“I’m fine. Merino wool,” he replied. He pinched a portion of his long-sleeved, crew-neck shirt and raised it up before letting it go.
“Oh, that’s very nice,” Natalie said, her voice laced with sarcasm. Shaw laughed, which drew a smile from the woman. “I brought you a coffee.” Shaw raised his own mug he had seated on the dash before taking a sip.
“Thanks for the thought,” he said. He didn’t want to read too much into the gesture, but he hoped a deeper motive had spurred her actions. “Actually, mine’s getting cold,” he said, realizing it was far more important for him to accept the gift. Her face brightened. He exchanged his mug for the new one and took a sip, “Ah, that’s better.” Natalie, having taken Shaw’s cup, realized that the ceramic mug was still quite hot.
He was sweet.
“How are we doing?” she asked, moving beside him.
“We’re doing great. We’ll arrive not tomorrow evening, but the next,” he answered.
“Just in time,” she said. For a moment, standing next to him, she found serenity being out on the open water in such a way. Despite her six years in the Navy, she had never once experienced the sea in this manner. It was far better than serving on one of the Navy’s large warships, more intimate, a deeper connection between humanity and the sea. She loved it more than she could have imagined.
“It’ll get significantly warmer by tomorrow evening,” Shaw said.
“How much warmer?” she asked.
“Like bathing suit warmer.”
“Oh, are you wanting to see a little skin?” Natalie teased. Shaw laughed, embarrassed.
“That’s … uh … that’s not what I meant,” he quickly said. Natalie smiled and winked at him.
“I know.” She patted Shaw’s corded forearm, which turned into an affectionate rub. “I know,” she said again before returning both hands to her mug. She shifted her gaze to the steady rise of the bow. “So how did you manage to afford this thing?” she asked. Shaw smiled.
“They’re a bit more affordable than people think. I picked her up in Grenada in 2013. She had been dry docked since 2008. Her previous owner couldn’t afford her anymore after the recession began, and I was able to scoop her up for a pretty good deal,” he explained.
“And you sailed her back to North Carolina from Grenada all by yourself?”
“Yeah,” he replied, “and fell in love instantly.”
“I can see why,” she said, admiring the freedom and sense of adventure one could only experience at the helm of a sailing yacht.
“What kind of coffee is this? It’s quite strong,” Natalie asked.
“Black Rifle Coffee: Beyond Black,” Shaw answered. She nodded as she took another sip.
“It’s good,” she said.
“The best,” Shaw replied.
“So where are we picking up Affré and Mather-Pike?” she asked, recalling the names of Silva’s bodyguards from Shaw’s briefing last night.
“Little Abaco Island.” She nodded and took another sip of her coffee. Natalie wondered if she should ask her next question. She knew it was a personal one.
“What will you do when you see General Weber?” she asked. Shaw inhaled sharply. He had kept those thoughts at bay. They were too laced with emotion to process, but what he did know he would share.
“I want to bring him in, but I don’t know how possible that is,” he answered. “It will likely take years for the investigation to unravel what he has done, and who knows how much he’ll be able to cover up. Will the threat against your life stop? Or Kathryn’s? Or Wyatt’s?”
“Or yours?” Natalie added. Shaw nodded.
“I never thought he was capable of such evil, and if he is capable of it now, he will be capable of it in the future.” The Raider paused. “There is only one way forward, and I hope I have the strength to do it.”
They finished their coffee in silence, and Natalie hadn’t moved from Shaw’s side, a fact that delighted the Marine. He had never met a woman like her, so resilient and formidable, and to be honest, he found himself concerned with his mission focus due to her presence. What if she didn’t make it?
The thought didn’t sit well in his stomach.
46
Shenandoah National Park,
East of Stanley, Virginia
The forest-green Range Rover rolled to a stop at the reserved campsite within Shenandoah National Park. The forest was hollow, having shed its leaves for the coming winter, but Roark hardly cared. He trained his mind on setting up camp. He wouldn’t be staying, but he had to keep up the facade.
