“As you were, Private,” he said. Bernie offered him a crisp, approving nod. He turned toward Natalie.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” the old Marine asked, holding reservations about leaving her side. Natalie transitioned her gaze toward Shaw, and her heart swelled.
“Yes, I’ll be just fine,” she replied. She gave the old man a kiss on the cheek and said, “Thank you, Bernie. I owe you so much.” His pale face turned bright red.
“Just get this scumbag,” he replied, “and if you ever need anything, anything at all,” he started. He turned to face Shaw, “and that includes you. Don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I will,” Natalie promised. Bernie nodded again, confirming his offer. He approached Shaw and shook his hand.
“Semper Fi, Cap’t,” he said.
“Semper Fi,” Shaw returned. “Thank you,” he added.
Natalie moved to Shaw’s side, and they both returned Bernie’s wave before turning to face Shaw’s house.
“This your place?” Natalie asked.
“Yeah,” Shaw replied.
“A bit beachy,” she noted.
“I like beachy.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the view before we head inside.”
“The view?” Natalie repeated, intrigued. He encouraged her to follow him. Shaw led Natalie around the side of the house, down a path, and through a decorative gate. As they emerged on the backyard, a large smile found its way onto her face.
“This is beautiful,” she said. Green grass slopped gently down to the bank of New River. The sun, nearly set, cast its fading orange glow over the water, turning it to liquid fire. A boathouse rose to the right, and from it, a dock jutted into the river. A sailing yacht floated blissfully with its mast extending skyward. The entire scene pulled serenity from Natalie, and she couldn’t deny how good it felt. Shaw had arranged a tasteful fire pit surrounded by chairs facing the water, and it called her name.
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. He closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh air. He was home. “I’m going to head inside and grab a few things,” he said.
“I’ll go with you.” Shaw led Natalie up onto the expansive, back deck, and she noted the large Green Egg near the railing facing the river. He had really poured a fair amount of effort into this place, she thought.
Shaw inserted his key, and the door glided inward. Natalie found herself impressed with the minimalist interior design and open floorplan. Shaw hurried across the dark hardwood floors to deactivate the silent alarm. He had thirty seconds before it blared its high-pitched shriek. He turned back around to see Natalie wander into the kitchen. She ran her hand atop the polished, concrete countertops and marveled at the woodwork on the vent hood.
“You’ve got a really nice place,” she said. Shaw’s closed smile made her tilt her head in questioning. Shaw glanced up at the ceiling and around the living area. He had purchased and renovated the place early last year in preparation for his proposal to Caroline, but she had broken off the relationship before its completion. She never knew about it. Natalie watched his reaction. “What?” she inquired, wearing a smile of her own.
“I’ve never had a woman over,” he said. Natalie laughed. She felt safe, secure, and it felt really, really good. For the first time in a long time, she felt normal.
“I guess I’m special,” she teased.
“I suppose so,” he replied. They locked eyes, and Natalie couldn’t handle the tickling sensation in her heart.
“What did you need to get?” she asked.
“Just a few things,” he said.
Shaw rummaged through his home collecting the various bits of gear he needed for the mission. The boat was already stocked with provisions, so he needn’t worry there. He was quite the minimalist as far as clothing went. He only possessed two pairs of jeans and a handful of flannels, t-shirts, jackets, and shoes. Everything was practical, and nothing extravagant.
His firearms, on the other hand were the exception. He didn’t have many, because he didn’t need many, but the ones he did own were the best money could buy. MARSOC issued great gear, but Shaw would have preferred to carry his own weapons into combat any day of the week. There were exceptions though. He didn’t own any explosives or machine guns, as was the law, but his AR-15, a custom carbine from Sons of Liberty Gun Works in Texas, was far better than the government issued M4A1 he often carried. He had outfitted the rifle with his favorite sling, a Ranger Green Vickers Blue Force Gear sling, and had mounted a Dead Air Sandman-K suppressor on the end of the thirteen-inch barrel. An AimPoint CompM5 red dot sight was his optic of choice.
