The Reaper (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 2)

by R. J. Patterson

  “What book?” Hal asked. “I’m looking for some more to add to my library.”

  Reaper drew a blank. He hadn’t cracked open a book in years. The only reading material he had was contained on his phone, and that was mostly just news.

  Come on, Mitchell. You can do it.

  As Reaper racked his brain, the only book he could think of was the last one he’d read to Charlie the last night before he deployed as a married man.

  “Harry Potter,” Reaper muttered without breaking stride.

  “Isn’t that a kid’s book?” Hal asked.

  “Yeah, my grandkids read that one,” Joe added. “The little orphan is a wizard of some sort and trying to kill some monster.”

  “Sounds about right,” Hal said.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Reaper said as he exited through the front door.

  He climbed into the cab of his semitruck and headed toward Chester Guidry’s house.

  Guidry was also Special Forces and had left the military a few years ago, retiring in a small town where he worked on a ranch. His house suggested that he was making a healthy salary, the Victorian-style home towering over the surrounding farmland. His ten-acre property was surrounded by trees, enough to give Guidry and his family some nominal privacy.

  But Reaper had no problem finding a field of view, enabling him to see nearly the entire front of the house. Behind him, the sun was dipping fast beneath the horizon, chilling the air.

  Reaper glanced back at his semitruck, parked a mile away and tucked behind a row of trees along a dirt road. He doubted anyone could see the vehicle, much less remember it. Since he’d been in town, Reaper had counted at least four other drivers bobtailing and didn’t suspect that any of them would be memorable to anybody.

  Reaper peered through his scope and lined up a shot. But Guidry wouldn’t stand still. Reaper’s target danced from his left to right and then twirled around in a circle.

  What the hell is he doing?

  Then Reaper saw it—or rather, saw him. A little boy who couldn’t have been more than five years old, chasing Guidry around. His blond curly hair appeared to glow in the evening sunlight. Reaper was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the laughter, but he could see Guidry and his son clear enough to know they were having fun.

  Reaper cursed under his breath before lowering his weapon. He couldn’t kill Guidry in front of his son, even though the mission would be much simpler. Reaper had to get creative and draw Guidry away from the house with a plausible story.

  Reaper dialed Guidry’s cell phone.

  “Mr. Guidry?” Reaper asked after the man answered.

  “Yes?”

  “My name’s Tom Stiller. I’m fairly new in town, and Hal told me you might be able to help me fix my riding lawn mower.”

  “Well, I’ll be happy to do that for you, Tom. Just bring it by my shop in the morning.”

  “The thing is I’ve got a lawn care service business that I’ve started and my first job is in the morning,” Reaper said. “And if I show up without a lawn mower, my business is going to be dead on arrival. Nobody in town will want to hire me.”

  Guidry sighed. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I can’t get the engine to turn over.”

  “That’s probably just a spark plug issue.”

  “Then you could fix that for me?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Guidry said. “I’ve got a few spark plugs around my garage I could give you. If you want to bring it by my house, I could get you on your way in a matter of minutes.”

  “Perfect. What’s the address?”

  Reaper took down the information. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

  “Excellent. I’ll open the gate for you.”

  Reaper ended the call and then hustled down the road back toward Guidry’s house. Despite being an Army Ranger, Guidry had apparently integrated into civilian life. Reaper thought how his training would’ve made him suspicious of everything, especially a phone call out of the blue. But Guidry didn’t seem to give the request a second thought.

  Guidry whistled as he walked down the dirt driveway toward the road. He unlocked the gate and stared along the vacant highway.

  Reaper took in the whole scene from behind one of the trees lining the property. He waited until Guidry looked like he was about to give up waiting before stepping out into the open.

  “Whoa,” Guidry said, his eyes widening. “Who are you?”

  “Tom Stiller,” Reaper said before raising his weapon.

  Before Guidry could protest, Reaper hit the man with two shots, felling him. Reaper scanned the area again. There were no cars on the road and not a soul in sight.

  Reaper removed the chip from Guidry’s phone and then tossed the phone into a nearby field. Then Reaper hoisted the dead body over his shoulder and hustled down the road back to his rig in the darkness. He wrapped Guidry in a tarp and dragged him into the back of the cab. Reaper would find a place to dispose of the body—and the stolen semitruck—at some point during his drive across the country.

  Reaper pulled out his notebook and crossed off Guidry’s name. He looked at the final name on the list and the location before tossing the pad back onto the dashboard.

  “This ought to be fun,” Reaper said aloud before firing up the engine. “A lot of fun.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Bogotá, Colombia

  ALEX FORCED A SMILE as she approached Hector Vargas. Dressed in a suit, he adjusted his tie and then offered his hand as she drew nearer. He smiled broadly and nodded.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting this vision of beauty since the moment you graced my house,” Vargas said.

  Alex took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “You have a lovely place here, sir.”

  “Please, call me Hector. And you are—”

  “Alicia Coleman,” Alex said. “But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

  Vargas shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. That’s not important. However, what is important to me is learning why you’re not returning home with your escort.”

