by Mark Romang
Outside his porch a natural spectacle held his gaze, a sight he never tired of looking at. A light snow dusted the ponderosa pines surrounding his property in the foothills, while high up in the distant San Juan Mountains snow blanketed the granite peaks. At this elevation, his ranch looked like a Christmas card eight months out of the year. Spring would eventually come like always. It just took longer to convince the mountains to change seasons.
Brennan wasn’t the fretting type, but he couldn’t help but worry about Coleton Webb. The ex-SEAL hadn’t called him back, and Brennan wondered if he was okay, if he’d made it to New Zealand, and if he had Nikko Castellanos under surveillance. He also worried that Webb wasn’t up for the job. Despite his credentials and skillset, Webb’s alcoholism made him a liability.
Brennan lifted his mug to his lips. He grimaced when the cold coffee entered his mouth. His scowl deepened when he saw a neutral colored sedan enter his long driveway. The day had started off so nicely. And now it just nosedived into the dirt. I’m surprised it took them this long to figure it out, Brennan thought.
Brennan set his coffee mug down and picked up the satellite phone resting next to his leg in the porch swing. He punched in the digits for Coleton Webb’s satellite phone and placed the odd-looking phone up to his ear. He heard it ring twice before Webb answered, “Hello?”
“It’s me, Brennan. Feds are pulling into my driveway. It’s probably the end of the line for me, Kid. You’ll be on your own from here on out. Do your best to carry the mission through to the end. I’ll pray for your success and safety. Goodbye.” Brennan killed the connection and set the phone down. He watched the beige Crown Victoria pull up in his circle drive by the porch. Two men in suits climbed out, FBI special agents by the looks of them.
Brennan didn’t move from his position on the porch swing, just waited calmly. The two feds ascended the porch steps nearly side by side, two Caucasian men in their thirties, trim and well-groomed, analytical and a touch surly. “Are you busy, Mr. Brennan? If not we’d like to ask you a few questions,” the first one up the steps said, holding up his badge. “I’m Special Agent Nick Loomis. And my friend here is Special Agent Eric Shank. We’re from the FBI.”
“I gathered as much,” Brennan said. “Sit down and we’ll talk.”
The two feds pulled up Adirondack chairs to face Brennan and sat down. Agent Loomis cleared his throat. He took off a pair of sunglasses and placed them in a suit pocket. “Why did you do it, Caleb?”
Brennan acted confused. “Why did I do what?”
“Why did you help Andrew Maddix and Sara Kendall escape?”
“What makes you think I did?”
“We took a look at your flight records dating back to when Maddix and Sara Kendall escaped. Your personal business jet flew to New Plymouth, New Zealand one day after their disappearance.”
Brennan shrugged. “If you have my flight records you’ll see that I fly to New Zealand all the time. It’s a pretty country and I like to hunt there. Step inside my house and you’ll see all the red deer I’ve shot there.”
Loomis smiled and looked over at Agent Shank and then back at Brennan. “You were one of Maddix’s SEAL instructors. The SEAL community is a tightknit brotherhood. I think you helped him back then because you believed he was innocent.”
“He didn’t kill those three men in Utah. There’s virtually no evidence to prove he did. But that doesn’t mean I helped him escape to another country.”
Special Agent Shank spoke up. “Come on, Caleb, Maddix is the only suspect in the murders. His disappearance proves his guilt.”
Brennan smiled. “You’re forgetting the snake.”
Both FBI agents scowled. “What are you talking about?” Special Agent Loomis asked.
“The only DNA the FBI crime lab found on the cut brake lines was from snake saliva,” Brennan explained.
Loomis rolled his eyes. “You actually believe a snake cut the brake lines on the Escalade and not Maddix?”
“I do. From what the media outlets reported, the cuts in the brake lines were more like punctures.”
Loomis snorted. “A homicidal snake killed three men by biting through the brake lines on their car. I’ve heard everything now.”
“Stranger things have happened, Nick.”
“Not in my lifetime.”
Brennan fell silent, but his mind spun like an internet browser searching for a webpage. If he chose the wrong words he’d incriminate himself for sure.