The Raider broke down the rifle and stowed it in his Haley Strategic rifle case before setting it down on the floor next to the bed. He crammed all his loaded magazines in a duffle accompanied by his personal war belt and Glock 19 fitted with a Trijicon RMR, Surefire X300U light, and Dead Air Wolfman pistol suppressor. On his belt, he possessed a unique holster from T. Rex Arms, the RagnarokSD, which allowed him to holster his suppressed pistol.
Finally, he reached for the black pistol case on the bed before him. He popped open the brackets and slowly opened the lip. Inside sat a pristine BCM Gunfighter 1911 made by Wilson Combat and an extra, hand-fitted, threaded barrel. He remembered the first time he had laid eyes on the pistol, and apparently so had Wyatt. He didn’t know how they had done it, but his team had all chipped in to purchase it for him as a retirement gift while they were still in Afghanistan and before they deployed to Djibouti and then Yemen.
Shaw ran his fingers over the black frame, and he half-grunted and half-coughed to fight off the wave of emotion that crept up within him.
“What’s that?” came Natalie’s voice behind him. She leaned against the doorframe to his bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest. Shaw didn’t turn to address her but simply kept his gaze on the pistol.
“A gift from the guys,” he replied. She heard the sadness in his tone and moved to his side. She placed a warm hand on his shoulder as she leaned to see the weapon.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“And it has a purpose,” he replied sternly. She rubbed his shoulder, and he appreciated the touch. He closed the case, snapped down the latches, and placed the case in the duffle alongside a SilencerCo Osprey 45 silencer. Shaw then retrieved two items far more precious to him than anything else he owned.
The first was his grandfather’s pocket Bible, which he had carried in World War II’s Pacific Theatre against the Japanese. Its pages were littered with notes and accounts of his combat on the various islands he had served. It was not only a link to the past but also a link to his present. He was Marine because his grandfather had been. As Shaw stared at the worn leather binding, he remembered the man’s kind blue eyes, thinning white hair, and contagious spirit.
He drank Scotch like it was water and only the good stuff. He had cracked jokes at which he was the first to laugh and contained a thirst for knowledge that even Plato and Aristotle would have admired.
The second item was the only physical copy of his grandfather’s play, In This Sign, Conquer. The language his grandfather wrote was as captivating as any Shaw had ever read. It was his written legacy, his immortality, and Shaw intended to preserve it.
He glanced around the room. Having packed his passport and other important documents and a flash drive containing all the vital information for his life, Shaw zipped up the duffle, hoisted the heavy bag over his shoulder, picked up the rifle case at his feet, and left the room.
“I’m going to load all this into the boat,” he said as he passed through the living room and continued outside.
“David,” Natalie called. Her tone stopped him. He turned around to face her.
“Why are you packing like this?” she asked.
“Like what?” he asked. She strode forward and looked at him tenderly.
“Like you’re never coming back.” Shaw broke eye contact.
“I might not be able to after all thi
s,” he replied. She understood. She hadn’t considered it before, but now that he mentioned that possibly, she considered her own situation. If Roark truly worked for Caldwell, how could she ever return to the CIA? Was Caldwell complicit? “Come on, let’s get going,” Shaw said. Natalie, drawn back to the moment, nodded and followed him from the home. The duo loaded up the sailboat and, satisfied, Shaw glanced at Natalie.
“We’re all set,” he said.
“You’re forgetting something,” she replied. He looked at her curiously. What could he possibly be forgetting?
“What?” he asked.
“You going to return the rental?”
44
Shenandoah National Park, Stanley, Virginia
The dark, metallic-grey CR-V turned onto the gravel road that led up the mountain, leaving Stanley, Virginia in the valley below. The crossover SUV bounced as it made its ascent, and both passengers tiredly focused on the edge of the vehicle’s headlights. The log cabin materialized before them, and they both could hardly call it a cabin. It appeared more as a mountain estate with large floor to ceiling windows built into its multiple A frames.