After setting up his tent and filling it with the usual amenities, he returned to the rear of the SUV. The man unfolded the map stowed in his jacket pocket and pressed it flat against the trunk space. He noted his location and the location of Senator Ramirez’s estate before producing a Lensatic compass to confirm his bearings. Satisfied, the man slung his hiking pack over his shoulders and checked the ten-millimeter Glock to ensure a round sat in the chamber. He wasn’t about to gamble his life in bear country. Roark found his eastward bearing and set off into the bush.
It was late afternoon before he crested the ridge that brought the Ramirez estate into view. His eyebrows arched at the grandeur of the cabin. He chuckled as he thought of how rich senators become only after assuming their office. Maybe he should run one day.
Roark, warm in his Beyond Clothing winter apparel, settled in for his stakeout. If his target was there, he would assault at nightfall. The forecast indicated a full moon and clear skies, which wasn’t ideal, but Roark couldn’t change the climate or the rotation of planets.
He unzipped his hiking pack and produced a Cliff bar, a Nalgene bottle filled with water, and a pair of high-powered binoculars. He gazed on the structure as he munched on the bar. An hour passed before he saw any activity, and he was immediately grateful for the large windows. A woman in an oversized sweatshirt descended a spiral staircase and moved onto the living room floor.
“Well, how about that,” Roark uttered to himself. He recognized the blonde woman as Kathryn Byrd. He licked his lips as he observed her exposed legs and bare feet until she disappeared out of view. She remained hidden for another two hours until she reemerged headed toward the kitchen. She crossed the floor carrying two beers.
The sight excited Roark, who was she with? All intelligence indicated that it was Natalie Hale. It made sense, they did know each other from Yemen, and it wasn’t too farfetched to consider that Hale would reach out to hide Kathryn. She certainly had the means.
Despite being unable to confirm the identity of the second occupant, he was confident it was Officer Hale. Who else could it be? Staff Sergeant John Wyatt was likely dead at the bottom of the Gulf of Suez, so even though Kathryn and he were intimate, his likelihood of being there was impossible.
He owed John Wyatt a bit of gratitude. Had he not resided with her for those two months and had the Air Force not picked him up from her apartment, Roark would have had a significantly harder time tracking her down. CNN had of course refused to provide any information about her whereabouts; it didn’t matter that Roark had posed as a government official from the State Department tasked with checking on her. CNN, rightfully so, Roark knew, had kept her safe from probing.
He thought of Kathryn’s legs again and her feet; he had a thing for feet. He also recalled Natalie’s beauty and fought the anger that rose within him. Perhaps, he could finish what he started with Natalie and have a little fun before putting them both down.
The sun fell beneath the horizon of the distant mountains, and the cold saturated Roark’s fingers as he readied his equipment. He glanced at the cabin again before checking his watch.
Four more hours.
The lights dimmed inside the cabin, making it all but impossible to see through the windows, but Roark, confident in his intel, settled deeper into the cleft of the rock formation.
• • •
Kathryn laid her head on Wyatt’s shoulder as she watched the movie.
Wyatt had come across the original Star Wars trilogy and had asked if she had seen them. When he heard she hadn’t, he was insistent that they watch all three movies. Seeing his enthusiasm, she agreed, and so far, she had enjoyed the first one for what it was. Halfway through Empire Strikes Back, she found it much more compelling than A New Hope. The characters were more complex, and the tension between the protagonist and the villain had increased significantly. Overall, she quite enjoyed herself, but then again, perhaps she only enjoyed the films because of the company. It really didn’t matter though.
She glanced up at Wyatt, who kept his gaze fixed on the screen. His mouth hung slightly open, and she grinned at the sight before reaching up to tap the bottom of his chin.
“What?” he asked. He glanced down at her.
“Your mouth was hanging open,” she answered with a laugh. He smirked.
“Yeah, that happens.” She hugged his arm tighter and snuggled deeper into his shoulder. Wyatt rested a hand on her thigh and turned his attention back to the film. Kathryn reached into Wyatt’s lap, picked a piece of popcorn from the bowl balanced on his legs, and popped it into her mouth.
“Who’s your favorite?” she asked.
“Boba Fett,” Wyatt quickly replied.
“Who?”
“The bounty hunter.”
