Prepper Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher (The Hunt For Jack Reacher Series Book 12)

by Diane Capri

  Knowing all of this, she had secured her four-point harness, popped a couple of antacids in her mouth, and climbed aboard. Only one choice.

  Flint had vectored in a wide arc around Glen Haven to approach from the desert instead of the main road because the approaching helo’s rotor noise could have been loud enough to wake the sleeping residents. Flying into the wind, he hoped to dampen the unmistakable whapping sounds and allow the strong gusts to carry the noise away in the darkness.

  The plan was to get an aerial view of the Glen Haven buildings and the layout before they made a stealthier approach for a closer look later in a vehicle and on foot. All of which had to be accomplished before dawn.

  There were at least two dangers to be avoided.

  First, Vigo was likely to have night crew on alert. Navigating around them would be better done from the ground level.

  Second, at least an hour before dawn, Glen Haven residents would begin to stir for the morning’s balloon ride. Paying passengers would be arriving, parking in the field across the street.

  Kim and Flint planned to deal with Vigo’s crew as necessary and complete their reconnaissance before the first Glen Haven resident opened his eyes.

  The journey proceeded as expected. Flying into the wind was slow going. The gusts buffeted the small helo, pushing it aside like a cat batting a yarn ball. Flint’s piloting skills were tested and proved to be as solid as Gaspar had claimed. So far.

  As expected, the desert was dark in the moonless night. For a time, they flew over what seemed to be a gaping hole in the earth. Kim had spent time in the desert. She knew nocturnal creatures roamed the cold sand, slithering and creepy. The thought made her shudder.

  Still miles south of Glen Haven, where the desert was still cloaked in darkness, Kim noticed a beam of light in the distance.

  Flint remained focused on flying the helo while Kim kept a white-knuckled grip with one hand. With the other hand, she raised the field glasses to her eyes. From this distance, everything between the helo and the light beam was as dark as standing in a closet. But in the beam’s immediate surroundings, using the field glasses, Kim thought she could make out a vehicle.

  Humans could see farther in the night than during the day. After all, at night, even a child could see the stars. She’d been told once that the human eye, unaided, could see a candle flame in the darkness up to thirty miles away. This light beam was way brighter and more powerful than a candle flame and she was much closer than thirty miles. She guessed ten miles, maybe, at the most.

  “Flint. Look. Eleven o’clock position on your left. What is that?” she said.

  Flint took a quick glance. “Dunno. Some kind of flood light. Camping lantern, maybe? Want to get a closer look?”

  “Yeah. Let’s do that. We’re still a long distance from Glen Haven and we can’t get to it without flying close to that light anyway,” she replied.

  “Copy that,” Flint said, deftly repositioning the helo to fly directly toward the beam.

  Kim continued to watch through the field glasses as the helo approached. The light source became larger, stronger, and deeper.

  At first, she saw nothing but the light itself.

  As her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the beam was conical, two lights emanating from a single source and joining together after a short distance to illuminate a wider swath. She guessed the beam range probably lighted a distance of 350 to 400 feet ahead.

  A rocky outcropping along one side of the beam would have shielded some of the light from passing motorists on the road, had there been any. Which, up until this point, Kim hadn’t seen.

  Flint continued to battle the wind and the darkness while Kim watched the area around the light beam. He said, “Figure it out yet?”

  “Looks like it could be a vehicle’s headlights. Not a sedan. It’s higher off the ground,” Kim replied.

  “So like a truck or a van. Something that campers might use to haul gear,” Flint replied.

  “Why are you so sure it’s campers?” Kim asked.

  “Well, I’m thinking it’s not a UFO. You don’t see any little green men wandering around, do you? I mean, we’re not that far from Area 51…” Flint’s voice trailed off as he teased.

  “Point taken,” she replied. “You’re probably right. Not much reason to be out in the desert in the pitch black at this hour of the night. Nothing to hunt out here other than scorpions and snakes. They’re certainly not birdwatchers.”

