied uneasily, “It’s not me I’m worried about. My life in the criminal realm is over, and I’ll never look back after being given this chance. But you are about to enter a very dangerous war, David. Very dangerous.”
“Not my first rodeo.”
“But the war you’re about to enter is…different,” he warned. “From anything you’ve ever done.”
Then his eyes assumed a very sober expression, his lips drawn tightly together as if he were about to say something upon which the fate of the universe rested.
“I would like to give you some advice. I need you to take it. Do you understand?”
Whatever Ian was about to say, he didn’t want anyone but me to understand its import. He knew something that I didn’t, and he wanted to relay it indirectly with the full knowledge that the Handler’s people in the Intelligence Directorate were now dissecting our conversation.
But Ian was smarter than them. I’d never seen him look so stern—he’d figured out a way to tell me, and now the only point of failure was my ability to decipher his meaning.
“Ian,” I said, “I understand that I’m about to enter a new war. Before I go, what advice do you have for me?”
Ian’s entire demeanor shifted from nervous to forceful. Then he leaned toward me, folding his hands together as if in prayer, and opened his mouth to speak.
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YOUR FREE DAVID RIVERS PREQUEL
In the coming weeks, Jason Kasper will release The Ranger Objective, a David Rivers prequel. The story follows a 19-year old David Rivers, then a Ranger private, through his first combat mission in Afghanistan on the first anniversary of 9/11.
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About the Author
JASON KASPER is the international bestselling author of the David Rivers series. He served in the United States Army for fifteen years, beginning as a Ranger private in 2001 and ending as a Special Forces captain and team commander in 2016. Jason is a West Point graduate and a veteran of the Afghanistan and Iraq wars, and was an avid marathon and ultramarathon runner, skydiver, and BASE jumper, all of which inspire his fiction.
He currently lives with his wife and daughter in Cary, North Carolina.
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THE RANGER OBJECTIVE: A DAVID RIVERS SHORT STORY
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ALSO BY JASON KASPER
The David Rivers Series
1: Greatest Enemy
2: Offer of Revenge
3: Dark Redemption
4: Vengeance Calling
David Rivers Book 5 - Spring 2019
