• • •
“There,” whispered Natalie. From their position among the low shrubbery in the undeveloped lot next to Weber’s home, the two witnessed a six-man team pour out of the boathouse and head toward the building.
“You ready?” Shaw asked. Natalie nodded and braced her rifle against the trunk of the palm tree, taking aim at the last in the line of men. “Alright, stay here. On my go.”
Shaw, staying low, rushed to his right, finding a solid position on the other side of a small boulder approximately thirty meters away from Natalie. He took in a deep breath and likewise braced his MK18 against his cover. He flicked the selector switch to full auto and placed the team in his sights. He would shoot first, drawing the immediate attention of the team and ensuring that Natalie took the least amount of fire possible. He didn’t know how well trained these individuals were, but even the highest trained operators could be cut down in an ambush.
The Marine Raider squeezed the trigger, sending a three-round burst into the lead man.
• • •
“Mr. Affré!” Silva greeted loudly, as the man shoved Mather-Pike to the floor of the second story. “I thought you were dead.”
“Almost,” the Frenchman replied. He delivered another kick into Mather-Pike’s side before moving casually to the bar. Silva glanced at Mather-Pike who seethed upon seeing Morgan.
“See, Mr. Morgan. What did I tell you?” Morgan chuckled, drawing enraged thrashing from the South African. Affré immediately feared that he would ruin everything.
“How did you escape?” Silva asked. Affré treaded carefully. Silva would smell a lie all too easily.
“Him,” he replied. Silva’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling.
“Care to explain?” he probed. Affré returned to the center of the room with a glass of liquor in his hand. He gripped Mather-Pike by the collar and tugged hard. Mather-Pike complied and rose to a kneeling position, his bound hands rested at his waist. Laughter filled the room, and Silva turned to regard Weber. The general, having entered from the balcony, held his cigar in the corner of his mouth, and the smoke twirled upwards in a hypnotic dance.
“Is something funny, General?” Silva asked.
“You got bested by this … oaf?” he asked, knowing Mather-Pike well enough. His condescending tone was not lost on him. Silva gritted his teeth in anger, but then his mind cleared.
“What did you say?” he asked. His words, barely above a whisper, immediately alarmed Affré.
“I’m surprised is all,” Weber said, extending his glass toward Mather-Pike. “The man’s a gorilla, lacking any basic intelligence. You and I know that.” Silva turned his gaze from Weber back to Mather-Pike. His eyes rose slowly to meet Affré’s golden-green irises.
“Yes, General, you are quite right.” Before he could act, a stream of suppressed, automatic gunfire echoed outside, followed quickly by the screams of dying men.
• • •
The rock in front of Shaw chipped and fragmented, as enemy rounds thudded into it. Shaw ducked behind his cover for a brief moment. Of the six, four remained, and they had responded with such aggression and accuracy that it confirmed the level of their training. Still, Shaw and Natalie held the advantage of position.
Natalie watched as the four remaining men engaged Shaw, causing him to retreat behind cover. She fought against the rising adrenaline that warred against her fine motor skills and placed the red dot on the torso of the last man. She would need to be fast. Shaw had dropped two, and now it was her turn.
The operations officer squeezed the trigger and sent her first round hurtling toward her target. She fired again toward the same man after he staggered but didn’t fall. Natalie quickly transitioned targets as the mercenary hit the sand, and she squeezed off another shot. She didn’t miss. A fourth man fell, and the courage of the remaining two faltered. One turned to face the nearest threat while the other kept his attention on Shaw; however, Shaw rolled around to the other side of the boulder and dropped the man aiming at Natalie. Natalie made short work of the last mercenary, and the island fell silent.
Shaw moved from behind his cover and kept his rifle trained in the direction of the fallen mercenaries, ready to send another round into any that moved. Satisfied that none remained alive, he moved toward the villa and directed Natalie to follow.
