by Ty Patterson
She greenlighted his proposal and gave him freedom to pick his agents. She wasn’t disappointed when he presented his initial five nominees to her. They all came with exemplary services records and unquestionable integrity. All of them worked in the private sector and that cover was maintained when they joined the Agency. Broker, was their intelligence analyst and logistics provider. He ran a successful information services business that catered to multinational corporations and world governments. He had an extensive network of agents all over the world who fed human intelligence to a highly sophisticated artificial intelligence software engine, Werner, which spewed out analyses that went out to his clients. Broker put his entire operation at the Agency’s disposal when he joined it.
Broker was the oldest of them all, but his shaggy blond hair, immaculate style, and fitness made him out to be a decade younger. The majority of Zeb’s crew were in their thirties. Broker, Bwana, Roger, Bear, and Chloe made up the original six-person team led by Zeb. All of them were New York based, all former Special Forces, except Broker who had been in the Rangers and Chloe, who had served in the 82nd Airborne.
Beth and Meghan Petersen, twins in their late twenties, were the newest additions to Zeb’s crew. He had come across them when vacationing in Yellowstone National Park and had rescued them from a gang of assassins. The twins, who ran their website consulting business in Boston, had no other family and had pestered Zeb to join his team till he eventually gave in.
They sold their business, relocated to New York and now ran logistics and operations for the Agency, leaving Broker free to focus on the intelligence gathering. The twins brought youth, sharp intelligence, vibrancy and an irreverent sense of humor to the team.
On one of the Agency’s missions, they had rescued the daughter of a high-ranking Middle Eastern Royal. A grateful father had presented a check to Clare, a check that had many zeros on it. She had handed the check back to him with a smile. The agency didn’t take rewards.
The royal added two more zeros and pushed the check back at her.
‘My daughter is my life.’ He said simply.
Clare handed the check to Zeb and Broker, shrugged when they stared blankly at her.
‘It’s yours. Do with it what you wish.’
The six of them used the money to buy a forty-four story building on Columbus Avenue, and once the sisters became part of the team, made them equal partners. They invested the rest of the reward, smart investments that multiplied, and were each enormously wealthy, but they’d never worked for the agency for the money.
Zeb was their team leader, Broker, the second in command, but they didn’t have ranks. They were all equals, a tight-knit team that was family first, and operatives second.
The president had once, in jest, referred to them as Clare’s Warriors.
The name stuck.
His phone buzzed again. Has the cavalry arrived?
Zeb glanced at the message and a reluctant smile tugged his lips. All his crew wore GPS tags in their jackets and in their shoes. Werner kept track of them and flagged alerts if any of them were in danger. Werner had probably detected his call to the Rangers and had alerted the twins which had prompted the texts. The twins took great delight in making Zeb speak knowing that he preferred silence.
A chopper announced the arrival of the Rangers. It circled low over him for a while and landed carefully about half a mile away on a relatively flat surface. Zeb dug out his binoculars, trained them on the helicopter and counted the people exiting it.
Six.
He settled back against the outcrop and waited. Waiting was natural for him. Waiting, stalking, and hunting.
They were like breathing.
Chapter 3
A tall man hailed Zeb when he was within hearing distance and came across and shook his hand.
‘District Ranger Paul Rogers.’ He introduced himself. ‘This part of the country comes under my jurisdiction.’ He nodded in the direction of another man wearing a Ranger uniform. ‘Chuck Bridging, my deputy.’
A third man approached them, studied the tall, rangy brown-haired man and noted the lean hips and the sinewy build. He walked up and introduced himself as Jim Knowle, the Sheriff of Sublette County. He waved at the rest of the men and introduced them as his deputies.
The sheriff was as tall as Zeb, a shade over six feet, had thick brown hair that was combed neatly and viewed the world through dark sunglasses. He was breathing easily despite the steep hike from the chopper to the grave. He went to the grave without a further word, placed his hands over hips and eyed the body silently.
