by BJ Bourg
“He’s full of shit,” Rachael said to Spider. “He’s trying to minimize his involvement.”
Spider nodded beside her and asked if she’d heard from London.
“Last I heard, Ben had put him down in the mountains near the cabin.” Rachael glanced at her phone. “I sure wish he’d call.”
Rachael turned her attention back to the interrogation, where Anthony was expressing disgust at the killing of Mullins’ family and Bagford’s fiancé. “I’d heard from a mutual friend that Bruce and all had gone into the mercenary business, but I had no idea how ruthless they had become. When they did what they did to those poor women and children, I cut all ties with them.”
“I thought you paid them to do those horrible things to those poor women and children?”
“Me?” Anthony touched his chest with both hands. “God, no!”
Agent Winston produced a photocopy of the receipt London had recovered from Dawn’s house and slid it across the desk. “How do you explain this withdrawal receipt dated May twenty-third—three days before the attempt on your wife’s life—in the amount of thirty thousand dollars? If that’s not a payment for something, I don’t know what it is.”
“I…I don’t know anything about that much money leaving my account. Turk must’ve hacked into my bank. He’s very savvy with computers. He can hack into any system. He even once hacked into the—”
“Hold up,” Winston interrupted. “Hacking your bank account is one thing, but how’d your thumbprint get on the receipt?”
Rachael saw Anthony’s already pale face grow a shade lighter. “I…I don’t know how that got there. They must’ve lifted my print from someplace and planted it there.”
“I’ve got a better scenario,” Winston said, pushing her dark hair back and leaning across the desk. “You made that withdrawal to pay for the hit on your wife, which was how your print got on the receipt, and you ordered them to kill Mullins’ family to make it look like Mullins went crazy and did it himself—same as Bagford—but they screwed up and killed them too early. And then there was London Carter, who foiled the assassination attempt. Furthermore, this wasn’t about some bullshit affair, and you know it. While we’ve been sitting here, I’ve had agents back in Washington combing through surveillance footage. Your wife has never been in the same room alone with Mullins or Bagford, much less had sex with either of them. Do you really think an affair could go unnoticed at Number One Observatory Circle with its tight security?
“No, Mr. Browning, what happened here is very simple.” Agent Winston pulled a photograph from a yellow envelope and tossed it on the table in front of Anthony. Rachael immediately recognized it as one of the photographs that was on London’s desk the other day.
“You were the ultimate Trojan Horse,” Agent Winston said. “You figured you could do more for your cause by leaving the protests behind and going undercover, pretending to be a conservative to get to the inside.
“And boy, did you strike gold when you swept a young Courtney Burgess off her feet. Little did you know what a rock star she would become to her political party, and the bigger she got, the more important you became to your cause, because you were sharing a bed with her. She told you her most intimate secrets and gave you her utmost trust, and you betrayed her. You’re the most despicable of all traitors.”
Anthony Browning stared at Agent Winston for a long moment, his face glowing red and his eyes turning to slits. After a while, he said, “You sit there all smug and arrogant, thinking you’ve got me figured out, but I was operating right under your noses for years and none of you had a clue. The only reason I’m sitting here today is because of that piece of shit, London Carter, and not because of anything you did. How he figured us out, I’ll never know, but he’s going to pay dearly for messing with our plans.”
“Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you,” Agent Winston said, “but Turk, Bruce, and Lenny have all been killed, so your little crusade is over.”
“They may be dead—honorable soldiers fallen on the battlefield of justice—but this war is far from over.” Anthony’s lips curled up in a wicked grin. “Don’t you think I’m smart enough to have an Ace in the hole? Once they’re done with London Carter, they’ll be back and there’ll be no place for Courtney—or any of you—to hide.”
“Really? And who, or what, might this Ace in the hole be?”
“Someone London will never expect.” Anthony leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll take that lawyer now.”
CHAPTER 51
5:43 a.m., Thursday, June 5
The sun was beginning to rise behind me and it slowly lit up the opposite side of the mountain. I knew it would put my adversary at a slight disadvantage, and any disadvantage—however slight—would be helpful.
