The Reaper (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 2)

by R. J. Patterson

  Hawk climbed back into the front seat and exited through the driver’s side door.

  “Buenas noches, amigos,” Hawk said as he walked around the side of the van.

  “Que es esto?” one of the men said.

  “Sorry, that’s the extent of my Spanish,” Hawk said, selling his lie by speaking with his thick Texas accent. “I don’t know any more-o.”

  “You are not authorized to be out here,” one of the men said.

  Hawk shrugged. “I must’ve missed the spot where I pick up my permission slip. But I’m sure whoever owns this property won’t mind an avid birdwatcher from Texas peeping on the winged residents of this here mountainside.”

  “I don’t speak redneck,” one of the men said. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Hawk held up his binoculars and raised his voice a few decibels. “I’m watching birds,” he said with a wide grin as he flapped his arms.

  One of the men pulled out a gun and trained it on Hawk. “Who sent you?”

  Hawk raised his hands in the air and drew back from the man, who had a tattoo across his forehead. “Whoa there, hombre. I don’t know what you’re doing with that thing, but you shouldn’t be pointing that at me. Now, if you want to shoot some birds, might I recommend something with a wider pellet pattern?”

  “Shut up, you fool,” growled the other guard, who had a mustache accented by a pink mole on his right cheek. “The only way onto this property is by a road that is guarded both day and night. If you drove here, you came up a narrow ridge and you knew what you were doing.”

  “I’ve got something right—” Hawk froze as both mole face and tattoo trained their guns on the Magnum agent’s chest. “Look, I just wanted to show you this birding app that I use that has a pin dropped for this location and suggests using this trail. Whatever it is that you think I’m doing up here, I can promise you that you’re wrong.”

  “I’m never wrong,” mole face said.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Hawk said. “And it’d be a great honor for me to show you how wrong you are.”

  Mole face sneered, while tattoo cocked his head to one side and squinted while studying Hawk.

  “Open the van,” mole face said.

  “Look, uh, you guys aren’t federales, are you?” Hawk asked. “Because I’ve got a Spix macaw in there that I’m pretty sure will fetch me more than enough to cover my mortgage next year, several years, really. And it might be illegal to export from its natural habitat. Now, I’m prepared to make a deal with you.”

  “Let’s throw him in the canyon,” tattoo said in Spanish.

  “Not before he opens the door,” mole face said and then turned to Hawk. “Show it to us. I want to see the special bird.”

  As Hawk turned around, he felt his gun pushing against the back of his shirt, surely forming a visible and distinct imprint.

  “Don’t move another millimeter,” tattoo said.

  Hawk raised his hands slowly.

  “I said not another millimeter,” tattoo barked again as he snatched Hawk’s gun and pocketed it.

  “Okay, so sue me,” Hawk said. “I use a handgun to hunt these birds, too. But that doesn’t mean what I told you about using a shotgun earlier wasn’t right. It gives you more leeway for mistakes.”

  “Shut up,” mole face said before backhanding Hawk.

  “You’re lucky I haven’t already ripped your vocal cords out of your throat with my bare hands,” tattoo said.

  Hawk turned around and brought his wrists together, holding them out for the men. “Fine. Arrest me. I’m sure we can work something out so that I don’t spend any time in jail.”

  Hawk’s wristwatch whirred, releasing a wispy gas into the air.

  “What is that?” tattoo asked.

  “What?” Hawk asked, feigning ignorance. “This watch? It helps you know what hora it is? Entiendes?”

  “Let me see that,” mole face said as he grabbed Hawk’s wrist.

  However, instead of investigating it like Hawk had hoped, the man twisted Hawk’s arm and pinned him against the side of the van.

  “How about we take a look inside now,” mole face said in a hushed tone near Hawk’s ear.

  But before Hawk could oblige, he felt his hand released and heard mole face collapse onto the ground. Hawk turned around and found tattoo crumpled in a heap as well.

  After inspecting his watch, Hawk smiled.

  “Thanks, Dr. Z,” Hawk said aloud as he surveyed the two men lying motionless on the ground.

  The Magnum Director of Research and Development had outfitted a wristwatch for Hawk that contained a designer gas. It would knock out anyone but Hawk in a matter of seconds, and it was the first time he’d tested it in the field.

  To be on the safe side, Hawk shot both men and tossed them into the canyon.

  He spent the next hour listening to Alex weave her web around Ambassador Brownfield before he realized she was ushering him toward his car. Hawk drove back down the dirt path he’d used to reach his perch and waited for them to reach the highway.

  Another ten minutes passed before he heard an unfamiliar voice coming from Alex’s coms.

  “Señorita,” a man said, “would you please come with me?”

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “Señor Vargas would like to speak with you,” he said.

  “I’d rather not,” she said.

  “This isn’t an invitation you can decline. You’re in Señor Vargas’ home, and he wants to speak to you. Don’t be rude and cause a scene.”

  Hawk swallowed hard and could feel his heart thumping in his chest. Alex was going to speak with Hector Vargas. If the cartel’s men had already figured out who she was, Hawk knew he’d never see her again.

