by Paul Knox
Copyright © 2020 by Paul Knox. All rights reserved.
Her Perfect Grave is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition, 2020
ISBN: 9798579675989
HER PERFECT GRAVE
A Reece Cannon Thriller: Volume 6
ASSOCIATIONS
TRILOGY
BOOK 3 OF 3
PAUL KNOX
PROLOGUE
THE BLUE DRAGON
THE SANDMAN ducked behind a tower of cargo shipping containers. They were stacked like different-colored Lego bricks not far from the dock. A strong ocean wind howled through the many rows of metal boxes stacked higher than three-story buildings.
The salty air permeated his skin and smelled of a disturbance. Rain clouds traveled over the waters from afar, ever nearer, bringing unrest from the edge of the world.
At this moment, the weather echoed a foreboding truth for the Sandman.
Up ahead, a small cargo ship readied itself to depart from Puerto de Acajutla—the main seaport out of El Salvador.
But the Sandman aimed to stop its departure.
The ship was heading to Port of Los Angeles, California. But it carried more than commercial goods. The human trafficking victims onboard would be secretly whisked away and forced into labor or prostitution.
The Sandman’s stomach turned. His own shameful past contributed to these atrocities. Over fifteen thousand men, women and children were imported to the USA every year against their will.
While staring at the ship, he vowed to atone for his sins.
He jabbed his fist into his pants pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing a contact halfway across the globe.
The Sandman spoke in a hushed tone as soon as the line was picked up. “Greetings, Xie. I’m unfashionably late—Pozo de Fuego is mere seconds from embarking. I need backup. There’re too many crewmen on that ship.”
“How many?” Xie asked. The clack-clackity sound of his fingers typing could be heard under his voice.
“About a dozen. And I assure you—the white dragon is onboard.”
“The new white dragon?—I don’t have anyone in your vicinity. Not for at least a day. Can you wait?”
“Negative.” The Sandman stole another look at the vessel, watching the last of the preparations being completed. “Get a team here, posthaste.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Stop them.”
“Then…what am I locating a team for?”
“To retrieve my corpse from the ocean floor. I owe Reece one last opportunity to curse my name as I lie in a pine box.”
“Huh?” Xie asked.
The Sandman disconnected.
He immediately began sprinting, dodging between the many rows of containers, past the wild trees, and toward the cargo ship Pozo de Fuego.
Translation: Fire Pit.
Clouds approached from the distance, but the midafternoon sun still shone brightly overhead. Hiding behind the last clump of greenery and coconut palm trees, pulling air into his lungs, he’d now have zero cover until reaching the ship. And like the palm tree fronds he crouched behind, his bright safety-orange T-shirt and vest—which mimicked the look of the workers—flapped excitedly.
He bolted down the wharf. The waves on either side were much larger than usual, crashing and breaking.
Thus far, he had seemed to escape the eyes of the crew who were busy checking the steel lashing rods and turnbuckles used to secure the bottom level of cargo containers.
The gangway still connected the dock to the ship, and the Sandman ascended it quickly, his work boots clumping against the wooden planks.
But a crewmember close by heard his rapidity and called out. He pointed at and simultaneously approached the Sandman. “Hey! What are you—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the Sandman had closed the distance between them in three quick strides and grabbed his outstretched arm, spun him around, and put him in a chokehold. After ten seconds of wheezing and gasping attempts, the crewmember was asleep and his body lay on the deck.
The Sandman dragged the man into a narrow space between containers. Then he straightened his safety vest and acted casual as he continued searching the deck.
But as he passed by the next ship worker, the man abandoned his task and called out, “Who are you?” He approached the Sandman. That choice didn’t bode well for the health of the ship worker.
During the next few minutes, the Sandman encountered a few more crewmembers—some more skilled in fighting than others. Yet each was left unconscious, many with various broken bones.
Just as the Sandman rounded the rear corner of the shipping containers, a muzzle greeted him.
The last of the four original dragons, Sandy ‘the Sandman’ Cannon, now found himself face-to-face with the aspiring white dragon youngling, Kai Castro. But unlike the Sandman, who had broken free from the chains of the old criminal empire, Kai had only begun his deep dive into the underground.
“It’s you,” Kai whispered, somewhere between shock and awe. “That explains all the grunts, crunches and yelps.”
“If I may, where are they?” the Sandman asked calmly.
“Really?” Kai asked with a cocky tone. “They’re in one of these containers.” Kai motioned at the wall of metal boxes without effort or a care. “Where do you think I put them?”
The Sandman’s eyes remained steadfast. “Care to share which one?”
“The one you’re about to go into.” Kai began twirling his gun around his first finger. “I know someone who’ll pay a lot of money to have the privilege of killing you himself. Go ahead and—”
The Sandman sensed the unhinged ease at which Kai spoke and his fanatical movements. It was now or never.