The Rangers joined him and the three talked to one another softly; Rogers and Knowle broke away and turned back to Zeb.
‘Take us through your story again,’ Knowles’s shades trained on Zeb, his tone was even.
The sun was lowering rapidly by the time the helicopter carrying Zeb and a couple of grim faced men flew back to Pinedale. The woman’s body had been choppered out earlier along with the Rangers and Knowle. Zeb overheard the conversation between the men; Rogers would be point man for the investigation, the sheriff would support with resources if needed.
‘What about the FBI? Don’t they get involved?’ Zeb asked them.
One of them, a curly-haired man, shook his head. ‘This is a Ranger case. We don’t get many dead bodies killed in this manner; Rogers wouldn’t hand over the investigation to the Feds.’
‘This could be his ticket to bigger things,’ the other man laughed cynically.
Knowle and Rogers were waiting for them when the chopper settled and after issuing instructions to the men, the Ranger eyed Zeb. ‘You’re heading back to the mountain range tomorrow?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Meet us in the morning before you go.’
Zeb stared back at him. That’s one way of being polite.
‘Why?’
Knowle cut in before Rogers replied. ‘Just procedure, Mr. Carter. Right now you are the only person who knows more than anyone else.’
‘Which isn’t much! I just found the body.’
‘True, but that’s still more than what we know.’
Zeb thought about it for a moment and nodded in assent. It’s not as if I have anything pressing to do. He left them and after retrieving his SUV from a long-term car park, hunted for a hotel.
Pinedale, a town with about two thousand residents, was typical of many other small towns across America. It was organized around a main street, which in Pinedale’s case was suitably called Pine Street, and was one of those towns that had no traffic lights. It was the gateway to the Wind River Mountain Range and the Bridger Wilderness and while long-term residents prided themselves on knowing each other, a considerable number of visitors passed through the town every year.
The town still witnessed the Green River Drift; one of the oldest and longest cattle drives in the country. The cattle drive, seventy miles long, ran in spring and fall, and saw cowboys move cattle between winter cattle allotments in the Bridger-Teton National Forest and their home ranches. The town was also home to the Path of the Pronghorn, an annual migration of pronghorn to the Pinedale region; a migration that went back seven thousand years and was one the few long distance animal migrations in the West.
Zeb checked into a rustic, family run hotel whose lobby was dotted with the mounted heads of animals – pronghorn, moose, and deer. Their glassy stares contrasted with the warm smile the owner, Dawn Besterman, bore.
She looked up with a knowing look in her eyes when he signed the register. ‘You are the one who found the body?’
Zeb grinned. The speed of light had nothing on a small town’s grapevine. ‘Yes, ma’am. Sheer dumb luck and all that. If you can call it luck.’
‘They say she was murdered?’
He put on his poker face. ‘I’ve no idea, ma’am. The Rangers or the sheriff will have a better idea.’
He was aware of her keen glance sizing him up shrewdly as he pocketed his credit card. ‘My son joined the 7th Special Forc
es Group last year. You think he made a good choice?’
‘The best, ma’am.’
She handed him a slip of paper the next day when he was heading out early in the morning. Zeb turned it over; it was a voucher for lunch at Pete’s, a restaurant he had seen on the main street. She read his look and her bright smile flashed again. ‘No is not an acceptable answer, young man.’
He nodded in thanks and stepped out to fuel himself for the day. Traffic was still thin on Pine Street when he had finished; the occasional pickup truck, a horse rider, a few pedestrians, were the only signs of life.
He walked to the sheriff’s office and was ushered into a room that was comfortable, intimate and yet formal. Knowle was on the phone when Zeb entered; he bobbed a greeting at Zeb, jerked his head sideways at the other occupant, Rogers.
Zeb exchanged a cool glance with the Ranger, seated himself and waited patiently for the sheriff to finish his call.
‘You were in the Army weren’t you?’ Rogers shot as soon as Knowle hung up.
Zeb looked at him quizzically and then at the sheriff. ‘Yeah. So?’