  He wanted to say something to her, but he was afraid they might hear him, endangering her further.

  Yet it didn’t matter. Hawk didn’t have time to do anything about it anyway.

  He closed his eyes and said a little prayer under his breath.

  CHAPTER 3

  Washington, D.C.

  MORGAN MAY TUCKED her blonde tendrils behind her ears as she perused the drink menu at Speak Easy, one of her uncle’s favorite bars. As much as she loathed the suggestions that she was only where she was because of Uncle J.D., she knew they were entirely false. He had undeniably opened doors for her, but she strode right through them and made the most of each chance she got. She vowed that she would forge her own path, which was part of her reason for rebranding the Phoenix Foundation as Magnum and moving the entire organization across the country.

  But she couldn’t completely divorce herself from her uncle’s exquisite tastes in food and liquor.

  “So, have you decided what you’ll be drinking tonight?” the waiter asked Morgan.

  “What’s your best bourbon?” she asked.

  “Best or most expensive?”

  “Are they the same?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I learned a long time ago in this business that those two don’t often correlate. The bigger the marketing budget, the pricier the liquor.”

  “Then I’ll take your best,” she said.

  He winked and then pointed at her. “Good choice.”

  Morgan scanned the room, a habit she developed hanging out with her uncle and one she wasn’t likely to give up soon. Working in intelligence required her to be on her toes at all times. She checked her watch and scowled. The woman she was meeting was already ten minutes late, annoying Morgan.

  I wonder if she’s even going to show.

  While irksome, Morgan relished the thought for a moment, which meant she might be able to have more than just one drink.

  Morgan continued to study the room. At one table in the corner, an older man and a younger woman were smiling and laughing loudly at times.

  A rich man having an affair.

  At an adjacent table, a young man dressed in a suit and tie looked uncomfortable as the woman across from him talked
incessantly. Morgan would’ve put money on the man being a Capitol Hill staffer and the woman being a Georgetown grad student who was probably a journalist fishing for a scoop.

  Don’t say a word, buddy.

  She played her game for a few more minutes before a frumpy woman in a navy skirt and white blouse walked briskly toward Morgan’s table.

  “Miss May?” the woman said, arching her eyebrows.

  “Are you Kate Jolly?” Morgan asked.

  Kate nodded, took one final glance around the room, and then slid into the booth seat across the table from Morgan. She leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone.

  “I know you’re nervous about someone important here who might see you, but you need to relax. You’re drawing more attention to yourself than you realize simply by acting cautiously.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Kate snapped. “Everyone knows who you are already and you don’t pose a threat.”

  “Not yet anyway,” Morgan said. “But how about you help me change that? What do you say?”

  The woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She kissed the rosary beads draped around her neck. After muttering something unintelligible to Morgan, the woman looked skyward and repeated a quick prayer. When she finished she locked eyes with Morgan.

  “Miss May, are you familiar with an organization called The Alliance?” Kate asked.

  Morgan nodded. “We wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. You do remember that this was the topic of our conversation, right?”

  “Of course, of course,” Kate said hurriedly. “Where’s my mind? I know you do. What I really want to know is if you’re familiar with Admiral Miller?”

  Morgan froze and tried not to act too surprised. Admiral Miller had been dead for a few months, making Morgan wonder for a fleeting moment if Kate had lost her mind.

  “What about him?”

  “So you do know who I’m talking about?” Kate asked.

  “Of course, but what’s that got to do with The Alliance? Because I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been in Washington for ages.”

  “I know, which is why this information I’ve gathered is all the more confounding.”

  “What do you know?”

  Kate kissed her rosary beads again before scanning the room. “I’m really not comfortable talking about this right now. I just wanted to see if you were interested.”

  “Well of course I’m interested,” Morgan said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Kate looked down and studied her fingernails, picking at them in silence as she avoided eye contact.

  After a long pause, Morgan spoke. “I think the real question is this: Why are you here, Kate? What compelled you to reach out to me?”

  “I knew your uncle,” Kate said. “I even went to his funeral.”

  “You mean the staged one?”

  Kate offered a thin smile. “That’s the one. When I saw him after that, he told me that if there was anyone in Washington that I could trust, it was him. So, I was hoping that I could trust you since you’re his niece.”

  “That’s some serious lack of judgment, Kate.”

  Her eyes widened as she drew back without saying a word.

  “Trusting my uncle, that is,” Morgan said with a wry smile. “I hold anyone suspect who trusts that man.”

  Kate sighed and placed her hand over her chest. “I thought you were serious for a moment.”

  “Well, I am very serious about finding out what you know as well as not wasting any more time. So, please tell me what you know.”

  Kate pursed her lips as she glanced around the room. Then she turned her attention back to Morgan. “It’s not that simple.”

  “What do you want, Kate? Is it money?”

  Kate nodded. “I’m in a bit of a jam and I need some cash or else I might lose my house.”

  “Name your price,” Morgan said.

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  Morgan didn’t blink. “Sounds reasonable . . . if your information is good.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “You’d have a hard time selling it for ten bucks, let alone two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  Kate scribbled down an address and a time on a scrap of paper and slid it across the table to Morgan. “Meet me here tomorrow at that time,” she said, tapping the note, “and I’ll give you everything I have on what Admiral Miller was doing. Bring me a cashier’s check and it’ll all be yours.”