Jumping and rotating through the air, the Sandman executed a spinning back kick, knocking the gun right off of Kai’s finger.
“Ow!” he yelled, shaking his hand while the gun ricocheted off the side of the ship with a clink.
Two crewmembers rushed the Sandman from behind, each grabbing an arm. The Sandman elbowed the man on his right, cracking ribs. A third crewmember slammed into his back, knocking the breath out of him from the impact to his spine. A fourth crewmember launched himself from the railing like a WWE wrestler, smashing onto the jumble of men.
The Sandman went down.
After taking some sideways punches, he felt the cold steel of a gun against his head. The chuck-chick sound directly behind his ear meant a bullet was ready to penetrate his skull.
“One more move like that and you die right here and now,” came Kai’s wild voice. “Get up!”
But the Sandman’s thoughts were elsewhere at that moment. He missed his family. It seemed like another lifetime ago when they had all been together, almost thirty years prior. He had never spent enough time with his young love, Susan, their two daughters and one son.
He wasn’t even present when his own son died. Couldn’t even attend his funeral.
If the Sandman had another shot at life, he’d do it differently this time.
I’m getting too old for this.
His thoughts returned to the present as he was forcibly brought to his feet.
Kai marched the Sandm
an to the containers and instructed a crewman to open a white one, second from the bottom in a five-tier stack and at the far edge of the starboard side.
As soon as the container’s double doors were opened, the sound of women crying and whispering could be heard. A ladder was placed adjacent to the opening.
“Get in,” Kai demanded cruelly.
“Your expectation of my self-guided ascension into this box is quite amusing,” the Sandman quipped in his usual, eccentric manner.
One of the bigger guys stepped forward and pounded on his kidneys and face while the corners of Kai’s lips curled upwards and his gun remained ready.
The Sandman spit out a mouthful of blood, now on his knees. “I’ll go.”
He swallowed the metallic taste while climbing the eight and a half feet into the metal rectangular box. Once his eyes rose high enough to see into the back of the container, he identified slightly under two dozen women and girls huddled together.
A dismal sight, he commiserated with these victims of human trafficking he was joining.
Once inside, the crewmembers shut the doors and locked them, leaving the Sandman in the dark with the women.
He whispered in Spanish to them. “Por favor, don’t worry. I will not harm any of you. I came here to rescue you, though things didn’t go as planned. But have hope. I injured enough crewmembers to delay our departure long enough for my reinforcements to arrive.”
1
REECE CANNON didn’t like the way the copilot kept glancing back at her and Chang with a faux-interested smile and nod.
But Chang kept talking, oblivious. Trying to explain away the past. He wouldn’t shut up.
He wouldn’t have noticed the copilot’s glances, anyway. He sat facing away from the pilots, sitting catty-corner from Reece in the tiny airplane. Three rows of seats: two for the pilot and copilot, and four for passengers who faced each other because the two middle row seats were reversed.
Reece had chartered this small plane after their arrival to the El Salvador International Airport, for her and Chang only. They were now on a short flight to a tiny airport called El Jocotillo.
“Are you even listening to me, Reece?” Chang asked, squinting with paltry remorse. “How many times can I say I’m sorry? I never contacted you for your own safety. Back then you weren’t the person you are now. I had no idea you’d develop the reputation of…raining fire from the skies and taking down crime lords. You were just my wife. I swear it to you, all I wanted was—”
Reece took her gaze from the window, from admiring the beautiful yet perilous rainforest below them, and interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “I held you as you died in my arms, Chang. I cried for you. For seven long years I couldn’t let your ghost go. And just when I moved on, you came back to haunt me.”
“I did die, Reece. I was dead for several minutes. And the story I’ve been told is that when I was revived—only thanks to the finest doctors my father’s fortune could buy—I was in a coma for almost two months before waking up. Do you know what it felt like to wake up, completely weak, and find out my father had been forced to return to China and tortured? And that you had had a funeral—for me?”
“I would’ve called you, Chang. I would’ve fought them together. But you ran and hid. You abandoned what we had. How can I forgive you for that?”
Reece tucked her bags close, as though her belongings could comfort her. One bag full of clothes and toiletries, and the other—her all-black performance parachute.
Chang must’ve noticed her pulling it near because he changed the subject, whipping out his phone.
“I checked the tracking beacon while we were at the airport.” He tapped the screens few times. His phone had a custom app called INSITE installed, designed by none other than Xie Jié, the leader of a vigilante group in China. “I don’t have service right now,” he continued, “but Sandy was still at the Acajutla port. He’s been there, stationary, since last night.” Chang eyed her parachute like she wouldn’t need it.
“Got it,” she said. “I checked INSITE on my phone, too. But the ship might leave at any moment. I might have to jump.”
“We’ll have to jump, Reece. I’m back. I’m here, now.”
Reece didn’t answer, returning her attention to the canopy below them. Such a vivid and deep green, it seemed to sparkle like precious jadestone.