  He laughed. “Camping makes more sense than anything else.”

  “Think they can hear us approaching?” Kim asked.

  “Not likely. The wind is blowing pretty strong out there. It’s carrying the noise in the opposite direction,” Flint replied through the headset. “And if that’s a van or a truck, the engine is running to keep the lights on. That’s enough to drown us out from this distance.”

  Still using the field glasses, the helo was close enough now for Kim to see two shadowy figures, probably men.

  One was standing in some sort of pit, visible only from the waist up.

  The other one was looming above and off to one side behind him, out of his field of vision.

  Kim squinted through the field glasses, as if her instincts were less clear than her churning stomach insisted. “Flint, we’ve got to set this bird down. Right now. That man’s about to die.”

  “Working on it,” Flint replied, as he fought against the wind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Friday, April 15

  2:05 a.m.

  Chihuahuan Desert, New Mexico

  Hector was almost finished with Mason’s grave. Only a few more strokes of the shovel and Mason’s chance to escape would disappear.

  Shortly after that, Mason would disappear, too. Hector would kill him and bury him in the hole. He’d pile the dirt over Mason’s body and return to Glen Haven, just like he’d probably done to the other two poor slobs under the dirt piles next to Mason’s grave. No one would ever know what had happened to him.

  For a short second, he wondered whether anyone would care until he remembered Cheryl and Micah. He knew, the way he knew his own name, that Vigo would hurt them if Mason didn’t get back to Glen Haven and get them away from Vigo before he had the chance.

  He could only hope he hadn’t already lost that chance. He’d been lucky enough to find Cheryl and Micah. Surely he wouldn’t lose them now.

  Hector was down in the grave. Mason heard Hector’s cell phone ring.

  “What the hell?” Hector grunted as he fished it out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen and then answered the call on speaker so he could continue digging. “I’m busy here, Elena. What is it?”

  Elena, whoever she was, didn’t reply. Hector kept digging Mason’s grave. He was almost done now. Only a few more shovels and he’d be climbing out.

  “Elena? What’s going on?”

  The next thing Mason heard was a female voice, barely able to get the words out between her tears. “Hector, it’s not Elena. It’s Cheryl.”

  The words, the truth of them, the voice itself, caused Mason’s entire body to spasm. Cheryl. Why would Cheryl be calling this monster? Who the hell was Elena?

  “Cheryl,” Hector said, puzzled. “Why do you have Elena’s phone?”

  “Are you coming back soon?” Cheryl sniffed and stifled another sob.

  “Yeah. I’m almost done here. Put Elena on,” he replied.

  “I c-can’t. I-I’m sorry. Elena’s d-dead.” Cheryl broke down completely, sobs filling the grave where Hector continued to dig.

  “That’s not funny, Cheryl. That’s crap! Put Elena on,” Hector demanded gruffly.

  “S-she was shot and k-killed. I-I grabbed her cell phone before the coroner took her body away,” Cheryl choked out.

  “Who did this?” Hector demanded angrily. “I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch!”

  “I-I don’t know. The police are working on that now.” Cheryl’s sobs mangled her words. “Come home soon, Hector. P-please.”


  Cheryl hung up and empty silence filled the air. Hector dropped the phone into the dirt and stomped it with a heavy boot.

  With a loud grunt for extra strength or to work out his anger or something, Hector stomped on the shovel and drove it into the hard dirt. Using both hands, he lifted the soil and tossed it onto the pile. So intent was he on the job at hand that he never looked at Mason.

  Maybe he thought he could simply shoot Mason if he tried to get away. Which he surely could have.

  He probably figured Mason was too cowardly to run. Which, until he heard Cheryl’s voice and saw the impact of her words on Hector, would have been true.

  Either way, when Hector finished the grave and climbed out, Mason would be as good as dead, like Elena.

