by John Sneeden
Once she had moved the books back into place and closed the cabinet door, she returned to the couch and sat down next to the American. She pulled his left arm over her shoulder and snuggled up against him, settling in for the half hour it would take for him to wake up.
CHAPTER TWO
Sandpoint, Idaho
ZANE WATSON’S ARM snapped forward, sending his line looping out over the cold, clear water of the stream. The fly landed so softly that it barely made a disturbance on the surface.
Come on, I know you’re there.
The gentle movement of the water carried it a few inches, causing it to spin and twirl invitingly. The operative waited patiently, confident the sheltered cove would yield another strike.
Suddenly he saw a hint of movement as a dark silhouette rose out of the depths. It seemed to hesitate, but seconds later the water swirled violently and the fly disappeared.
He turned the reel firmly, enjoying the light but feisty tugs. Despite its size, the fish made several good runs before finding itself spinning in the confines of an oversized net. Reaching down into the cold water, Zane closed his hand around the slippery body and lifted it gently into the air. He took a moment to admire one of the masterpieces of nature. A smudged pink line ran the length of its body, surrounded by a sea of black dots that looked like they’d been painted there by an artist flicking a wet paintbrush. In terms of beauty, the rainbow trout had no rivals.
Zane had already released four that afternoon, which meant this one was going to take up residence in a pan back at the lodge. His stomach growled at the thought of a plate filled with fried trout, wild rice, and roasted asparagus.
The operative paused and thought back over the last several days. The remote vacation had been just what he’d needed. The lodge and the hundred acres it sat on were owned by CIA field officer Garet Slater, who had inherited it from a wealthy uncle with no kids. Since the two had time off, Slater had invited Zane to join him for a week in the wilderness. They would hike and fish during the day and share war stories over cigars and cognac at night.
Unfortunately those well-laid plans had been dashed when Slater was called back to Langley on the day he was to leave. Instead of fishing and smoking cigars, he would be boarding a white Gulfstream GV at Andrews Air Force Base. National security was calling him to an undisclosed location.
A generous man, Slater had told his friend to go ahead and make use of the lodge. Zane, who desperately needed some downtime, had graciously accepted.
Slater was a special spook in that he was one of the few rank-and-file agency operatives who had knowledge of Zane’s employer, The Delphi Group. Among other things, he knew the clandestine organization conducted investigations that the US government could not or would not associate itself with, primarily those involving bizarre events such as scientific advances, the paranormal, or any other category not suitable for transparent budgets.
Created in the wake of the events that took place in Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947, the organization went from being directly under the auspices of the federal government to being privately owned and funded under the black budget of the CIA.
The owner of Delphi was Dr. Alexander Ross. Fittingly, he had become known as the Oracle, the sage of ancient Greece. Like his namesake, Ross had earned the reputation of having an uncanny ability to gather important information. Those skills had been honed over a long career, first as a CIA case officer and later as Director of National Intelligence. His no-nonsense approach, coupled with his natural affinity for clandestine work, made him the perfect leader for an organization like Delphi.
Delphi’s headquarters were located on the top floor of a modern, mirrored office building on Wilson Boulevard in Arlington, Virginia. Its employees used a private lift just past the main bank of elevators in the lobby. It hadn’t taken long for the secretive nature of the organization to trigger much speculation among employees of the building’s other tenants. In fact, it was not uncommon to hear the name Delphi whispered at the Starbucks in the lobby on any given morning.
In addition to the main office in Arlington, Delphi owned four training and deep-cover facilities across the US. They also owned a number of smaller offices and safe houses throughout the world, primarily in Europe and Asia.
The organization deployed approximately two dozen operatives at home and abroad. Zane Watson was designated as senior operative, a post he had held since joining Delphi. Watson was a former Navy SEAL who had been honorably discharged due to a severe knee injury suffered while conducting a snatch-and-grab operation in Yemen. Disappointed at not being able to serve but determined to make the most of what he did have, Watson enrolled in computer science at North Carolina State University. He was able to obtain a full degree in only two-and-a-half years, an accomplishment that would later catch the eyes of the right people. And if that weren’t enough, he’d also been able to obtain a pilot’s license simultaneously.
The injured knee would later be repaired with advanced surgical techniques developed at Duke University. At that time, the former SEAL had settled into his civilian life as a pilot instructor based out of Raleigh-Durham International airport. It was at RDU that Watson had reconnected with former high school classmate Claire Williams, a flight attendant for a major airline.
The relationship was the proverbial match made in heaven, with the seed having been planted years ago in school. But the time spent apart eventually took its toll and brought the relationship to a halt. Many still predicted the two would get married at some point in the future, but Watson had his doubts. Sometimes when a ship sailed, it never came back.
Watson was single, childless, and enjoying his life as a pilot instructor when approached by Dr. Alexander Ross in the mid-2000s. Ross had heard of the SEAL’s reputation, not only as one of the best soldiers ever to rise through the ranks, but also as a man of brilliant intellect. The fact that he’d been able to obtain his college degree in under three years spoke for itself.
