by Jack Carr
He hadn’t been in the mountains since the op went bad in Afghanistan, but hiking the Wyoming backcountry with nothing but lightweight clothes and a small pack in the daylight felt a lot different than patrolling hostile territory in total darkness, burdened with the heavy tools of war. He assumed that he’d see a few hunters scouting this close to the season opener, but he never came across another soul as he followed the ridgeline that paralleled the highway.
He actually walked right past the area that he eventually chose, only spotting it as he glassed back toward the country he’d just crossed. The U-shaped notch in the mountainside offered an unobstructed view down the length of the highway without being exposed in any direction other than from above. The only thing above him today were clear blue skies, so the chances of being spotted by anything but a helicopter were slim.
Reece took out a small notebook and his laser range finder, making a careful sketch of the area and noting the range to various terrain features. As cars and trucks made their way up the northbound road, he envisioned the timing of taking a shot at each. The best spot seemed to be a dip in the road 625 yards away, and the configuration of the road and elevation matched his “accident” theory. It was as close to perfect as he could hope for. He marked the site on both his map and GPS and headed out in search of the most direct path back to his vehicle.
With two days to kill, Reece spent some time exploring the area. Parked in front of the Soda Springs, Idaho, public library, he turned on his secondhand iPhone and checked in with the world via the free Wi-Fi. He had a message on Signal from Katie’s alias.
It’s me. I made it safely to my brother’s. You saved my life. Be safe.
He prayed that Katie would be careful. He couldn’t stand the thought of her getting hurt or killed trying to help him. No time to focus on that now. He then logged into SpiderOak, ensuring his VPN was engaged, and opened the folder he shared with Ben Edwards.
Hey bro, got some info on the gangbangers—meet you at your new home when you get back.
Even though it was supposedly secure, Reece and Ben still kept their comms as innocuous as possible. He didn’t have a way to make a secure voice call to Ben without the potential of leading someone to his location. It would be obvious to anyone at that point that he was after Boykin, so the information on the gangbangers would have to wait. He drove back east to the spot he’d picked to camp; just another guy in a truck getting away from town to spend time in the outdoors, and spent the next twenty-four hours going over the maps and imagery and readying his gear for his patrol to the hide site.
The night before his planned hit he built a small fire. There was something primal about fires. Since the early Stone Age fires had quite literally sustained human life. They offered warmth and allowed the heat-treating of hard woods and eventually metals, turning them into weapons for hunting and war. They permitted cooking and early pottery, were natural gathering places, could signal, and were almost always a part of ceremonial tradition. Fires were sacred, but more than anything else, fires offered hope. Reece pondered the paradox; there was no hope for Marcus Boykin, just as there was no hope for James Reece.
Staring into the burning embers of the small campfire, Reece started to remember. It had been just before his last deployment. He had taken Lauren and Lucy on a predeployment camping trip to Big Sur. Nestled into the Northern California coast just south of Carmel was a stretch of land that Reece considered to be one of the most beautiful on earth: the sea and the mountains, Reece’s favorites.
Lauren had retired for the night into the tent, leaving Reece and Lucy to connect by the fire, knowing that six long months of separation lay ahead. Years before, Lauren had confided to Reece that every time he left the house, whether to deploy or train, she knew that he might never be coming back. She had accepted his chosen profession and would not be the kind of wife and mother who was always worried about her husband. She was immensely proud of what he did, but she had a daughter to raise, and she wasn’t about to let that child see her in a constant state of worry. When Reece left, they would get on with their lives: exploring, learning, and growing. In hindsight, she must have also been tired; tired from supporting the life that grew inside her. Reece assumed that she had wrestled with whether to tell him and had decided to let it be a surprise when he returned. Lauren had always loved surprises and there were so few joyful ones left in life. This was a gift she could give to him. He also knew that she would want him focused on the job overseas, not distracted thinking about his pregnant wife. That was something she could give the families of the men under Reece’s command. They needed Reece focused on the task of leading SEALs into combat. To do it right would require his full measure of devotion.