“Here,” he whispered, positioning himself beneath the balcony and offering Natalie a leg up. “Stay to the left, and they won’t see you.” She nodded, slung the rifle around her back, and gripped Shaw’s shoulders. “Up,” he said. She felt her body rise, and she gripped the bottom of the railing and hoisted herself onto the balcony. She stayed to the left as instructed and waited for Shaw.
The Raider captain slung his carbine around his back in like manner, and, finding one of the posts that supported the balcony, scurried up it, using his feet, hands, and body weight to easily reach the top. He gazed to his left, and Natalie stood on the opposite side of the balcony. Large bay windows and a set of French doors separated them, and with a nod from Shaw, the two moved toward the doors with their rifles high and entered the building on the second floor.
50
Silva spun around to regard Morgan, and the Englishman’s expression confirmed his fears. His security team was gone. Silva slowly shook his head and a smile crept onto his face.
“Well played, Romuald,” he said. “I should have seen this coming.” The betrayal fell twice as hard, but he resolved himself. “You and Mr. Carpra were close,” Silva added, referring to his former bodyguard whom he had drowned in the Nile. “Morgan, kill them both,” he ordered. Before the man could obey, Affré’s hands flashed with blinding speed and produced the pistol concealed at his waist. He pointed it at Morgan, who slowly raised his hands.
“Your weapon; kick it over,” Affré commanded. Morgan reached slowly for it. “No, no, with your left hand,” Affré instructed. The gun clangored across the wooden floor, and Morgan raised his hands to shoulder level, palms outward. “He’s all yours, Rian,” the Frenchman said.
Mather-Pike rose to his feet. His eyes burned with ravenous hatred for the Englishman before him. He torqued his hands against his chest, passing his elbows forcibly beyond his ribcage, and the zip tie snapped with ease. That sight alone was enough for Morgan. He bolted through the open doors behind him and onto the balcony. Mather-Pike roared in rage and raced after the murderer. Silva moved, but Affré quickly presented the pistol his way and shook his head.
Morgan jumped from the second story balcony, rolled to absorb the impact, sprinted toward the SR52, and reached it before Mather-Pike had exited the building. The South African cleared the balcony and likewise rolled to absorb the impact of his fall. He sprinted toward the dock but slowed as he watched the yacht reverse and speed away toward open sea. Shaking his head in denial, he sank to his knees on the wooden dock and wept.
“Have a seat, General,” Affré stated. Silva stood in the center of the room, and Weber stood several paces away near the exit Morgan and Mather-Pike had just taken.
“I’ll stand,” he stated flatly, his grim expression showing no sign of fear or distress.
“I’m going to kill you, Romuald,” Silva hissed. Before Affré could respond, the French doors behind him opened, and two individuals entered with their carbines ready.
“David!” Weber stated, failing to hide his alarm. Shaw ignored him, his eyes focused on Silva, but Silva stared at Natalie.
“Miranda?” he questioned. It all clicked, and he laughed in deep appreciation of her abilities.
Shaw strode up to Silva, and his chest wound tingled as he neared. He drew his suppressed 1911 from its holster and sent a round through Silva’s forehead. The Spaniard’s head snapped backwards, and a spray of blood and brain matter followed the bullet out the back of his skull. His body slumped the ground, and Shaw stepped right over him as he proceeded toward Weber.
General Weber, unfazed by Shaw’s savagery, looked from the dead man to Shaw’s burning
eyes. He refused to look at the pistol the man held at his side.
“I’m surprised to see you alive,” Weber said. Shaw holstered the pistol before seizing Weber by the shoulders and throwing him to the ground. It took more personal resolve than Shaw realized to lay hands on the man. Weber quickly recovered and rose to his feet, shaking off the assault.
“I want answers,” Shaw demanded. “You killed my men.”
“They’re not your men, David. They belong to the Corps.” Weber’s voice held the tone of a condescending parent. “Marines die. You know that as well as anyone else.”
“Did you leak the op?” Shaw probed, as if not hearing him. Natalie and Affré watched the exchange, each unsure of what they should do.
“I saved your life,” Weber countered. The comment caught Shaw off guard. “You weren’t going to be medically retired. I did that and kept you stateside,” the general stated.
