Instinctively, Mason tried to reload his weapon, but couldn’t get the necessary leverage.
At that moment, Alpha scrambled over the summit to their left.
“I’ve got you,” Hutch said. “Lemme see that arm.”
The retreating Taliban were several hundred meters distant when everyone heard the sound. The distinctive, low whooping of a main rotor.
“Sergeant Hahn, press my transmit button.”
“You got it, LT.”
“All units freeze positions and pop smoke.” He radioed to air support that none of his forces stood above the rim of the canyon. Everything else was fair game.
The Apache roared over their heads and executed a steep 360-degree turn, the pilot identifying the locations of all friendlies before beginning his strafing run.
As grisly as he knew it would be, Mason had to watch.
Across the plateau, the Taliban were retreating as quickly as they could. Some of them fired at the chopper in desperation. Mason could only imagine the fear they felt. Being defenseless against a gunship had to be terrifying. They were completely caught in the open with no place to hide.
He didn’t disrespect the Taliban—quite the contrary. They were tough as nails and formidable enemies. They believed they were defending their homeland from foreign invaders, fighting for their freedom.
But this was war, and Mason believed in his own cause.
Growling like a leopard, the aircraft let loose with its 30 mm chain gun. The large-caliber slugs quite literally dismembered the Taliban soldiers. Cartwheeling limbs and strips of flesh flew in every direction. Mason didn’t understand the hydrodynamic forces at work, but the outcome was absolute.
Wholesale slaughter.
Like a cattle brand, the visual image indelibly seared his mind.
He tore his gaze away and glanced at Hahn, whose expression matched his own. Mason wanted to feel bad but couldn’t. All he had to do was conjure up an image of being captured, tied to a post, and slowly flogged to death. Yes, seeing butchery like this was terrible . . .
But it was justice.
CHAPTER 1
Russell Senate Office Building—three years later
Re: The November Directive
December 14, 2012
Dear Stone:
I’m deeply outraged at the escalating violence in California and Arizona along our Mexican border. As you well know, November’s death toll stands at 119:
6 US federal agents
12 Mexican law enforcement officers
14 US citizens
87 Mexican citizens
I won’t stand idly by while criminal gangs and organized cartels terrorize and murder America’s sons and daughters. Such heinous and depraved criminal behavior cannot stand.
I’m tasking both you and your Committee on Domestic Terrorism to come up with a two-phased plan to counter this growing threat to both American and Mexican citizens at home and abroad. I’m calling this operation the November Directive, honoring those who’ve paid the ultimate price this month.
The purpose of phase one will be, simply put, to stop the bleeding. Short of declaring martial law along the border regions of San Diego, Tecate, Calexico, Yuma, Naco, and Douglas, the violence must end. DNI Benson has been briefed, and he’s firmly aboard, so you’ll have every available asset at your disposal for planning purposes.
The second phase will address prevention. I want you to create and implement a long-term campaign to interdict the flow of weapons being smuggled across our border into Mexico.
I’d like your proposal on my desk within three days. Assemble your committee and come up with a concrete strategy to begin implementation of both phases.
It should be noted that while on American soil, Mexican nationals engaged in the wanton murder of US citizens do not fall under the umbrella of our Constitution and therefore do not enjoy the protections thereof.
Even though we stand on opposite sides of the aisle, this isn’t an issue driven by political pressure. The violence along our border is a cancer, and it must be surgically removed. Make it happen, Stone.
Sincerely,
Barack
Senator Matthew “Stone” McBride read the handwritten letter for the third time and squinted in thought. Closing in on his eighty-sixth year on earth, he’d been a senator for thirty of them and he’d never seen anything like this. Handwritten presidential letters weren’t unheard of, but this one had “destroy after reading” written all over it. One thing was certain: the language was carefully crafted. He didn’t think Obama was condoning an “anything goes” operation, but his letter clearly gave the green light for something more than traditional law enforcement. Stone knew the use of military force on domestic soil was not being sanctioned, hence the short of declaring martial law wording, so where did that leave things? How far was he authorized to take the November Directive? Before he could proceed, he needed a face-to-face.
He pressed a preset on his phone. “Is he in town? I need a meeting.”
“You know that’s not easy to arrange.”
“I’m holding a handwritten letter.”
“Hold, please.”
Stone listened to the silence stretch. When the voice came back on, it held more urgency. “Tomorrow at seventeen hundred. Ten minutes.”
“I’ll only need five.”
CHAPTER 2
Present day
Nathan McBride ended the cell call and glanced at his watch: just after 9:00 PM. He didn’t believe the situation was truly an emergency, but he didn’t mind jumping through a few hoops now and then. Jin wanted his help, and he’d deliver. Simple as that. Whatever issue she had with her daughter, she believed it required his personal touch. Besides, he hadn’t seen either of them in a couple of weeks. Too long, he thought. He wanted to play a bigger role in their lives.