  “So this was just a preliminary meeting?” Morgan asked. “I have to get back to L.A. and I was under the impression that you would be sharing everything with me tonight.”

  “I have other suitors,” Kate said. “I put out some feelers to see if anyone would be willing to pay for this intel, and I found out that it’s quite valuable.”

  “If I show up tomorrow morning, I expect you to be there with all this intel,” Morgan said.

  “Based on how everyone is responding, maybe I should’ve asked for more,” Kate said with a grin.

  “Who else have you spoken with?”

  “Nobody directly. Just on some dark web chat rooms.”

  Morgan cocked her head and squinted. “You know how to get on dark web chat rooms?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. It’s not rocket science.”

  “It’s also dangerous, especially if you’re trying to shop around information like that.”

  “I’m careful, Miss May. Don’t you worry about me.”

  Morgan clasped her hands together and rested them on the table. “In that case, I guess we’ll make the exchange tomorrow.”

  Kate smiled. “I’m looking forward to it. Just don’t forget that check.”

  She stood and nodded at Morgan before scurrying away.

  Morgan finished her drink and reviewed the conversation in her head. Kate Jolly was fishing for a buyer, but if she threw too many lines in the water, Morgan knew Admiral Miller’s assistant was likely to reel in a catch that she couldn’t hold in her boat.

  For a fleeting moment, Morgan considered following the woman home but decided against it.

  Morgan pulled out her cell phone and dialed Mia’s number.

  “I need you to do me a favor,” Morgan said.

  “Sure,” Mia said. “What do you need?”

  “A full workup on a woman named Kate Jolly who worked for Admiral Miller before he died. She probably goes by Kathryn on her official government documents. But I want everything you can get.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Mia said. “I’ll call you when I have something.”

  Morgan thanked her before hanging up and finishing her drink.

  The Alliance’s days are numbered—and I can’t wait to let them know that.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bowman, North Dakota

  REAPER CUPPED HIS HANDS around the bill of his mesh cap, creating a more pronounced arc. A picture of a bald eagle in mid-flight across the face of an American flag seemed to make him almost forgettable in the small farming community. Add a pair of sunglasses while bobtailing a semitruck, and Reaper was just another dime a dozen in southern North Dakota’s endless farmlands.

  He climbed out of his rig and sauntered into Grazer’s Burgers and Brew. The restaurant shared space with the town’s self-proclaimed convention center, which wasn’t much more than a large open room for important city meetings. There weren’t any chairs set up in the space, but Reaper estimated no more than three hundred people could shoehorn into the stark auditorium.

  Meanwhile Grazer’s Burgers was a cozy restaurant with no more than a half dozen tables for patrons and a bar, where two men sat side by side nursing their beers. The woman behind the counter was furiously chomping on her gum while fiddling with her messy bun held together by a pencil. She gave Reaper a coy smile and he returned one in kind.

  After he ordered, he sat down at the other end of the bar, three chairs apart from the two men, thinking his message of “stay the hell away from me” would come across loud and clear. But apparently, he wa
s in a foreign country.

  “Just passing through?” one of the men asked as he turned and looked at Reaper.

  Reaper nodded subtly.

  “You come by this way often?” the other man asked.

  Reaper shook his head, refusing to utter a sound.

  “You always this friendly?” asked the first man.

  Reaper sighed. “Just waiting on my burger.”

  “Well, it’s the best one in all of Bowman,” the first man said. “Ain’t that right, Olivia?”

  “No denyin’ it, Hal,” she said. “Especially since we’re the only burger joint in town.”

  “What about Windy’s?” the other man asked.

  “Come on, Joe,” Olivia said. “That’s a pizza parlor with burgers on the menu. Don’t be so easily fooled.”

  When Olivia turned her back, Joe put his hand up to his mouth and leaned in Reaper’s direction. “The pizza here is terrible, so my advice to you would be don’t ever get it. Windy’s is way better.”

  “I wasn’t aware that Wendy’s served pizza.”

  “No, Windy’s with an ‘i’,” Hal said. “It’s a bit confusing to people from out of town, but nobody here would mistake that restaurant that has that girl with red hair as their mascot.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Reaper said.

  A bell rang from the back, signaling that Reaper’s burger was finished. Olivia stuffed it into a plain brown paper bag along with some condiments and napkins. In less than ten seconds of the food being in the sack, a grease spot appeared near the bottom. Reaper closed his eyes and sighed, already aware of how the best burger in Bowman, North Dakota, was going to treat his digestive system later that evening.

  “Where ya headed tonight?” Hal asked.

  “Sioux City,” Reaper said.

  “That’s quite a long haul,” Joe said. “Make sure you get something to stay awake.”

  Reaper nodded. “I’m listening to some books on tape.” It was a lie, but Reaper didn’t want to be such a jerk that the town drunks—and probably gossips—would find him memorable enough to report to local law enforcement after Chester Guidry went missing in a few hours.