Agent Shank broke the silence. “Let’s revisit your flight records, Caleb. Five years ago your plane landed in New Plymouth, New Zealand. Twelve hours later it took off and headed for Kabul. That’s an awfully short hunting trip.”
“My hunting plans were interrupted by an emergency there in Afghanistan.”
Agent Shank looked at him intently with mouse-brown eyes. “Can you elaborate on this emergency?”
Brennan nodded. “I’m sure you’re aware I own a security firm specializing in international and executive protection security. The U.S. government contracts with me often. I had some men in Kabul helping to train the upstart police force. One of my men got shot. So I canceled my hunting trip.” Brennan stood up. “Why don’t you fellas come inside? I’ll show you all my hunting trophies hanging on the walls.”
Agent Loomis waved him off. “You know we’ll check out your alibi, don’t you?”
Brennan sat back down. His heart pounded inside his chest. “Go ahead. I’m not hiding anything.”
Agent Loomis tugged at his tie. “Interpol and the New Zealand police think they’ve got it narrowed down where Maddix and Sara Kendall are living. They go by the names of Adam and Emily Thorn, and they’re somewhere in the hill country off of Highway 43. Are you familiar with this area, Caleb?”
“I’m not an expert. But I know of it. It’s an isolated and sparsely populated district in the Taranaki region.”
“You have any ideas where a couple might hide out there?” Agent Loomis continued.
Brennan shrugged. “It’s so remote you could hide right out in the open just about anywhere. Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. My Bombardier jet is just down the road at the Durango-La Plata County Airport. I can call my pilot. We can have wings in the air in less than an hour. I’ll go with you and help you find Maddix.”
“You helped him escape and now you want to help us find him?” a smirking Agent Shank asked.
Brennan rolled his eyes. “This can’t end well for Andrew. Chances are good you won’t take him alive. One of your FBI sharpshooters will put a bullet into his brain. Maybe if I’m there I can talk him into surrendering.”
“What makes you think he’ll listen to you?” Agent Loomis asked.
“We’re both SEALS and operate on the same wavelength. We relate to each other. I’ve undergone the same training as him. I was his PT instructor during his Bud/S training. I know his physical and mental limitations, his breaking point. The way I see it, you two need me. So what do you say to my proposal?”
Agent Loomis shook his head. “You know how it is dealing with higher-ups. We’d have to go through quite a few channels to get it approved.”
Brennan stood up angrily. “Oh, for the love of Pete! You Justice Department boys have to form a focus group just to discuss what bar you’re going to after work. Let me talk to your boss. I’ll explain everything. It’s a thirteen hour flight to New Zealand. If we leave in an hour we’ll get there around six in the evening their time.”
“Calm down, Caleb. I’ll call my boss. Maybe he’ll surprise me,” Loomis said. “Do you mind if I call from inside your house?”
“Be my guest, Nick.”
Brennan watched the FBI agent walk inside his house. He sat back down and consoled his dog. The English setter had awakened from his nap and was growling at Agent Shank.
“You’re in a heap of trouble, Caleb,” Shank said. “You should just come clean. You’re likely going to be indicted for obstruction of justice and helping a criminal es
cape. You’re looking at serious prison time.”
Brennan shot the FBI agent an icy stare. “Don’t even try to intimidate me, Shank. It’s not going to work.”
Agent Loomis walked out onto the porch a minute later. He looked at Brennan, shock masking his clean-shaven face. “You better call your pilot, Caleb. It looks like we’re heading down to New Zealand.”
Chapter 11
Wickam Sheep Station
Adam Thorn sat on an idling Yamaha ATV just outside a large fenced paddock. 175 hungry rams huddled inside the paddock and watched him closely. Commonly thought to be dumb animals, the rams instinctively knew they were about to be moved to the high pastures and bleated impatiently to be let out.
Spencer and Emily stood near Thorn. “Can I come with you, Dad?” Spencer asked. His small voice barely topped the ATV and bleating sheep.
Thorn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Spencer, maybe next time. Mom can sure use your help down here, though.”
Spencer looked down at the ground. “You always say that.”