  Alex placed her index finger on Vargas’ chest and tapped it several times before leaving her hand there. “Hector, you strike me as a person who understands that variety is the spice of life. Would that be an accurate assessment of you?”

  “I do like my women spicy.”

  “And there you go,” she said, drawing back with a wry grin. “You answered the question yourself.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “You like your women spicy. As in, there’s more than one woman for you. I just so happen to like my men spicy.”

  “Maybe Ambassador Brownfield isn’t the kind of spice you’re looking for tonight,” Vargas said.

  Alex cocked her head to one side and winked. “I’ll be here for a few more weeks. Mr. McNally knows how to contact me. Ciao.”

  Without lingering, Alex spun on her heels and headed back toward the door. She took two steps before she felt a firm hand grip her right bicep.

  “Miss Coleman,” Vargas said, spinning her around to face him. “Did I dismiss you?”

  “Does a lady need to be dismissed?” she said, arching her eyebrows. “Perhaps you haven’t heard, but in the twenty-first century, women don’t have to wait to be dismissed.”

  Alex drew her arm back, realizing that her bold handling of the cartel boss was likely to make her more desirable.

  “Don’t talk to Señor Vargas that way,” one of the guards said in a clipped manner. “You will not disrespect him like that.”

  “Jorgé, calm down, my friend,” Vargas said. “Our guest is a little fiery, but we don’t need to threaten her. She’s here to have a good time.”

  Jorgé took a couple of steps back, heeding Vargas’ instructions.

  “I’m leaving now,” Alex said. “You know where to find me, if I’m not too spicy for you.”

  This time, no one stopped Alex as she walked away. She returned to Ambassador Brownfiel
d, who was standing there with his arm out to escort her.

  “I’ve never seen anyone treat him like that and not get fed to the crocodiles in the river,” Brownfield said.

  Alex took his arm and smiled. “If he’s not careful, I’ll feed him to the crocodiles.”

  “Sassy,” Brownfield said. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun tonight.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Oh, you don’t know half of what I have planned for our time together.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  They walked together to his car and he opened the door for her. “The perfect gentleman.”

  “Perhaps not perfect, but close enough,” he said with a wink.

  Alex eased inside and waited for him to shut the door. Once he did, he made his way around the front of the vehicle. Alex took the opportunity to give Hawk a quick update.

  “You following all this?” she asked over the coms.

  “Yes, though helplessly.”

  “When are you going to learn that I can take care of myself? Now, follow the dark Jaguar about to exit the gate,” she said.

  “Roger that,” Hawk said.

  Brownfield opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He ignited the engine with the push of a button before glancing over at Alex. He revved the engine several times and grinned. She took a deep breath and placed her hand on his, which was resting on the gear stick.

  “I think it might be better if I drove,” she said.

  “Don’t worry,” Brownfield said, his words starting to become more slurred. “I have immunity here. I can’t go to jail for drunk driving.”

  She scowled. “It’s not jail that I’m worried about. It’s surviving the trip home.”

  “I’ve been up here so many times, I can drive these winding roads with my eyes closed.”

  “I’d rather not be in the passenger seat for such a demonstration. Now, I don’t want to issue an ultimatum, but I will if you won’t let me drive.”

  “Sounds like you just gave me an ultimatum,” Brownfield said. “But whatever, be my guest. Just get us home and the real fun will begin.”

  They both got out and exchanged places. Once in the driver’s seat, Alex asked Brownfield to type in the address of his home in the GPS and away they went.

  Alex drove for a mile and noticed the van pulled off the road and started tailing them. She wasn’t too worried about Brownfield pulling any stunts on her that he shouldn’t. He was succumbing to his fifth or sixth glass of champagne in the hour and a half he was there. It made him easy to subdue but made the impending interrogation much less promising.

  Brownfield made a few crude remarks and laughed at them, blissfully unaware that Alex wasn’t amused by anything he said.

  After twenty minutes of driving down the winding road, which included one short stop to let Brownfield empty the contents of his stomach, they arrived at his penthouse. Brownfield staggered inside and waved at the security guard sitting behind the desk in the lobby.

  “Buenas noches, Matthew,” Brownfield said as he saluted awkwardly.

  “Mi nombre es Mateo,” the guard said as he glared at the ambassador. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “You say Mateo, I say Matato,” Brownfield said before erupting in laughter at his own joke.

  “Perdón, mi amigo es—”

  “Borracho? Yo sé,” the guard said with a faint smile. “It happens all the time. Are all Americans drunks?”

  Alex shook her heads. “Just the ones employed by the government.”

  He nodded knowingly and then nodded down the hall toward the elevators. “Don’t let him get away.”

  She hustled after him, slipping into the elevator as the doors had already started closing. Brownfield propped himself up with the handrail, slouching against the far wall.

  “You’re quite the charmer,” Alex said. “You almost left your beautiful escort behind.”

  Brownfield chuckled and shook his head. “Mateo, Matato. How ‘bout we call the whole thing off.”