Reece had watched his daughter inch the marshmallow, skewered on the end of a straightened wire hanger, closer to the fire.
“Wait a little bit longer, sweetie,” Reece had cautioned. “Wait for the embers so you can get it a nice golden brown.”
Lucy just smiled and moved it closer and closer to the fire until it burst into flames and she burst into giggles as Reece leaned forward and blew out what was now a charred mess.
They had hiked into a desolate stretch of shoreline to avoid the more populated areas of Big Sur State Park and set up camp on the beach. In a state that had laws governing almost all aspects of daily life, it was surprising and refreshing to be allowed to still enjoy driftwood fires along the coast.
Reece and Lucy were bundled up, cuddled together against the crisp cold of the Pacific twilight in a lightweight backpacker’s chair behind the fire and looking out over the rocky shore, the waves, and the distant horizon. Reece would remember that sunset every day while overseas, would remember holding his little angel, wrapped in a poncho and lightweight blanket, listening to the cadence of the surf as the sky transitioned into night, constellation after constellation breaking through the darkness, much to Lucy’s wonderment.
“What’s that bright one?” she had asked, pointing skyward.
Though not an astronomer by any stretch of the imagination, Reece had a rudimentary knowledge of the constellations. It was the by-product of a life spent outdoors. He smiled, remembering when he asked his father the same question all those years ago under the same night sky.
“That’s Orion. See those stars there?” Reece asked, pointing skyward. “That’s Orion’s belt. Makes him easy to spot up there, doesn’t it?” Lucy nodded in agreement. “If you look hard enough you can see his shield and club. He was a hunter.”
“How’d he get up there?” asked a quizzical Lucy.
“Well, if I remember correctly,” Reece continued, struggling to recall his mythology, “he was stung by a scorpion, which now occupies a spot on the other side of the sky, so they never see each other.”
“That’s weird,” Lucy commented. “Were they friends?”
“Not exactly,” Reece replied, hoping she didn’t ask too many more specific questions as to what had led Orion and the Scorpion to their ultimate positions in the cosmos.
Thankfully she switched topics, to one Reece knew was coming.
“Daddy, why do you have to go away on a big trip?”
Reece and Lauren had called shorter training trips “little trips” and referred to the upcoming deployment as a “big trip.” Easier for a young mind to grasp and come to terms with.
“Well, sometimes daddies have to go away on big trips.”
In their circle of friends, “daddies” were always leaving on “big trips.” Reece felt lucky that Lucy didn’t quite realize, sometimes those daddies didn’t come home.
“This is my last big trip, sweetheart. Then I’m not going away again. I’m going to stay home with you and Mommy. I can’t wait.”
“I can’t wait either, Dada!” she said, as much to herself as to him. “Do you go away because of the bad people?”
Reece paused. He and Lauren had shielded her as much as possible from some of the harsher realities of growing up as a military child in
a country on constant war footing. This was her time to be innocent. Obviously she had picked up more than they thought.
“Sometimes daddies need to fight the bad guys far away so we don’t have to do it here in our country. We do it to keep us free. You and your mom are a big part of it. The three of us are a team. We all make sacrifices to keep our country free.”
“When I grow up, I want to fight bad guys, too.”
Reece swallowed, a lump rising in his throat.
“My hope is you won’t have to, sweetheart. I love you, angel.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
She nestled her head into her father’s shoulder and cuddled up against him. Reece would not have wanted to be anyplace else on earth right then. It was that memory to which he would return throughout deployment. When he was back from a mission, dirty and tired, just before lying down to rest, he would return to that beach, to the waves, the fire, the marshmallows and Orion. It was to that memory he returned now, hoping nothing more than for one more chance to hold his daughter safely in his arms, rocking her to sleep on a distant beach. To him, that was heaven.