“Look at this place,” Wyatt commented in awe.
“It’s amazing,” Kathryn added.
Wyatt killed the engine, and the two sat for a moment mesmerized by the home. The exterior lighting painted the structure in the most charming way while still highlighting its grandeur. Wyatt opened the door and inhaled the frigid mountain air. He moved to the rear and opened the hatch to fetch their luggage and his weapons case. The private travel arrangements he and Shaw secured from Cape Town to Atlanta permitted them to maintain possession of the weapons they had in Suez. Wyatt would have preferred his M4A1 given the circumstances, but he settled for his M110A1. He didn’t care that it was illegal; he needed to ensure that he could protect them in the unlikely event they were found before Shaw and Natalie could clear up everything. As he followed behind Kathryn, he contemplated how they would even know the coast was clear. It wasn’t like someone would just tell them that they weren’t being hunted anymore. He only hoped Shaw could squeeze the answers out of Weber.
The couple quickly settled in, and Wyatt familiarized himself with the security system. Afterwards, he readied his weapons, and Kathryn, having changed into an oversized Mercer University sweatshirt, Nike shorts, and a pair of wool socks, watched him work. Her wavy hair lay sprawled over the arm of the couch on which she lay. The sight of her exposed shoulder and firm legs stirred Wyatt’s yearning for the warmth of her touch, but he resolved himself to finish his work.
The Marine Raider ensured that his rifle was loaded and situated in the best possible location. He slammed a nineteen-round magazine into his Glock 19, giving him twenty rounds to work with, and toted the weapon around the estate with him. It was never outside an arm’s reach.
“Can we have a fire?” Kathryn asked. Wyatt glanced at the large fireplace in the center of the living room. Two massive windows, each twenty feet tall, rose on either side of the equally tall and impressive stone fireplace. A bull moose head, with the most extraordinary antlers Wyatt had ever seen, sat mounted over the mantle.
“I don’t see why not,” he replied. Wyatt moved toward the pile of wood stacked in a decorative inlay next to the fireplace and went to work. Within minutes, a crackling fire flooded the room with its warmth. “There we go,” Wyatt said as he brushed his hands together and rose to his feet. He turned around and froze.
Kathryn stood naked and smiling. Wyatt returned her smile as she moved toward him. Her skin prickled and chills swept over her body as it adjusted to the fire’s heat or maybe in response to nearing the man she loved in such an intimate way. Her hands wrapped around his waist, and she hugged him tightly. Wyatt’s legs weakened, and he shook briefly as his hormones spiked.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
“Everything,” she answered before she kissed him.
• • •
Washington, D.C.
Roark scratched another potential location off the paper in front of him as his frustration mounted. He had been thorough in his research and had more locations to check, but the process was proving more time consuming than he liked. Natalie Hale, thus far, had eluded him.
He sat on a bench in the rotunda of the Capitol. Senator Reggie Ramirez would pass by any minute. Footsteps echoed through the rotunda drawing Roark’s sharp eyes. Senator Ramirez and his entourage passed through, and Roark quickly rose to his feet.
“Senator!” he called, “a moment of your time?” Ramirez’s brown eyes found Roark, and, turning to a member of his party, spoke quietly. The young woman nodded, split off from the group, and headed Roark’s way.
“Senator Ramirez is headed for an important meeting. May I inquire as to your business with him?”
“Well, aren’t you a cute thing,” Roark said.
“That’s kind of you,” the woman replied, her expression showing her annoyance and disapproval. “Your business?”
“I represent a party interested in the senator’s residence in Stanley, Virginia. My employer is hoping to tour the estate this weekend and make an offer,” Roark said.
“And you came in person to discuss this?” she asked.
“You know very well that the senator is a very difficult man to get a hold of,” Roark countered. She bobbed her head. He wasn’t wrong.
“I’m afraid what you are requesting is quite impossible,” she began.
“And why is that, Love?” Roark probed. “Surely, the residence is empty.”