  Alex remained silent as the ambassador amused himself. A ding signaled they’d reached the penthouse suite, and Brownfield pushed himself forward toward the door. He stumbled into the hallway and swiped an access card in front of a security panel. A click released the lock, and Brownfield pushed his way inside with Alex right behind him. She stopped and used her foot to keep the door from latching shut.

  Brownfield unloosened his tie before collapsing onto the couch, while Alex checked out the surroundings. There were colorful pieces of abstract art scattered on the stark white walls, all specially lit. The furnishings were built with a mix of stainless steel and dark wood, modern by any standards, yet uniquely Latin American. She noticed the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the city. Stepping up to the window, she peered out across the twinkling lights of Bogotá.

  “Nice place you have here, Mr. Ambassador,” Alex said.

  “Please, it’s Patrick,” Brownfield said as he rolled his eyes. “Can we just be normal tonight? I’m tired of all the formality in this job.”

  “Of course, Pat,” Alex said as she eased next to him on the couch.

  He smiled, perking up as he stood. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I think we’ve had enough for tonight,” Alex said. “Why don’t we just talk for a bit?”

  Brownfield scowled. “I hate talking. I’m more of an action kind of guy, if you know what I mean.”

  “That’s what I hear,” she said. “But I’d like to get to know you before we take anything further.”

  He sat back down, the grin now spreading across his face. “I can be patient.”

  “Good,” she said, “because we’re going to be here a while.”

  “That’s right,” said Hawk as he entered the room. “My wife likes to get to know the people she’s about to interrogate.”

  “Interrogate?” Brownfield asked. “Who are you? And how’d you get in here?”

  Hawk brandished his weapon. “Let’s just say if you call Mateo by his name and tip him handsomely, you’ll be surprised at what kind of perks you’ll get.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brownfield said as he sobered up quickly. “What’s going on here? Who are you people?”

  Alex jammed her foot into Brownfield’s stomach. “We’ll be the ones asking the questions. And if you answer them correctly, you might just find this whole situation quite painless.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, his eyes widening.

  “You’re a little too cozy with Hector Vargas,” Hawk said, “especially for a U.S. ambassador. Tell me what kind of relationship you have with him.”

  Brownfield twiddled his thumbs as he glanced around the room, refusing to make eye contact. “He’s never been charged with anything, just suspected of running drugs. He’s a successful businessman in his own right and a respected member of the community. As an ambassador, I need allies, people who can help me navigate the political waters of Colombia. And in that regard, Hector Vargas has been invaluable to me.”

  “You make him sound so harmless,” Alex said as she released her foot and sat down in a chair across from him.

  “He is—I mean, it’s his men who do all the dirty work, I suppose,” Brownfield said.

  “Men like you?” Hawk asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be coy with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Brownfield shook his head and looked up at his captors. “I swear, I don’t know. I get invited to his shindigs on occasion, but I’m not in contact with him that much. He sees me as much of an ally as I see him. But I’ve never done any favors for him, I promise.”

  Alex narrowed her eyes. “Then how do you explain how a handful of undercover DEA agents who are trying to dismantle Vargas’ cartel all ended up dead in the past few weeks?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Brownfield said. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”


  “Ignorance isn’t a defense in court,” Alex said.

  “This isn’t court,” Brownfield snapped. “I swear that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Alex nodded toward Hawk. “Perhaps you need some stronger persuasion to talk.”

  Brownfield shifted in his chair. “I swear to you on my dead mother’s grave—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s easy to pretend like you know nothing,” Hawk said, “especially when the people mean nothing to you. But Daniel Ortega, Javier Gomez, Marcello Martinez—they all had families. They were all Americans. Yet you signed their death warrants when you revealed that they were part of the DEA.”

  “I’ve never done such a thing,” Brownfield said as he rose and stamped his foot. “I’m here because I love my country, not because I want to betray it.”

  “Then prove it,” Alex said.

  “How? What do you want me to say? I never did this.”

  Hawk templed his fingers as he paced behind Brownfield. “How can we believe you?”

  “Take my phone,” Brownfield said, offering it to Hawk. “Search my apartment. Search my office. I’m innocent. I have nothing to hide.”

  “That’s a lie,” Hawk said as he held out his phone. An image of Brownfield with a younger woman in a scantily clad outfit appeared on the screen.

  “That was just one time,” Brownfield said.

  “She was just one time,” Hawk corrected. “What would your wife and your kids think of your philandering ways?”

  “Look, I’m not perfect,” Brownfield said. “My wife decided to stay behind in New Jersey to be closer to her family. But a man gets lonely sometimes and—”

  “So, you’re saying that she’d be okay with this?” Hawk asked.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just offering you an explanation.”

  “It’s a shitty one,” Hawk said. “I’ve got a dozen pictures just like this one. You have a problem—and it’s one I’m going to bring to the president’s attention if you don’t tell us what we want to know.”

  “I’ll tell you anything,” Brownfield said. “Just please don’t tell my wife.”

  “Who did you leak the names of those DEA agents to?” Alex asked.