  Hector bent his head to the task and, with another grunt, working faster now, stomped on the shovel again. He put his muscles into the digging and lifted the heavy weight of the soil on the blade at the end of the long handle.

  Which was precisely when Mason inhaled to gather every ounce of strength he possessed, grabbed the second shovel with his one good arm, rushed forward, and slammed the sharp blade against Hector’s temple putting his body weight behind the blow.

  He hit Hector’s head the same way he would have swung for the fences playing baseball in high school. He remembered to follow through, pushing the momentum of the blow even further.

  He drew the shovel back for another swing, but he didn’t need it.

  For the second time in his miserable life, Mason got lucky.

  The hit was solidly placed to the temple.

  The blow was hard enough and the shovel heavy enough and the leverage good enough.

  Hector was knocked off balance. He fell into the pit and landed on his back, stunned, slipping into unconsciousness.

  Mason changed his position, settled his weight firmly on both feet, stood above him and jabbed the shovel’s blade down onto Hector’s throat with all the vengeance he felt in his heart.

  The blade cut through Hector’s skin and sliced an artery or two, Mason figured. He couldn’t really see all that clearly in the dark and down in the hole, using his one good eye, but he noticed the spurting blood. Enraged and terrified, he jabbed Hector’s neck again and again with the shovel until he could lift it no more.

  He stood and watched a couple of minutes, breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping power and fearlessness through his body, to be sure Hector wouldn’t climb up and find his gun.

  Hector never moved. He lay on his back until the blood stopped spurting. His head lolled to one side, eyes open, seeing nothing.

  Mason felt drained. The adrenaline rush subsided. He was as exhausted as he’d ever been. He tossed the shovel into the grave Hector had dug for himself. Mason had no strength to bury him. The vultures would arrive before dawn to pick his body clean. The circling, diving swarm would identify Hector’s location precisely for the authorities. But there was nothing more Mason could do here.

  He had no idea how long he stood there like that, dazed, breathing hard, courage wilting, watching Hector’s body. He must have stayed awhile, though it seemed like only a few minutes at most.

  An odd noise overhead jarred him back to the present. The whapping roar had probably been approaching for a while, shattering the desert quiet, but he’d been so singularly focused on Hector that he hadn’t noticed.

  He glanced toward the overwhelming racket, angry that help hadn’t arrived before he’d killed Hector. Mason had never killed a man before and he was nauseated by the guilty knowledge. What would Cheryl think? Would she want to be married to a killer?

  Which was when he recognized the unmistakable sound of a helicopter, coming closer. He watched as it hovered above him. The rotor wash, combined with the overwhelming noise, brought the full weight of the situation home.

  He’d killed Hector. He would be arrested. Maybe they’d see it as self-defense. Or maybe he’d be sent to prison.

  He turned and ran toward the van, which some part of his brain knew was a totally useless and stupid thing to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Friday, April 15

  2:15 a.m.

  Chihuahuan Desert, New Mexico

  Kim stared through the field glasses at the two men. From the helo, she could do nothing except watch as the one outside the pit attacked the other man with a shovel. He seemed to have only one functioning arm, which might have explained why he wasn’t doing the digging.

  “Flint, seriously. We need to land. Get us as close to those two as you can. Hurry.”

  “Copy that. We should be there shortly,” he replied, continuing to reduce altitude while buffeted by the strong winds blowing against the helo.

  The frenzied attack lasted a good, long time. Kim guessed it was long enough to kill the man in the pit. After the first blow with the shovel, he went down and never got up to defend himself. He could be unconscious. But he was probably dead.

  The helo rocked and bucked against the elements, which caused her queasy stomach to revolt. She pressed her lips together and swallowed big breaths to control herself as she continued watching events on the ground.

  When Flint finally landed the helo, the man had completed his attack. He was running toward the van. If he reached the van, he’d speed away. They might be able to overtake him in the helo, but it would easier to stop him now.