“See you soon, baby girl,” he whispered into the dying embers of the fire as he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 41
THE SHERIFF OF LINCOLN COUNTY, Wyoming, arrived on the scene an hour after the call went out. His office was down in Afton and the crashed Mercedes SUV was at the extreme north end of his jurisdiction. Two highway patrolmen, two of his deputies, and a state Game & Fish officer were on-site along with the detective from his office. An ambulance had pulled in but the paramedic and driver were still inside since there was not much they could do for the man in the silver Mercedes. One of the trooper’s cars was parked to block a lane of the highway as he stood in the road to direct the occasional driver around what had become a crime scene. A tow truck driver stood staring down at the shredded vehicle, obviously trying to figure out how he was going to remove it from the steep ditch.
The sheriff approached the gaggle of law enforcement officers gathered on the road’s shoulder above the vehicle.
“All right, what do we have?” he asked, glancing at his watch before peering down the ravine.
The detective spoke up, “Sheriff, as you know the Highway Patrol discovered this vehicle just after nine a.m. this morning. They saw the skid marks on the highway and pulled over to investigate. EMS arrived and discovered what appears to be a bullet wound at the center of the driver’s face and an exit wound at the back of his skull. Based on the trauma to his head, I’d say it was a rifle round, maybe a thirty-caliber or so, just looking at the entry.” The detective motioned toward the fresh black marks on the roadway. “Our theory at this point is that the driver gets shot while heading this way and the speed and abrupt turn of the wheel cause the vehicle to flip over and down the embankment.”
“That certainly makes sense, except the part about the oh-six round to the face. Who shot this guy and why?”
“It’s opening day for deer in this unit, Sheriff,” the Game & Fish officer offered. “Some guy with a tag in his pocket, probably an out-of-stater, takes a shot at a skylined buck from the road. It’s illegal, but we know it happens. He misses, shoots over the top of the deer, and the bullet’s trajectory takes it over this rise. Gravity drops the bullet down into that dip in the road just as this poor bastard is coming the other way. I’d say this guy’s number was up.”
“I’ll buy it. I’ve seen stranger things. Who is he?”
The detective answered, “DL says he’s Marcus Boykin. He’s driving on a New York license, but we have a listing for a Marcus Boykin at Star Valley Ranch. Typical summer resident.”
Satisfied that his men were conducting a thorough and proper investigation, the sheriff nodded and turned back toward his government-supplied Ford Expedition. He was the featured speaker at a Chamber of Commerce lunch at noon and he didn’t intend to be late.
CHAPTER 42
Bird Rock, California
INVIGORATED BY THE SHOT of adrenaline the morning’s success had brought, Reece drove straight through to Southern California, stopping only for food and fuel at hole-in-the-wall gas stations, all paid for in cash. He arrived at Ben’s place at midnight, backing down the driveway and into the garage, where he unloaded his gear. Even at night he could tell it was a beautiful place, a contemporary condo in the trendy Bird Rock neighborhood of San Diego, nestled between La Jolla and Pacific Beach. The design was open, incorporating light natural woods with industrial steel finishes. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows led seamlessly to a deck that overlooked the dark ocean. Even though it was a few houses back from the cliffs, Reece could still hear the surf breaking on the rocks below. He took a shower and checked his SpiderOak folder, sending Edwards a message that said only, at your place, bring breakfast, before hitting the sack.
Seven hours later he heard someone pounding on the door and realized that he’d slept like a rock. He grabbed the Glock from his bedside table and looked through the crack in the bedroom blinds to find Ben’s rental car parked below him in the driveway. Still half-asleep, he tossed his handgun onto the bed and opened the back door wearing boxers and a T-shirt.
“Holy shit, did I wake you up? I can come back at noon if you want. You think you’re back in college, frat boy? You need a haircut and a shave. You’re starting to look like the bad guys. I brought your favorite, Night and Day Cafe.”