“I know. But one of these days I’m going to surprise you and say yes.” Thorn watched a small grin break across his son’s face. Emily took a step forward and handed him a sack lunch. He took it and placed it in a rucksack tied to the front gear rack.
“Be careful up there, Adam,” Emily said, her green eyes cloudy with worry. “Do you have your sword?”
It seemed like such an odd question to him, like something a wife would ask her husband back in the medieval times. Thorn nodded soberly. “It’s tied to the back gear rack.”
“And you have the manna, too?”
“I have some of it. I took some out of the pouch and put it in a tin. I wanted you to have some in case you need it,” Thorn explained, the thought of his wife physically battling demons making his heart ache.
“Dad, am I going to fight demons someday like you?” Spencer asked.
Thorn fought back at the tears threatening to burst from his eyes. “I pray every day that you never have to fight them the way I have to, Spencer. The best way to fight Satan and his demons is to invite Jesus to come live in your heart. He’ll fight the battle for you if you ask him.”
Spencer came up and hugged him tight. Thorn’s heart shuddered. He bit his lip to keep from sobbing. Lord, protect my family. They’re all I got. Please surround them with a brigade of angels, he prayed silently.
Spencer let go of him and backed up. Emily placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder “Thorn looked at his son and smiled the best he could. “Can you open the gate for me, Spence? These rams are raring to go.”
Spencer ran up to the stock gate and unclasped it. He swung the gate open, allowing the rams to file out. Billy, one of George Wickam’s Australian cattle dogs, went to work, nipping lightly at the heels of the stragglers. Thorn looked at his wife. “I have the signal mirror. If things go bad I’ll signal you.” Neither one of them had used a cell phone in over five years. In the quest to stay undetected, they gave up their iPhones.
“I’ll be watching.”
Thorn nodded and twisted the ATV’s throttle. The four-wheeler surged forward. Thorn drove the ATV up to the right flank of the flock and maintained this position. He and the sheep and Billy were headed for Harmony Meadow, a large grassy expanse high up on the Tahora Saddle. The rams were always kept separate from the ewes except during the breeding season. The ewes and their lambs were currently down from grazing the high pastures. Now it was time to take the rams up to feed.
Thorn looked briefly into the sky. A few puffy clouds blew in from the west, but the majority of the sky remained azure. A bright sun beamed onto the green hillsides and made them gleam like emeralds. New Zealand’s beauty overwhelmed him sometimes. Thorn still considered himself an American, but New Zealand charmed him little by little each day. He loved the friendly, laidback people, the undefiled nature, the unusual assortment of game animals and birds, and the lack of urban sprawl. He just wished he and his family could be here under different circumstances.
Thorn hadn’t yet consumed any of the manna. He was hoping to receive some sort of divine instruction before he began eating it. Back when he briefly served as a pastor in Utah, Gabriel the archangel interrupted a deacon’s meeting at the church to give him explicit instructions about eating the manna and using the Eden sword. Thorn hoped for a similar experience now.
The hillside steepened. Thorn opened the throttle more. He was thankful for the ATV. Walking up the steep hill would be tough on two legs. Walking up the hill on a prosthetic leg would be murder. The sheep, however, didn’t seem to mind the climb. They like high places. Hilltops make them feel safe.
Thorn sped up and left the sheep behind, trusting Billy to keep them on course. At the top of the hill sat a well and a long drinking trough. Thorn killed the machine and got off. He levered a pump handle several times to get the water flowing, and then began filling the trough with water. A few moments later the first sheep arrived and quickly stuck their heads into the trough to drink. The rest of the flock topped the hill and began grazing on Harmony Meadow.
His own stomach rumbled and reminded him he needed to eat too. Thorn got out the sack lunch Emily made for him. He sat down in the grass and leaned his back against an ATV tire. Thorn removed the food and placed the items back onto the flattened sack. Simple food for a simple man: ham and Swiss cheese on a sliced baguette, a pear, and a small hunk of dark chocolate. There was also a short note. I love you more than you’ll ever know. I pray for your safety always. I don’t know if I could go on living without you. Come back soon.