“Why? He’s only in it for a couple minutes,” she said. Wyatt laughed and rubbed her thigh.
“Yeah, but’s he’s cool, and his dad is really cool.”
“His dad?”
“You’ll see. I’m sure we’ll get to the prequels while we’re here too,” Wyatt explained.
“How many are there?”
“There were six when I was growing up, and Disney has made,” he paused as he tallied up the number in his head, “five and a TV show, which is beyond awesome.”
“What did I get myself into?” she joked.
• • •
2300.
Roark sighed as he looked up from his watch. His face stung from the winter cold, and he had balled his fists inside his gloves. The cabin had been dark and quiet for three hours.
“To hell with this,” he mumbled. He grabbed his gear and began his trek toward the estate.
After a short fifteen-minute hike, Roark located the power meter and quickly shut off power to the building. Electric companies had made it far too easy to kill the power to modern homes. With the power out at Senator Ramirez’s cabin, the security system would not activate; however, that meant he only had a short window before the company called the senator to inform him of the outage. Roark held no doubts that Ramirez would then immediately contact Natalie Hale. He had to move quickly.
Roark produced a lockpick set, went to work on the door, and within moments, he was inside. He stepped over the threshold as the front door swung open, and he was surprised that Senator Ramirez’s estate wasn’t more thoroughly protected. Despite the instant warmth, his gut did nag at him as he surveyed the room, which caused his eyebrows to furrow.
He felt the strong pull to leave in that moment; however, there were only two women that shouldn’t put up too much of a fight. He gained confidence at the thought but then remembered Natalie’s foot smashing into his face. He was grateful she didn’t break his nose.
With each step further into the cabin, he thought about his situation more. One had bested a notorious, criminal hitman from the Atlanta underground, and the other had held her own against insurgents in Yemen and again against him in the funeral home. Perhaps he was proceeding too hastily. Had he entered too soon? Were they ready for him? He resolved to shoot first and forego any pleasure.
The man’s eyes scoured the room, and he kept his pistol ready. He glanced upward at the railing that capped the second floor, and he proceeded toward the spiral staircase. Roark ascended slowly, keeping his pistol trained on the balcony. Once on the second floor, he moved down the hallway. He peeked into the numerous rooms that lined the wide corridor and slowed as he neared the door at the end of the hallway. They had to be inside. He took a step forward.
The wooden floor creaked.
47
Wyatt’s eyes shot open, and he rocketed out of bed. A full load of adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream. Someone was inside. Kathryn stirred and groaned at the commotion.
“What’s going on?” Wyatt ignored her, and before he could reach for his pistol, the door burst open. Wyatt didn’t hesitate. He shot forward, closing the ten-foot distance more quickly than Roark could have anticipated. The sight of a man confused him for a second before he responded as his training dictated, but he was too late. Wyatt barreled into Roark’s torso and seized the weapon with both hands. The Raider drove his weight forward, driving with his legs, and pushed Roark back down the hallway and as far away from Kathryn as he could manage. Roark maintained trigger discipline and tried to gain his footing against the powerful force assaulting him. He whipped the side of his head into Wyatt’s face, but the Marine, despite the bruising pain of repeated blows, pressed onward and dropped his head, drilling it forward into the man’s chest.
Gripping the receiver of the pistol, Wyatt torqued the weapon against Roark’s grasp, wrenching it free. It clanked against the ground, and Wyatt seized the opportunity. He snapped his head upward, catching Roark in the chin. Roark’s front teeth chipped as they collided with his bottom teeth, but he ignored the shocking discomfort. Wrapping both hands around the back of Wyatt’s neck, he drove his knees upward into Wyatt’s face.
The first connected, and a flash of white stole Wyatt’s vision. Roark delivered another blow, but Wyatt had managed to cross his arms to deflect the incoming attack. Both men growled in primordial rage, each seeking survival.
Wyatt struck out with his fist and connected solidly with Roark’s groin. The man squealed and backpedaled, stumbling as he tried to maintain his footing. Wyatt rose to his full height and wiped the blood that ran freely from his nose and upper lip. He had a choice; he could retreat to his weapon or continue the offensive. Not wanting to give his opponent a moment to regroup, he chose the latter.