A crow cawed somewhere in the distance and several squirrels scurried through the dry leaves nearby, but everything was quiet otherwise. Flies buzzed around my face, many of them stopping to vomit on me, but I didn’t flinch. My eyes were only slits as I peered through my scope. During the night, I had painstakingly removed Patrick’s body from his final resting spot and stripped him of his ghillie suit. I had then dressed him in my ghillie suit and propped him up in a prone position on the opposite side of the large rock, aiming his rifle at the sniper hide across the valley, and tied a thin piece of string to my ghillie hood and attached the other end to my left foot.
Next, I’d smeared his blood and brain matter across my face like war paint and dressed into his ghillie suit. Although my enemy would never be able to see my face through Patrick’s ghillie hood, I needed to attract some flies so I would look the part. I then assumed the exact position in which I’d found Patrick and waited out the rest of the night, hoping the act of playing dead was not foreshadowing my near future.
Now, hours later, it was show time. I’d already calculated the distance and elevation and had adjusted the dope on my scope accordingly, so I was ready to go. The breeze that blew was light and directly in my face, so no Kentucky windage was necessary. The only thing left to do was draw his fire so I could pinpoint his exact location.
Since my right hand was slumped to the side of my rifle in the same manner Patrick’s had been, I’d have to play catch-up in a hurry if my plan worked. I knew it wouldn’t take much for this skilled sniper to detect unnatural movement, but I needed to be careful not to overplay my hand. Otherwise, the movement might seem contrived and I would never draw his shot.
Although it was cool in the shadows of the early morning mountain air, sweat dripped down my forehead and burned my eyes. My right eye was focused on the crosshairs, which were locked on the very spot where I thought the sniper’s hide was located. While I was certain it was the correct spot, I had dialed back the power on my scope to cover a wider field of view, just in case I was wrong or the sniper had moved during the night.
Taking a shallow breath and holding it—my muscles loose and ready—I gently moved my left foot, which would give the ghillie cover a little tug—
Suddenly, a twinkle of a flash appeared in the trees about twenty yards to the north of the sniper’s original location. The bastard had moved during the night!
Without hesitation, and with the speed born from millions of repetitions, I clutched the pistol grip of my rifle with my right hand and shifted the crosshairs over the exact spot of the flash. Just as my index finger was folding over the trigger, I detected movement and a second flash appeared in my scope. Like a quarterback standing strong in the pocket to throw a perfect spiral in the face of an all-out blitz, I coolly fired a shot.
Almost immediately, there was a small explosion in front of me as the sniper’s bullet tore the windage knob off my scope. Shards of plastic and metal peppered the right side of my face. Blood began to ooze from a dozen tiny cuts in my face, but I wasn’t fazed. My scope was disabled and I needed to prepare for a follow-up shot.
I quickly rolled behind the large rock and scurried toward Patrick’s body. Only exposing a sm
all portion of my left arm, I reached out and dragged Patrick’s rifle toward me. Once I was armed again, I squatted to the left side of the rock and readied myself. Taking a deep breath, I quickly popped up over the rock and then dropped straight down. My movement brought no reaction from the enemy sniper and—in that brief instance—I’d been able to determine my bullet had found its mark.
Resting the rifle atop the large rock, I scoped the sniper’s hide once more and nodded my head in self-confirmation. Just like that—with one bullet—it was all over.
I quickly grabbed the satellite phone and called Ben for a ride across the valley. While waiting for him, I cleaned off in a nearby stream and gathered my gear. I then called Dawn and told her it was over.
“I’m heading across the valley with Ben to make sure the sniper’s no longer a threat,” I said. “Afterward, Ben will fly your dad to the nearest hospital.”
Dawn told me she would ready her dad for transport and I ended the call. Ben had already arrived and was lowering his bird in a small clearing fifty yards away. I rushed to the helicopter and tossed my gear inside, anxious to hold Dawn in my arms again.
“Are you sure this bastard’s out of commission?” Ben asked, hollering over the roar of the blades. “I don’t plan on being shot down today.”
Pulling on the headset, I adjusted the microphone and told him everything was fine. I then guided him toward the sniper’s location. When we were directly over the sniper’s position, I took a final look through my scope. He hadn’t moved again and the amount of blood pooling on the earth beneath his body was evidence enough that he was gone.