‘You were in special forces, the guys who know all about killing.’ Roger went on without acknowledging Zeb’s question.
From the corner of his eyes, Zeb saw the sheriff roll his eyes. ‘Rogers-– ‘
The Ranger held a palm up, cutting off the sheriff and waited for Zeb to respond.
Zeb didn’t. He knew where Rogers was going with his questioning.
‘I asked you a question, Mr. Carter. Or is that Major Carter?’ His voice was polite. Just about.
‘And I answered it yesterday, a few times. Where are you going with this?’
‘You think it’s just coincidence that a man who knows all about killing is the one who conveniently finds the dead body?’
‘Are you pinning this on me?’
‘Rogers,’ Knowle began and was cut off again by Rogers’ growl. ‘I am telling you, you are a person of interest. Can you start by telling us where you were a week back? All your movements from that point on?’
Zeb crossed his legs and hid his smile. Rogers was going to be sorely disappointed. Zeb could not only provide him with what he wanted, he could also detail his movements to the minute.
‘You got an email?’
Rogers’ angry look turned to puzzled and reluctantly recited his work email. ‘What has my email got to do with your movements?’
‘You’ll see.’
Zeb drew out his sat phone, punched through a menu and put it away minutes later. ‘Check your email.’
Rogers hesitated, not liking where this was going, but since it was he who had opened that line of questioning… he unfolded his tablet and compressed his lips to a thin line when he went through Zeb’s email.
Zeb’s phone not only had a GPS tracker, it had a program that could generate reports on movement for any time frame. The report Zeb had forwarded to Rogers had details of his locations from the time he left New York.
Zeb looked at the Ranger whose face was now covered in a dull flush and who refused to meet his eyes. Zeb felt a stab of sympathy for him.
‘Rogers,’ he said softly, ‘let this investigation run its course. Chances are you’ll find the perp soon enough.’
Rogers nodded stiffly and made no effort to stop Zeb when he rose and headed out. Zeb waited outside for a second and felt Knowle come up beside him. The sheriff donned his shades and surveyed the street which was now drenched in sun and was bustling with activity.
‘My apologies,’ Knowle drawled. ‘Rogers never had to deal with an incident like this all his life. He’s out of his depth at the moment, but he’s an okay guy. Hope our welcome hasn’t put you off our town.’
Zeb grinned at him, liking the easy-going lawman. ‘No danger of that, Sir. I like your town. It has an Old West feel to it. Best of all I like the mountains and lakes around you folks.’
Knowle nodded. ‘Jim.’
‘Zeb.’
Knowle pumped his hand with a firm grip. ‘We have a mutual friend.’
He removed his shades at Zeb’s raised eyebrow and polished them slowly. ‘Kelly, Chief of Police at Jackson. He and I go a long way back; we started together at the police academy. He heard of the body, called me and when I mentioned your name, he jumped. He couldn’t stop laughing when I said Roger saw you as a person of interest. He said you had a hand in cleaning up his town some years back.’
He looked inquisitively at Zeb and when he got no reply, he smiled. ‘He said you wouldn’t answer.’
Zeb shrugged. ‘I was just drifting through Jackson, then. Things happened, I got involved. Nothing to it. Kelly exaggerates.’
The sheriff laughed knowingly and shook hands with Zeb again. ‘Will we be seeing you again?’ he queried Zeb’s departing back.
‘Nope,’ Zeb replied over his shoulder. ‘The mountains will, though.’
Lunch at Pete’s and then resume my vacation, thought Zeb, as he donned his shades and swerved around a bunch of tourists.
Pete’s was light and airy. It had a dark oak bar at one end and about twenty, well-spaced tables in front of it. A bald, round-faced man was behind the bar, serving customers. He nodded at Zeb and gestured, take any table. Zeb dropped into a chair, his back to the wall and idly picked up the menu; it featured a smiling, bald, round-faced man who bore a resemblance to the bartender
Zeb was digging into his steak when the three men ranged in front of him. They had seated themselves near him and he had been aware of their glances his way. He hadn’t paid much notice figuring it was the town’s grapevine at work.