Nathan was a big man. At six foot five, 240 pounds, his height and build belonged to less than one-tenth of 1 percent of the earth’s population. His dark blue eyes were complemented by reddish-brown hair with invading areas of gray. Three long scars marred his face, grisly souvenirs from a decades-old mission in Nicaragua that had ended his career as a CIA operations officer. Although the scars had been dulled by a plastic surgeon, they couldn’t be missed. Holly had once told him he appeared intimidating, then quickly assured him that he had a kind heart despite the horrors he’d endured. He’d known she was right, but the truth still stung. Seeing his reaction, Holly had backpedaled, telling him that the scars gave him a rugged, tough-guy look.
Again, probably true. But Nathan no longer wanted to wear that persona. He’d moved on.
Leaving the garage of his Clairemont home, he turned on the wipers. Nathan didn’t mind the dreary weather. San Diego saw such little precipitation it was actually a welcome change.
On the phone, he’d told Jin he wasn’t alone—that Holly would be with him. Jin said she didn’t mind if Holly came along but made it clear that Lauren would speak to no one but Nathan. Apparently, Lauren was on her fourth night of giving her mom the silent treatment. For her part, Jin refused to cave in their dispute, insisting that her daughter behave like a normal human being. But Lauren had clearly inherited the McBride stubbornness, a trait not limited to grandchildren. Nathan could’ve written a thesis on the subject.
He understood Lauren’s frustration. Raised as an only child, he’d often felt as though he were being suffocated. There were times when he simply wanted to be left alone to sulk. He didn’t have any experience with the mother-daughter dynamic but imagined it paralleled the father-son thing.
Nathan parked in the driveway, and he and Holly approached Jin’s front door. His half sister must have been watching, because she opened the front door before Nathan could knock.
Jin was dressed in blue jeans, a T-shirt, and socks. Fifteen years older than Nathan, she had classic E
urasian features that defied her age. Jin possessed an extremely rare genetic marker. She had one blue eye and one brown eye. Heterochromia was the official medical term. The blue side came from Stone and the brown side from her mother, now deceased—an unfortunate victim of the Korean War. Jin often wore colored contacts to hide the trait, but not out of embarrassment. In a former life, she’d been an assassin and spy for North Korea, and the French still maintained a hefty bounty on her head for her theft of Exocet missile specs in the early ’80s. Years later, she’d struck a deal with the United States and traded everything she knew for asylum.
He gave his sister a hug and introduced Holly. They shook hands, and Jin turned back to Nathan, her expression showing the kind of stress a mother often faces when she can’t communicate with her daughter. “I’m sorry to drag you down here, but she won’t talk to me.”
“What’s going on?”
“She thinks she’s an adult, that’s what.”
Nathan nodded. “Thirteen can be tough.”
“Tough? She’s impossible. She won’t listen.”
“We were all that age once.”
“I just want her to enjoy being a kid awhile longer.”
“Is she in her room?”
“She won’t come out, won’t eat, won’t do anything. I don’t know what to do.”
Nathan smiled. “Maybe Uncle Nate can help.”
“Good luck,” Jin said.
Holly sat down with Jin while he walked down the hall. No sound came from Lauren’s room, but a small strip of yellow light spilled under her closed door.
“Lauren? It’s Nathan.”
No response.
He rapped softly. “Lauren, you in there? It’s Uncle Nate.”
Thinking Lauren might have a headset on, he tried the knob. It turned, so he pushed the door open a crack and peered in. Dressed like her mom, Lauren was lying on her back on her bed. She made eye contact but didn’t move.
“Is that all I get? I interrupted cleaning my guns to come over here.”
He saw a half smile.
“That’s more like it. How about a hug?”
She slowly got up and hugged him. They settled on the edge of her bed, facing the same direction, the mirrored closet doors giving them a view of each other. Matching his own, her eyes were the color of deep arctic ice. Somehow, the McBride genetic stamp had survived her Korean ancestry. Her natural black hair, combined with those blue eyes and fair complexion, made her look like a heroine from a science fiction movie. He truly believed she was the most beautiful child he’d ever seen, but knew his opinion was biased. In contrast to his own, her skin was flawless, despite the pouty expression.
Nathan didn’t say anything, knowing Lauren would fill the silence.
“She hates me.”
“Your mom doesn’t hate you, but it’s not her role to be your friend right now. She said you haven’t talked to her in days.”
“What’s the point? She doesn’t listen. She only cares about herself.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Sometimes it’s harder to listen than to talk.”
“Not for me.”
“Come on, you know what I mean.”
“I guess.”
Nathan waited again. Like him, Lauren needed intervals of silence.
“She thinks I dress too provocatively. But all my friends get to wear cool clothes.”
Nathan smiled. “Cool or provocative?”
“Both.”
It was Nathan’s turn to say nothing.
“Okay, okay . . . Point taken.”
He used the phrase all the time, and Lauren had adopted it.
“You’re at a tough age. You want to be treated like an adult, but you still want kid benefits.”