Reece gave Ben the one-finger salute as he walked into the condo’s small kitchen to make coffee while Ben unpacked the short order to-go food on the counter.
Taking a huge bite of his breakfast burrito, Reece gestured to the surrounding condo with its sweeping view of the Pacific. “Nice place.”
“Yeah, my employer has a few of these scattered across the country. We use them for debriefings and meets that require an off-site due to sensitivity issues. This one is pretty nice and hardly ever gets used.”
“Our tax dollars at work, huh? This place must have cost you hundreds.”
“Good ol’ Uncle Sugar,” Ben said and smiled. He finished his breakfast and packed a dip of tobacco into his lower lip before pulling a file folder out of a nylon backpack he’d hung on the back of his chair.
“All right, bro, it turns out that the shitheads who did this weren’t local gangbangers. They were legit bad hombres from Mexico. DEA watches these guys very closely, as you know, and actually have them coming and going the night of the attack. I don’t have specific IDs on the shooters, but we know they are Cártel Jalisco Nueva Generación, ‘CJNG’ or ‘New Generation,’ and we know where they live.” Edwards slid a series of photos across the kitchen table, each depicting a different angle of the same three-story concrete block structure with caged balconies and barred windows, a cluster of satellite TV dishes mounted to the roof. “They live and work out of this house in Tijuana. Typical shithole. You can expect a dozen or so, equipped with small arms along with some women and even kids hanging around. Call it a gang clubhouse. These aren’t high-level dudes; they’re foot soldiers.”
Reece looked at the photos carefully, taking note of various features on the house’s exterior.
“Any idea on the interior layout?”
“Negative, DEA doesn’t have eyes inside.”
“How about the neighborhood? How quick can they summon the cavalry if something goes down?”
“CJNG is just starting to get a foothold in Tijuana, so they’re pretty exposed. This is like an outpost for them. They’re trying to increase their reach into the city and they’re running it from this place. Kinda like when we’d set up a combat outpost during a ‘clear, hold, build.’ The Tijuana and Sinaloa cartels don’t want them there; so it’s a fight. I wouldn’t want to hang around that neighborhood very long, but it’s not like they have a hundred reinforcements across the street.”
“Check. Where is this place in the city?”
“That’s the challenge; it’s in La Sánchez Taboada. Here.” Edwards pointed to a spot on an aerial p
hotograph of the city. “Real bad neighborhood. It would be tough to get on target without some local help. It would be one thing to roll up with a couple of Strykers or Bradleys, but I wouldn’t want to be wandering around there solo at three in the morning looking for a place to park. You want me to find you some help? I bet the Sinaloa guys would be happy to assist you in taking out their competition.”
“Negative. This is my show. I’ll handle it. Besides, the last thing I need is to roll into a gunfight in a third-world slum with a bunch of criminals I can’t trust.”
“Gotcha. Let me know if I can support with anything else. This stuff is all yours to keep. The best intel we have is in there. If you change your mind about having help, let me know. You know I’ll roll down there with you if you need me.”
“Thanks, Ben. You’ve helped more than you know. I don’t need you getting more involved in this than you already have.”
“Happy to help. I’m headed out. Gotta go to work. Trying to poach some talent from Team Five. Be safe.”
“Thanks, buddy, you too.”
Reece spent the next few hours looking at the target info on the house in Tijuana. As much as he wanted to exact immediate vengeance on the monsters who murdered his wife and daughter, he knew that now was not the time to act on emotion. If he was going to come out of Mexico alive, it would take some planning to pull off. He also assumed that they were most likely hired guns, and if he was going to figure out who hired them and why, he was going to have to stick to his plan.
He had one shot at pulling off the next phase of the operation before his current intel went stale. According to email traffic between Josh Holder and Saul Agnon, Agnon would be at a resort in Palm Springs for a conference in two days. Agnon, who appeared to be the hub of this conspiratorial wheel, was Reece’s best chance to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