“What?” Disbelief coursed through Shaw’s mind.
“You’re alive because of me,” he argued.
“And so you let the others die! York! Reyes! Just so you can make some extra cash?” Shaw growled.
“Don’t lecture me, David. You understand. We are men of a different breed. Had we gone into the private sector, we would be living like kings. We gave everything to an ungrateful country. I traded my daughter’s childhood for war, and this country has done nothing to repay that debt.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Shaw stammered. His heart split and lay asunder at the feet of the man he had revered above all others.
“There are kings and pawns in this world, David. I was given an opportunity for kingship, and kings, from time to time, must sacrifice their pawns. Those Marines were fortunate that their blood anointed the altar of freedom,” Weber continued. Shaw shook his head, fighting against the new reality he saw in the man before him. Is this how he had rationalized his actions? How had the humble, farm boy from Iowa, a first-generation college graduate from the Naval Academy, become the vain elitist that now stood before him?
Shaw now saw it.
Weber possessed all the traits of victimhood, which had undoubtedly led him down this path of treachery, greed, moral relativity, and ethical instability.
“Have you forgotten everything? Semper Fidelis?” Shaw’s eyes showed more pity than anger. “You are no Marine,” he finally said. The comment unexpectedly stung Weber deep in his soul.
“The cost was too high,” Weber admitted soberly.
“The cost?” Shaw stammered. “What do you know of the cost of freedom? Reyes paid the cost! York paid the cost! Neeman and Beasley paid the cost!” Weber’s shame was too much to bear, but his pride would not allow him to relent. He stoked his anger, and the flame spread, unquenchable.
“It was only a matter of time before you came for me!” Weber countered. “Look at you now!” Shaw stared hard at the man, who stared equally as hard back. The emotions that stirred within Shaw were unlike any he had ever experienced. He had to go through it, for the sake of his brothers, but could he pull the trigger? His control teetered on the edge of a knife; one blow in either direction would catapult him into seas of emotional turmoil he couldn’t possibly imagine. “What happens now, David?” Weber asked, extending wide his hands and bearing his chest as if inviting the sword.
“Affré, open the case,” Shaw ordered without taking his eyes off Weber. The Frenchman moved to his side and opened the case on the table next to him. “You will make this right,” Shaw commanded of Weber. “You are going to transfer all of your black-market wealth into the account provided.” Weber looked down at the computer installed in the case and then back to Shaw.
“And if I don’t, you’ll kill me?” Weber asked. The Marine general repressed all affection for the man that stood before him. All he saw was a faceless, enemy combatant threating his life.
“Yes,” Shaw replied coldly. Weber smirked.
“Go ahead.” He doubted Shaw could pull the trigger. “You can’t kill me. I made you.” He glanced around the room, his eyes falling on everyone present. “I am MARSOC!” he shouted as his anger increased. “Me, General Linus Charles Weber, and I will command it as I see fit! I tell Marines to go and they go! I tell them to come and they come! I tell them to die and they di … ”
Shaw’s pistol cut him short. The slug tore through the man’s abdomen, and he fell into the couch clutching the spurting wound. Shaw horrified by his own actions glanced down at the weapon in his hand. He wondered if his own consciousness had pulled the trigger or if his fallen brothers had possessed him in that moment, demanding justice for their deaths. The pain of watching his mentor writhe in agony was almost too much to bear.
Weber, facing death, glanced up at his protégé. The aura of integrity surrounding Shaw permeated Weber’s soul. Who had he become? What had he done? For what, money? His father’s words echoed in his mind, all you have in this world is your good name, Linus, and once it’s gone, it’s gone forever and there’s no getting it back. What had his endeavors gained him? What had they robbed from him? The answers were too great to face. Staring in the face of the man he and his wife had always hoped would marry their daughter and provide grandchildren, Weber came face to face with his inequities. Death, the great philosopher, had a way of clearing the mind.
“What of my wife? My daughter?” Weber managed to ask through labored breaths. The question snapped Shaw out of his trance.