Thorn said a brief prayer for the food and began to eat.
Chapter 12
Wickam Sheep Station—one hour later
With no cars behind him, Nikko Castellanos slowed the Subaru to a stop on Highway 43 and put the car in reverse. He’d driven right by the entrance to the Wickam Sheep Station, missing the small sign with its fading paint. Shifting the rental car back into drive, Castellanos pulled into the long driveway and drove slowly, allowing himself an opportunity to examine the farm layout, its residential buildings and outbuildings.
He directed his heavy-lidded eyes away from the main house to the smaller cottages. He figured his targets lived in one of the nondescript cottages. Castellanos licked his lips. Adrenaline surged through his body. His plan was simple. Find out where Adam Thorn was and kill him in cold blood, up close with a silencer-equipped handgun. He would then snap a few quick pictures of Thorn’s corpse with his phone, satisfying Henrik Skymolt’s requirement of proof.
All that would remain then was his getaway, which shouldn’t be hard given the isolation of the region. It would take law enforcement a long time to make it all the way out here. He’d be long gone, unless he got stuck behind a mob of sheep crossing the highway.
Castellanos parked the Subaru outside the main house. He sat in the car and debated whether to knock on the door or walk to the largest barn to find someone to talk to. But then a lean, gray-haired man dressed in bib overalls exited the house and walked down the front steps toward the Subaru.
Castellanos climbed out from his car to greet the man. He extended a hand for Wickam to shake. “Are you George Wickam?” he said with a faux smile.
“That’s what they call me,” Wickam said, taking Castellanos’s hand and shaking it warmly.
Castellanos retrieved his hand. “My name is Landon Hawkins, and I’m an estate attorney. I’m looking for a man named Adam Thorn. Does he by chance live here?”
Wickam frowned. His bushy gray eyebrows seesawed together. “Is Adam in some sort of trouble?”
If you only knew how much trouble, Castellanos thought. “No, one of Adam’s relatives recently passed and bequeathed him a small cash inheritance. I’m here to instruct Adam how to acquire his money.”
Wickam maintained his salty frown. “You sound like a foreigner. Are you from America?”
Castellanos nodded. “I am an American but I live in Sydney and work for a law firm there. S
o is Adam around?” he asked, glancing from building to building.
“Nope, he isn’t.”
“Are you saying Adam doesn’t live here?”
“Nope, I just said he isn’t here. He took some rams up to the high pastures. He’s up there,” Wickam said and pointed a bony finger at a distant hilltop.
“How long will Adam be up there?”
“I imagine all day. He’ll come back down this evening.”
Castellanos nodded. “Okay, I’ll come back this evening. Will that be okay, Mr. Wickam?”
“Suit yourself. You can stay here if you like. But if you do I’ll put you to work.”
Castellanos laughed. “I think I’ll just drive around and admire the scenery and come back this evening. Thank you for your time, Mr. Wickam.” Castellanos climbed back into the Subaru and started the engine. He watched George Wickam amble off toward a barn.
Castellanos pulled back onto the driveway and retraced his way back to the highway. He slowed the car when a door opened on one of the cottages. A woman in her mid-thirties came out with a load of wash in her arms, headed for a nearby clothesline. Castellanos watched the woman, admiring her attractive form. Despite a different hair color and style, he recognized Sara Kendall or Emily Thorn as she now went by. A towheaded boy followed her.
So they do have a child. Pierre Bertrand guessed correctly, thought Castellanos. The child didn’t change his plans a bit. To be an assassin you have to have a cold heart.
Castellanos pulled out of the driveway and back onto the Forgotten World Highway. He could hardly contain his nerves. In just a few minutes he would be stalking Adam Thorn, who was all alone on a hilltop save for a flock of sheep.
Castellanos could hardly believe his good fortune. His string of luck continued to hold. It would take even longer for someone to find Thorn’s body now, allowing him plenty of time to make his escape and enjoy his millions. And judging by how the Middle East was about to explode into full-fledged war against Israel, he would need all the money he could get. The world economy already teetered on the verge of collapse. Another protracted world war would send it hurtling over the edge.