Zeb looked up and took them in. All three were of average height, the one in the middle was brown haired, the one to his right was dark haired and third man had nervous eyes. All three wore range garb, seen on many men in the town.
No weapons visible, but then a knife or a gun is very easy to conceal.
Zeb waited for them to speak and when they didn’t, resumed his eating. Brown Hair came close and brushed his table with his thigh.
‘That ain’t very polite.’
Chapter 4
‘Wasn’t meaning to be,’ Zeb told him and chewed on his steak slowly.
Brown Hair hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t expecting a blunt reply, he wasn’t prepared for indifference.
‘You’re the one who found that body aren’t you? Some folks say you killed that lady, buried her up there and then called the Rangers, acting innocent.’ He spoke loudly and in the relative quiet of the restaurant, his words rang out. Heads turned, chairs squeaked as the other patrons swiveled to see the show.
Dark Hair chewed gum and looked Zeb up and down. ‘We don’t like killers over here. We suggest you leave town as soon as you finish your meal.’
‘In fact we’ll see you off when you’re finished.’ Brown Hair chimed in.
Zeb couldn’t conceal his bemusement. ‘Are you guys for real?’
Brown Hair turned red, and did the thigh-nudging-table thing. ‘Why don’t you find out?’’
A family was seated right behind the three men, parents and a young girl maybe seven years old, a younger boy. The girl was looking at Zeb with wide eyes and when he met her glance, she looked away. The mother whispered something to them and they turned their backs on Zeb.
Punks behaving as if this was the Wild West. Someone’s put them up to it. Don’t make a scene here.
Pete was watching from behind the bar, but he made no move to intervene. Zeb took another bite and leaned back. ‘Good steak. I might have a second helping. I want to try the apple pie too. But I can’t have both. No room. What do you recommend? Steak or pie?’
Nervous fidgeted on his feet. Brown Hair gave him an irritated look, leaned forward and placed his hands on the table. ‘Listen carefully, prick. We don’t want you in Pinedale. It ain’t healthy for you. Finish up and leave.’
‘Yeah, and don’t talk fancy.’ Dark Hair backed him up.
Zeb didn’t respond. He was looking at the ma
n’s hands. His nails were clipped neatly and evenly and showed signs of good care. This wasn’t a man who worked outdoors a lot. Zeb hefted his knife and fork and smiled at Brown Hair who suddenly realized Zeb could have pinned him to the table.
He jerked his hands away as if burned and his face turned red. He opened his mouth to speak and snapped it shut when Zeb glided to his feet, brushed past him and strode to the bar. Zeb passed the girl’s table and felt her boring holes in his back. He turned smoothly on his heel and crouched next to her.
Her mother drew a sharp breath, her father said something. Zeb ignored both.
‘Some day you might come across such bullies. When you do, you can either walk away or walk toward them. Walk away and you’ll sleep well. Walk toward them and you might get beaten. But you’ll sleep much better.’
He threw bills on the bar, nodded at Pete, stepped out and walked swiftly, aware of several pairs of eyes following him through the glass front.
Those guys want me out of town. Why? Who put them up to that dumbass play? They aren’t local.
He turned a corner and glanced back. The door to Pete’s was opening again.
He hurried his steps and brought the town’s map up in his mind. Streets and alleys branched out from Main Street and various establishments were located on them. His hotel was four streets away, but he had no intention of taking trouble with him there.
He headed out of the corner, back to Main Street, and just as he turned left he heard a shout behind him.
He ignored the next street, darted into the next one, swung an immediate right again and paused. He was in the backyard of an establishment, some kind of hunting outfitters store. The small yard had three parking spaces of which two were empty; the third had an Escalade in it. Trashcans and black bin bags stood in a corner.
Sunlight bathed the yard; a horse trotted somewhere, a woman’s laugh floated up from Pine Street. The first shadow fell in the yard, two others joined it shortly.