Wyatt, fists raised, continued toward the intruder, and Roark, not fully recovered from the sickening pain pulsing upward from his groin, reached toward his waist. Wyatt’s eyes widened as he recognized the movement, and he lunged forward, tackling Roark. The two stumbled backwards, and they connected with a brittle banister; the railing gave way. Wyatt’s foot sought sturdy flooring, but surprise flashed through his mind as he realized what was happening. Both men found themselves tumbling twenty feet to the ground.
Roark hit the floor first, landing square on his back. He had not known pain like that before. It completely debilitated him as he labored in vain for precious breath. He wheezed and wheezed and could barely find the strength to move. It felt like large hands closed around his lungs and squeezed with all their might. He stared at the ceiling, waiting to regain control of his body. His mind screamed, and, in horror of his temporary paralysis, Roark mustered what control he had to keep him in the fight.
Wyatt hit the floor hard. It wasn’t audible, but Wyatt felt the series of cracks echo through his body. Wave after wave of debilitating, piercing pain radiated from his left side. He knew instantly that his ribs were broken.
Still able to draw breath, Wyatt gripped a broken railing post and arched it down on Roark’s body. The hard, wooden club connected on Roark’s chest, and Wyatt reared back for another blow. He aimed for the head.
His eyes wide, every cell in Roark’s body shrieked upon recognizing the impending doom. Roark mustered all his strength and raised an arm to block the incoming blow. He felt the bone crack near his wrist, and the pain nearly made him nauseous, but he pressed through it. Wyatt raised the club again, but Roark rolled onto his side and caught the club with his good hand.
Wyatt let go immediately and rose onto all fours. He scrambled toward Roark and took an ill-timed, glancing blow on the shoulder from the makeshift club before he mounted his assailant in the dominant top positio
n. He put his Brazilian Jujitsu to work, but it was far less effective than when training on the mat. It was crude, mixed with primitive striking that originates only in the midst of hectic combat, but Wyatt continued.
With the man straddling atop him and raining blows down on his face, Roark’s body fell into habitual motion. He shielded his face with his forearms and grunted each time Wyatt connected with the broken bone. Wyatt reared back, and Roark seized the opportunity. Having regained his movement and lung capacity, he rocketed upward and seized Wyatt by the back of the neck. He discretely hooked his foot around Wyatt’s left ankle and thrust upward and over with his hips.
Wyatt found himself tumbling sideways, and Roark gained the upper hand. Wyatt noticed Roark’s hand again shoot to the center of his beltline, and, as he reached for Roark’s hand, Roark produced a blade and raked it across the exposed flesh of Wyatt’s palm. The Marine Raider howled in pain.
Roark rose to one knee and drew back his hand to thrust into Wyatt’s side. Wyatt recognized the maneuver; it was one in which he too was well trained. The Marine snapped his heel forward and connected again with Roark’s groan. Roark’s face tightened, and a slight groan passed through his firmly pressed lips. Wyatt seized Roark’s wrist with both hands, controlling the blade, and again shot his heel forward to connect in the same region. Roark screamed and retreated, the pain unbearable. Rising to his feet, Roark hobbled backwards into the living room, but immediately ducked as three gunshots echoed from the second-floor balcony.
Her ears should have rung from the deafening volley, but Kathryn’s adrenaline canceled out the thunderous sounds. It was dark, and she couldn’t see down into the living room. For fear of hitting Wyatt, she had shot at the ceiling in hopes to startle the combatants. As she focused on the living room, the faint moonlight, filtering in through the large bay windows, highlighted two men. She didn’t know which was which.
“John!” she shouted.
“Here!” he cried. That was all she needed. She turned her attention to the standing man and fired quickly. They were long shots, nearly twenty-five feet. None connected, but Roark had had enough. With a broken wrist and permanently damaged testicles, he raced toward the back door, hobbling in a strange way. Kathryn fired again but missed, and the round cut through the glass pane of the sliding door. Roark threw his weight into the compromised pane and burst through the shattering glass as he stumbled onto the deck. “Throw me the gun!” Wyatt shouted. “Just drop it!”
Saber Down Page 29