As much as her mind wanted to hate Chang, she wasn’t able to forget the years of anguished longing for her once ‘true love.’
Her first love. They had been married for long enough to cement the dream of growing old together, yet not long enough to ever lose the ‘new’ feeling.
But one day everything changed. And he was gone.
Reece had lost something then, had too many sleepless nights, and wished to be held by him one last time.
Now he was here. And everything was so jumbled. She didn’t know who to trust.
“How serious are you and the…Duke guy?” Chang asked casually, avoiding eye contact, peering at the same treetops Reece did. Yet underneath his light tone was a current of yearning that ran deep.
Reece and Duke hadn’t known each other for long, but they had feelings for each other. And sometimes Reece had trouble admitting to herself just how real her feelings were.
But that’s none of your business, Reece thought.
She didn’t answer him, and instead, found herself returning another weird smile and nod from the copilot. Lightly touching her waist, Reece confirmed her gun and holster were still right there.
“¿Puedo ayudarte?” Reece asked the copilot, who still stared.
He squinted like he didn’t understand.
“I said, can I help you?” Reece’s mouth smiled but her eyes did not.
“I’m simply making sure you’re comfortable, Ms. Cannon.” The copilot returned facing forward, messing with the electronic displays in front of him.
“He’s Chinese, can’t you tell?” Chang asked quietly with a smirk. “Not a white dragon guy.”
“He’s also a pilot in a Spanish-speaking country.”
Chang cocked his head with a slight nod, indicating Reece had a point—but that he didn’t necessarily understand her confrontational attitude.
“Why doesn’t our pilot speak Spanish?” Reece whispered, mostly to herself.
Chang yawned. “I think I’m feeling sleepy from our overnight. I got a few hours in, but the turbulence kept waking me up. You?”
“I feel great,” Reece answered, distracted, no longer interested in their conversation.
Her focus was on the upcoming mountain range. Wispy clouds blanketed the mountains, rendering the earth below invisible. Only mystical-looking mountaintops peeked above the cloud cover.
That’s curious.
She had studied the geography of El Salvador last night on the plane, looking at map after map. It seemed she was now approaching the Guazapa Mountain Range—a relic of a volcano from days long ago.
The dormant volcano was northeast of the city of San Salvador—but their destination, the El Jocotillo Airport, was southwest of the city.
Reece looked to the eastern sky. There the sun rose. Indeed, they were traveling north.
“Chang,” she whispered. “We’re going the wrong way. Were headed to Honduras.”
Once again, the copilot turned and Pan Am smiled at Reece.
“Why are we headed north?” she asked him.
His expression faded, replaced with a cold stare.
2
THE COPILOT emphasized each of his next words carefully. “I assure you, Ms. Cannon, we are going the right way.”
Reece softened her demeanor. “My mistake. I don’t know the area that well. Sorry.”
The copilot seemed satisfied with her response and turned back around.
She leaned forward and whispered to Chang, “Are you sure Xie can be trusted?”
Chang answered, “I’m sure everything is fine, Reece. Why would the pilots have anything to do with a wannabe white dra
gon? Like you said, they don’t even speak Spanish. You’re on high alert. I completely under—”
“Chang,” Reece interrupted, “how do you know Xie?”
“Let me put it this way,” he answered. “Sandy trusts him.”
“And Xie contacted you, personally?”
“Yes, which—believe me—came as a complete shock. I didn’t think anybody from my old life knew I was still alive. But then Xie called me out of the blue, insisting I get you to El Salvador ASAP.” Chang smiled with a hint of confusion on his face. “Your reputation is…big. Global even.”
Reece continued digging for the facts, unfazed by the compliment. “How did Xie know you were still alive?”
“He knew my father long ago.”
“Xie knew Ju-Long?—was this back in Shanghai?”
“That’s what he said.” Chang sighed and rubbed his hands across his knees. “Apparently my father contacted Xie after returning to China all those years ago. And he secretly told Xie I was alive, hiding, and asked him to do what he could to keep me protected.”
Reece cracked her knuckles one by one, off in her own thoughts. Everything Chang said seemed plausible, but none of that info really helped them at this moment.
“We’re going the wrong way,” she finally said in response. “I have to do something.”
“What can we possibly do thousands of feet in the air?”
Reece ignored his question, and instead, turned around and fished behind the backseat. She found what she was looking for: a spare parachute.
“Stay down,” Reece said, tossing the parachute pack to him. “And you might need this.”
Chang’s eyes instantly flipped to panic-mode. “What are you doing?”
Reece moved to the middle row of seats beside Chang. “Turn this plane around,” she commanded to the pilots.
Oddly, the pilot didn’t flinch or even acknowledge the disruptive woman aboard his aircraft.
The copilot twisted to face her. “Ms. Cannon, you are making a grave mistake.”