“They will be cared for,” he promised, “as will the families of the Marines you killed.”
“I will have to make multiple transactions,” Weber explained.
“That will be fine,” Affré said, presenting Weber with the open computer. After several moments, Weber, exhausted with sweat soaking his clothes, nodded his head toward Shaw.
“It’s done … but … but … ” He found speech difficult as each moment brought a new wave of agony. “I’ve left my joint accounts with Denise alone. I … I … hope you can appreciate that.” Emotion welled up within Shaw as Weber looked up at him. They both knew there was no veering from what came next, and Weber’s tired eyes, so vibrant just moments before, begged him.
“Meet me by the tender,” Shaw said to all present. Affré first retrieved the case before leaving, but Natalie lingered and touched Shaw’s arm before doing as he requested. Shaw watched her leave, then turned his attention back to Weber, and raised his pistol.
Upon seeing the weapon, Weber inhaled solemnly. Shaw shook as his imagination led him through his next course of action; he felt the spirits of his brothers radiate from the weapon.
“Go ahead, Son,” the defeated man stated, “I’m sorry.” Shaw’s eyes reddened and tears flowed freely down his cheeks and into his beard. He raised the pistol and leveled it with Weber’s forehead. The general closed his eyes and leaned into the suppressor. “I love you,” Weber said. The words tore at his heart, but Shaw averted his gaze. He inhaled, mustered his courage, and pulled the trigger. Shaw felt the weapon recoil and chamber a new round.
Weber fell back into the couch as his lifeless muscles failed to support him. His blood soaked into the white fabric, but Shaw refused to look at the body and left immediately. On the way down the stairs, his devastating grief staggered him into the wall, and he shouted in anguish. He slid down, sobbing hysterically. It all crashed over him. He had lost so much: his career, his life, his brothers-in-arms, and now his mentor. It was too overwhelming, and all the suppressed emotions bubbled upward and spewed forth in agonizing reality. His pistol fell to the ground, and he buried his face in his hands.
• • •
Natalie jumped at the suppressed gunshot and instantly feared the worst, but she checked herself. She kept her gaze on the door leading into the bottom floor. Minutes felt like days, and, eventually, Shaw emerged alone, his face red. Compelled by affection, she ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck. Shaw buried his face into her shoulder and cried again. She stroked his long hair and held him tightly. He collected him
self, sniffed, and looked away.
“Hey,” Natalie said tenderly, drawing his gaze back to hers with a move of her hand against his cheek. He grunted, fighting off the wave of emotional pain. She curled his loose hair behind his ear and kissed him, and before Shaw could process the new emotions swirling inside, she pulled away. “Come on,” she said. Natalie wrapped her arm around his waist and led him to the tender.
Mather-Pike stared blankly in the direction Morgan had fled, and Affré sat at the idling engine. Natalie and Shaw climbed in. Affré backed the boat into the channel, gunned the throttle, and sped them back to American Rhetor.
51
Luray, Virginia
Wyatt’s eyes opened blearily, and dark circles underneath contrasted with his pale complexion. The various monitors blinked and beeped, and he inhaled intentionally and deeply; his left lung screamed, setting a grimace on his face. He looked to his right; Kathryn lay asleep, curled up in a chair she had pulled close to the bed. A light blanket lay draped over her body, exposing only her head. He couldn’t see her face but took comfort in the waves of golden hair.
The Raider attempted to recall his last memory and vaguely remembered the drive from the cabin to the hospital. Did he remember arriving? He wasn’t sure. He pushed himself a bit higher on the reclined bed and touched his side. He remembered laboring for breath and feeling faint. He must have passed out at some point.
“Kathryn,” he called softly. She stirred but resettled into her sleep. What time was it? Wyatt found the digital clock on the bedside table.
4:32.
It was dark outside the window; had he been out for only a few hours, or more than a day? He led himself through self-diagnosis. The pain in his side was assuredly the result of a couple broken ribs. Due to his weak condition and painful breathing, he could only assume that a rib had punctured his left lung, but that didn’t explain his passing in and out of consciousness.
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