  She quickly unbuckled her harness, pulled her gun, opened the door and hit the ground running.

  He had a slight head start. His legs were longer than hers, but he wasn’t in great shape. Kim was faster and her endurance hadn’t been exhausted by spending the past few minutes killing a man with a shovel.

  Adrenaline fueled her run, too. She wanted to catch him before he sped away in a van that resembled the one she’d seen on the CCTV footage. The one used to kidnap Lawton.

  For a moment, the thought popped into her head. Lawton could be the man lying at the bottom of that pit. She didn’t have enough time to follow through. Instead, she ran faster toward the killer.

  He made it to the open side door and jumped inside. He was settling himself into the seat when Kim ran around to the driver’s door, pulled it open, and jerked his bad left arm with all of her body weight.

  He screamed in pain and leaned left, but he didn’t tumble out.

  Instead, he shifted the van into reverse and stomped on the accelerator.

  The van jerked backward. The open door knocked Kim to the ground, causing her to release his damaged left arm.

  The van reversed until it was clear of her and he’d righted himself in the seat.

  He couldn’t use his left arm to close the door. He shifted the transmission into drive and the van’s engine screamed in protest before it jumped forward.

  He was getting away.

  Kim hopped to her feet.

  Before the van could zoom forward and away, she raised her gun and fired three rounds straight into the moving cabin. He yowled as if she might have hit him, but he didn’t stop.

  Bullets had pierced the windshield and exited the van on the passenger side.

  The driver’s side door was still open. The gunshots might have wounded him, or his screams might have resulted from his prior injuries. It was impossible to say. He was hurting now but the pain didn’t stop him.

  The van came straight at her.

  Kim jumped out of the way of the oncoming vehicle. She’d have fired again, but she’d lost her opportunity. No point in wasting her bullets.

  She watched helplessly as the van reached the road and picked up speed.

  In her periphery, she saw the helo rising. Once airborne, it circled toward the road. Flint positioned the helo to meet the van head-on.

  The helo hovered in front of the van, pushing noise and raising a cloud of dust.

  The van weaved erratically. Small objects inside flew out of the open side door. Twice, the van ran onto the shoulder and overcorrected as he steered across the pavement.

  Kim jogged slowly toward the
van, gun in hand, seeking an opportunity to shoot again.

  The confrontation ended abruptly after not more than a mile when the driver must have realized escape efforts were futile.

  The van simply stopped in the road. Flint hovered over the road in front of the van, but didn’t land the helo. Just in case the driver decided to bolt again, she figured.

  Kim jogged up closer. She didn’t call out or identify herself because the helo’s deafening noise would have scattered her voice to the wind.

  When she reached the back of the van, she approached slowly and covered both open doors while Flint landed the helo in front.

  The rotor wash pushed the air and the dirt over the strange tableau as the helo slowed to a stop. Flint stepped out, gun drawn, and signaled. They approached the van together. Flint went in from the front and Kim went in from the back.

  She flattened her back against the back of the van and rounded the corner to approach the open maw of the sliding door on the passenger side. She ducked a quick look inside and drew back. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, engine still running, transmission in park.

  The rotor noise coupled with the van’s engine overwhelmed all conversation. A shouted warning wouldn’t penetrate. Which meant her footsteps would be cloaked and stealth could work.

  Keeping her gun ready, she crouched to remain invisible in the side mirror and stepped up into the void.

  She covered the steel floor of the van as quickly as she dared and reached the front seats, gun drawn, just as Flint reached the open driver’s side door.

  Almost at the same time, they both saw the driver, still slumped across the big steering wheel. His head was turned so that he was facing Kim.

  Which was when she recognized him.

  “Mason O’Hare,” she said, for Flint’s benefit.

  The next thought came swiftly.

  Had O’Hare lured Lawton to the saloon to be abducted and killed? Was O’Hare responsible for everything that had happened?