It took a number of flights between Reagan National Airport and RDU, but the Oracle was eventually able to bring the former soldier on board by making one major promise, that Watson could continue to live in Raleigh and work as a part-time flight instructor. The future operative had said it was one of the terms he wouldn’t negotiate, and Ross was more than happy to oblige.
Realizing it had suddenly grown darker, Zane glanced over his shoulder. The sun had dropped below the mountain ridge behind him, leaving splashes of lavender and fuchsia in its wake. Nightfall was only minutes away.
His stomach now growling insistently, he sloshed through the water and onto the bank. Turning north, he walked along the stream, stopping at a grove of willows where he’d hidden Slater’s ATV.
After placing the trout in a bucket, he stripped off his waders and replaced them with hiking boots. As he placed the rod behind the seat, he caught something in his peripheral vision. A red light was blinking in his tackle box.
The phone.
Zane shook his head and let out a sigh. The Oracle had probably left him yet another long-winded diatribe in voice mail. The last operation in Switzerland and France had caused an uproar on both sides of the Atlantic, and Ross couldn’t seem to put out the fires on his own. The constant contact had become so annoying that Zane had begun tossing the phone into his tackle box each morning.
Let Carmen help him this time.
But as he turned to walk to the front of the ATV, he stopped. In the recesses of his mind, something bothered him about what he’d just seen. A few seconds later, he realized what it was. His voice mail and text notifications were always green. This light had been red.
He reached into the box and snatched the phone out. After unlocking the screen, he frowned. Slater had asked him to download a mobile application that communicated with the security system of the lodge, and a notification from that application indicated that one or more sensors had been triggered.
“Probably a deer,” he muttered.
But as he was about
to clear the notification, Zane remembered reading that while a large mammal might occasionally set off one of the sensors, they were calibrated to filter out most wandering animals.
An odd feeling pinched Zane’s gut as he scrolled through the phone’s icons. After finding the app, he opened it and stared at the additional information displayed on the screen. His brow furrowed immediately.
That can’t be possible.
And yet that’s exactly what the screen showed: a total of seven sensors had been triggered, two along the main road leading to the lodge and another five in the forested perimeter to the south.
Seven?
He frowned. The data was pregnant with significance. Not only did the numbers concern him, but the triggers from multiple directions were telling as well.
Zane slid the phone into his pocket and reached back into the box. After lifting the false bottom, he retrieved the matte-black Glock 21 hidden underneath. He then pulled out a tactical suppressor and snapped it into place, tucking the weapon into his belt.
As Zane climbed into the front seat of the four-wheeler, one thought was seared into his consciousness.
The lodge was under attack.
CHAPTER THREE
“THIS IS ROSS,” said the distorted voice on the other end of the phone.
Zane pressed the device tightly against the side of his head and shouted, “Ross, it’s Watson.”
He was pleasantly surprised that he’d been able to reach the Oracle. Cell reception was hit-and-miss in northern Idaho, especially in the valley.
“Who?”
“Watson!”
The ATV bounced out of a pothole, nearly throwing the phone out of Zane’s hand.
“Watson? I can just barely hear—”
“Ross, I don’t have time to explain,” Zane said. “I know Garet is out in the field, but—”
“You’re breaking up. I can’t…” Finally, the Oracle’s voice disappeared in a burst of static.
Zane held the phone in front of him. The signal bars showed no reception. He cursed and tossed it into a cup holder on the ATV. He had a satellite phone back at the lodge, but ironically he’d left it there to avoid contact with the Oracle, who was the only man who might be able to help him contact Slater.
In the end, it probably wouldn’t matter anyway. It might take hours for the Oracle to run down Slater, hours that the operative didn’t have. And even if he’d been able to reach him in short order, he doubted the CIA officer would’ve had any idea who was encircling the lodge. If he’d had such information, he would’ve passed it along already.
Another pothole helped refocus Zane on the situation at hand. The dirt road was rising now, with dense firs and birch trees closing in on both sides. The lodge sat on a plateau near the top of the mountain, which would only take another ten or fifteen minutes to reach in the ATV. But riding all the way up wasn’t an option. The engine was much too loud. He’d have to approach on foot.
Who was waiting for him just up the mountain? Short of a sensor malfunction, the only logical explanation was a professional hit team. But if that was the case, then who were they after, Slater or himself? Zane knew that there were a number of people who’d love to have his scalp, but he doubted any of them knew where he was. If they did, then Delphi itself was in danger.
A large boulder loomed just ahead on the left. It was the one Zane had been looking for. Just before reaching the rock, he turned the four-wheeler off the road and into a clearing. Once the vehicle was out of sight, he killed the engine.
Wasting no time, Zane quickly hopped out and stepped to the back. He opened the tackle box and raised the lure trays, exposing several magazines underneath. He snapped one into his Glock, chambering the first round, then put the remaining three in his pocket.