“I don’t feel like a kid.”
“You’re turning fourteen in a couple of months. Ever heard the expression: youth is wasted on the young?”
She shook her head.
“It means we adults wish we were young again, kinda the opposite of the way kids wish they were older. Don’t fall into the trap of wanting to be someone you’re not.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Brunettes want to be blondes. Short people want to be taller. White people want tans.” Nathan pointed to the mirror. “You and I have something those popular girls at school will never have. A life-and-death combat bond. We’ve been through hell and back, you and me.”
Lauren shuddered. “I still can’t believe what I did to you in that abandoned house.”
Nathan put a hand on her shoulder, still looking at her in the mirror. “Hey, we wouldn’t be talking if you hadn’t.”
“That was crazy.”
“You aren’t kidding. I’ve been on some rough ops, but that was right up there with the worst of them. Look, my point is, you don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
“I don’t?”
“Absolutely not.” Nathan put a fist to his chest. “If you’re comfortable in here, you don’t need to show off or hang with the popular girls. The girls who need to wear tight clothes to get attention from boys are insecure. They use their bodies to hide who they truly are, scared little girls.”
“Put that way, they sound kinda pathetic.”
“Don’t condemn them. It’s just part of growing up. Much of what they think is important really isn’t. Ask yourself this: What’s more important? The way you look, or the way you feel about yourself?”
Lauren looked straight ahead, but Nathan knew she’d gotten his point.
“Why don’t you compromise with your mom? I have a feeling you’re both coming from extreme perspectives. If you give a little, she will too.”
“I guess.”
“You’re in transition from childhood to womanhood, and it’s going to be tough sometimes. Every girl goes through it. It will take patience and understanding on both sides. Your mom didn’t have a happy childhood. I’m not going to give you all the gory details, but let’s just say she was forced to grow up much faster than you.”
“In North Korea, was she, you know . . . ”
“Yes. Many times, and when she was younger than you.”
“That’s horrible. She never talks about it.”
“Maybe someday. You’re still kinda young for the specifics. Do you remember how you felt when you saw my chest, all those scars? We were on top of that wrecked car, and we needed to use my shirt on the barbed wire?”
“Yeah, I’ll never forget it. I was like totally freaked. I felt really bad for you.”
“Your mom has scars like mine, only you can’t see them.”
Lauren thought for a moment. He didn’t need to explain what he meant.
“She yells a lot. It’s hard not to yell back.”
“You need to understand her anger isn’t directed at you. I get angry too.”
“As bad as my mom?”
“Worse.”
“No way.”
“It’s true. But I’ve learned to control it. Your mom has a harder time. What happened to me occurred over a three-week period, but your mom endured years of abuse.”
“I told her she was a bitch, and then I felt really bad because she cried for hours.”
“Look, Lauren, people say things like that, but they forgive each other. Your mom loves you. She left North Korea so you wouldn’t have to grow up like she did. There were other reasons too, but she wanted a better life for you.”
She leaned in close and put an arm around him. “I wish you lived with us.”
“Hey, I’m only ten minutes away.”
“I’m glad you came over. I was mad she called you, but not anymore.”
“I know it’s tough not having a dad like the other kids, but you can call me anyt
ime. I’ll always be here for you, twenty-four-seven. You’ve earned it.”
Nathan got up and took a knee in front of her.
“This won’t be easy, but you should tell your mom you’re sorry you haven’t talked to her. Your mom has a lot of faults, but she’s not a narcissist. She’ll accept your apology and not use it against you.”
“What’s a narcissist?”
“Narcissists are people who think they never make mistakes and are never wrong. They never say they’re sorry and, to make matters worse, they expect everyone to apologize to them.”
“Are there a lot of people like that?”
“More than you’ll ever know. They also don’t have any friends. To have a friend, you have to be a friend.”
“They sound like assholes.”
“Language, young lady.”
“Sorry.”
Nathan laughed. “See? It’s easy to say sorry. Now, if you say you’re sorry to your mom, she’ll also say she’s sorry. It’s a way to open dialogue. When you apologize to a regular person, they see it as a sign of strength, not weakness.”
“Is that a Christian thing?”
“Yes, absolutely, but not exclusively. We make lots of mistakes, but we own up to them and say we’re sorry when we do something wrong. We also forgive those who’ve wronged us.”
Lauren looked confused.
“Let me tell you something about forgiveness. It’s from a sermon I heard while I was on vacation.”
“You went to church on vacation?”
“Sure, lots of people do. Anyway, it was a small Presbyterian church somewhere along the 101. Templeton, I think. The pastor’s name was Charlie Little, and he said that when you forgive someone, it doesn’t diminish or erase what was done to you. You don’t have to understand why they did it, and you certainly don’t have to be on friendly terms with someone who’s hurt you. When you forgive someone, you’re doing it to release their debt to you.”
“Debt?”
“Yes, you’re moving on with your life and you don’t require anything from the person who hurt you.”
Contract to Kill Page 3