“Senator Ramirez is not interested in selling the estate,” the aid replied, her mood stiffened with each pet name. Roark, seeing her begin to unravel, pressed harder.
“Come on, Beautiful, my employer won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” he said. “Surely, you can arrange a private tour for just the two of us. I can promise you won’t regret it.”
“Have a nice day, sir,” she barked. She turned to leave, but Roark pursued hastily. She stopped and turned to face him again. “You have yet to identify who your employer is or present any credentials whatsoever,” she stated, flustered.
“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” Roark stated.
“Even if the senator agreed to your proposal, it would have to wait.” She grew more agitated as she continued, “an old military friend of the senator is currently staying at the estate, and, therefore, no requests such as yours will be granted.” The young woman exhaled sharply and met Roark’s gaze with the most unmovable expression she could muster. As she stared at him, something about his eyes frightened her. He looked at her with lecherous desire that overloaded her comfort threshold.
“I’m sorry to have upset you, Miss … ” he searched her nametag, but she quickly covered it with her hand. She wasn’t quick enough. “Miss Echols,” he replied. A shudder coursed down her spine. “I will inform my employer that Senator Ramirez’s mountain estate is off the table.” He turned to leave, and Johanna Echols, shaken from her encounter, scurried back to Senator Ramirez’s side.
Roark trotted down the steps of the Capitol wearing the smug expression of victory. Ramirez likely had hundreds of connections from his military service that he would have considered close, but Natalie Hale was the exception. She clung to him like a father, and he to her like a daughter. If anyone was staying at his estate, it had to be her.
He found his SUV where he had parked it and started the engine. The drive ahead of him would span a few hours and a lengthy hike would surely follow, not to mention all the planning needed prior to his departure. He felt the fire of the hunt heat his belly, a sensation he relished and sought at all times. It was his drug, his heroin, and he now had his next fix.
45
Atlantic Ocean
American Rhetor, a 2007 Beneteau Cyclades yacht, rose gently in the mild surf as she cut southeast through the Atlantic. Her white hull and matching sails contrasted sharply with the dark blue sea. Cruising at a steady six k
nots, Shaw was pleased with their progress.
The Marine Raider stood at the helm, gripping the steering wheel, with his eyes focused in the direction of the distant Abaco Islands. He dedicated his thoughts toward Weber. He had often wondered how the general could afford such a property in the Bahamas. Shaw had been there many times and was consistently amazed by the three-story, Bahamian residence; it was the main inspiration for the renovations to his house. Now, everything was clear: Weber’s vacation home was built off deals selling United States weaponry to the highest bidder. Had it come to light in any other way, Shaw would have been greatly disappointed, but the killing of Marines could not be tolerated.
Shaw inhaled heavily, fighting off the rage attempting to gain a foothold in his body, and focused on the salty breeze. They had sailed through the night, taking shifts and relying on the autopilot.
Theirs was a three-day sail from Jacksonville, North Carolina to Green Turtle Cay, and, fortunately, they would arrive in time for Silva and Weber’s scheduled meeting, according to Affré’s timeline. Shaw could hardly believe their fortune, but he wasn’t naive. If Shaw were in Weber’s shoes, or Silva’s for that matter, he would beef up any normal security. He hoped Weber still believed him dead.
Natalie, who Shaw had brought up to speed the night before, emerged from the galley, carrying two mugs of coffee. She had wrapped her hair into a messy and wild bun, and free strands floated about her face. She shivered and dropped her head into her shoulders as the sharp, winter wind chilled her exposed neck.
“Here,” Shaw immediately said, removing his jacket and offering it to her.
“No, I’m fine,” she replied.
“Take it, I insist,” Shaw pressed. She relented with a smile, set the two mugs on the table between the two exterior benches, and put on his coat. Having captured his body heat, the jacket immediately warmed her, and the high collar protected her from the wind.
“What about you?” she asked. Shaw grinned and waved his hand.
Saber Down Page 28