Looking into the box again, he pulled out a sheathed knife, a monocular, and a tactical flashlight. He needed to travel light, but he also needed to be prepared for a number of different eventualities.
Zane stared at his phone. The bars still showed no signal, which meant he’d have no access to the device’s GPS software. He turned it off and stuffed it in his pocket. He wouldn’t need satellites anyway. He’d spent the first day of vacation walking the mountain, learning every nook and cranny of the area around the lodge. He’d have no trouble finding his way up.
After making one last check of his gun, Zane began his ascent. Darkness had fallen, which prevented him from moving as fast as he’d like.
Ten minutes later, the ground began to level off. He was nearing the plateau. Directly ahead was a line of large firs, which he knew were situated along the clearing on the south side of the lodge. He paused for a moment, listening for any sound. Hearing nothing, he sprinted to the trees, dropping down to his hands and knees when he arrived. He then lay flat and wiggled underneath the limbs until he got to the other side.
He pushed aside a limb. The clearing opened up in front of him. To his left was the dark silhouette of the barn he’d driven the ATV out of earlier in the day. From there the clearing ran slightly uphill to the right, where the lodge was situated. The home was a massive three-story affair, rustic and yet modern. It was mostly dark now, save for two lights that Zane left on at all times.
“Where are you?” Zane muttered to himself.
He knew from the sensors that one or more attackers had approached from the other side of the lodge, along or next to the paved entrance road. He also knew that another group had approached from the direction of the barn to his left. And if his memory served him correctly, there would be a third group directly opposite his position, on the other side of the clearing.
What concerned him most was the likelihood that the attackers were using night vision and thermal imaging equipment. That would give them a distinct tactical advantage. The key would be to position himself behind them, since they were likely focused on the lodge.
Pulling out his monocular, Zane trained it on the barn. It was hard to make out any detail. All he could see was the outline of the structure and the surrounding trees. If someone were hidden there, it would be almost impossible to pick them out.
He bit his lower lip. Since night had just fallen, the attackers were probably waiting for a signal to launch. Should he make a preemptive strike? Or should he simply watch and wait? If the latter, he could always let them do their thing and depart. When you were outnumbered, that was often the smartest thing to do. Live to fight another day, as they say.
But Zane quickly dismissed the thought of just walking away. The men were undoubtedly professionals and wouldn’t leave behind any trace evidence. That meant their identity might forever be hidden if they were simply allowed to leave. And if they came up empty in the house, they would surely turn their attention, and their thermal imaging equipment, toward the surrounding forest.
No, despite the potential dangers, Zane knew he needed to take action in order to have any hope of gathering information. More specifically, he needed to apprehend one of the intruders and take them to a remote location using the ATV. He could then question the subject until he could call for a backup team.
So what now? He clenched his jaw as he thought about how to proceed. The first question that came to mind was one he often asked when in this type of situation: What would he do if he were in their place? How would he organize an attack?
One thing he’d want is a sniper positioned to cover the operation from a distance. But where would he place the gunman?
The barn.
He turned and looked at it. Except for a few bushes and rocks scattered across the clearing, it afforded a shooter a clear view of the lodge. Short of climbing a tree, no other place would provide such an advantageous position.
But where specifically? Zane searched his memory of the barn. The gable roof was a nonstarter. Its pitch meant you’d have to sit or lie at an angle. You could also lie inside, but that might limit your view.
Suddenly Zane remembered a stack of two-by-fours on this side of the barn. Garet had told
him he was going to use the lumber to build a new cover for his well. Being both level and elevated, the pile was the perfect place to shoot from.
Zane raised his monocular. After moving it around a bit, he finally found his target to the left of the barn. Was anyone there? There seemed to be a slight irregularity to the top of the pile of lumber, but it was too dark to tell exactly what it was.
An idea rose to the surface of his thoughts. It was bold, risky even, but it might just help him find out if someone was hiding in the shadows.
Reaching out, he slid his hand across the dirt. After patting around for a few seconds, he finally closed his fingers around a small rock.
After tucking his gun away, Zane wiggled out from underneath the tree and rose to one knee. He took a deep breath, concentrating on the direction he was going to throw the rock and how far. Getting those two things right was critical.
Drawing back, he launched the stone with as much force as he could muster. As it flew toward the other side of the clearing, he grabbed the monocular and focused it on the stack of two-by- fours.
Seconds passed, but he never heard the rock land. Had it been too small to make a noise?
Zane squinted through the eyepiece, determined not to take his eye off the target.
Just when he was about to give up, he saw a round shadow move on top of the pile. It was a subtle, yet distinct, turn of a head.
The hairs on Zane’s neck stood on end.
The sniper had given himself away.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT TOOK ZANE about three minutes to circle through the woods and come up behind the barn. When he arrived, he paused just inside the trees and allowed his eyes to adjust.