I located the rope ladder Ben used for rescues and secured it to the anchors on the floor of the helicopter. After stripping off the headset, I tossed the rope ladder out the door and shook it free, careful not to tangle it on the branches of the nearby trees.
Once the ladder was fully extended, I mounted it and descended as quickly as I could. The rungs shifting violently with each step I took, but I made quick work of it. When I was about a yard from the ground, I jumped free and hurried toward the killer, who was bedded down in a thick clump of briar bushes. Large thorns dug into my flesh as I made my way to the body, but I didn’t care. I needed to identify the person and check vitals so Ben could bring Evan to the hospital and I could see Dawn again.
I finally reached the body and pulled back the hood on the ghillie suit, noticing the head was free of injury. I shifted the body and whistled when I saw where the blood was spilling from. My bullet had entered a couple of inches to the left of the sniper’s right ear and ripped a hole through the trapezoid muscle and penetrated deep into the body. Death would’ve been swift, but not instant. He suffered a little before dying, and I wasn’t upset about it.
Without wasting more time, I jerked the body around to identify it and cursed out loud when I saw the sniper’s face. “Shannon Reed…you son of a bitch!”
CHAPTER 52
“Who in the hell is this Shannon Reed?” Ben asked when I rejoined him in the helicopter.
As I explained my history with Shannon, Ben took to the air and searched for a suitable place near the Chism cabin to land. I kept an eye on the mountainside just in case there were other hostiles. I scanned gullies, the deep shadows of the forest, and the thick underbrush, but there didn’t seem to be anymore threats out there.
Ben zeroed in on a landing zone and, as he was putting his bird down, the force from the blades blew the bushes back in a narrow gully near the cabin. Something looked out of place and I scoped the area, nodding knowingly. The corners of a large blanket were waving in the wind and there appeared to be the deceased body of a man under it. I pointed it out to Ben. “We’ve got a victim down there.”
Ben nodded and steadied the chopper, setting us down gently in the rocky driveway. I stripped off my headset and jumped from the seat, heading straight for the front door of the cabin.
“Dawn, it’s me,” I called, scaling the steps two at a time. “Let’s get your dad out of here.”
I pushed through the door and immediately stepped to the right, blinking to allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When the room began to come into focus, I nodded at the scene before me. Patrick had done a thorough job of dispatching the bad guys inside the cabin. One was slumped against the sofa with his mouth open, exposing a hole in his gums where his front teeth used to be. I glanced down at his boots and noticed a chunk of rubber missing from his right boot. “You’re the bastard who kicked down Dawn’s door,” I said softly, turning my attention to the other two men. One had been shot through the ear and was lying face down near the opening to a hallway, and the last one was on his face behind the sofa, a tiny hole between his shoulder blades and a large chunk missing from the top of his head.
I heard some noise around the corner and down the hall, so I stepped over the man behind the sofa and approached the sounds. When I reached the opening to the hall, I called out to Dawn again, but there was no answer. I immediately snatched my pistol from my holster when I heard a grunt and what sounded like a gasping sound. I raced down the hallway and spun into the bedroom where I heard the noise, and stopped dead in my tracks.
There, on the floor several feet away, was Evan Luke and he was unconscious. But that wasn’t what made my heart stop in my chest—it was the sight of the large man with a beefy arm wrapped around Dawn’s throat. In his other hand, he held a pistol, and the muzzle was pressed firmly against Dawn’s right temple. Her face was red and puffy, and she was clawing at his arm in an attempt to create enough space to allow air into her lungs.
Seeing Dawn in that condition was the first of a one-two punch that nearly took my breath away. The second punch was when I looked up and focused on the man’s face. His hair was long and matted and a full beard grew like moss on his face, but I would know those eyes anywhere.
“Alvin? What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Where’s my brother, London?” His voice was terse and his finger was white against the trigger. “If you killed Shannon, I’m going to blow Dawn’s brains all over you.”
It suddenly hit me like a wrecking ball to the solar plexus—Alvin Reed, one of my former snipers, was kin to Shannon Reed and he was the sixth man in the photograph from that protest eighteen years ago. I’d met so many people over the years with the same last names but no relation that I never put Alvin and Shannon together. To think of it, I couldn’t remember Alvin ever mentioning he even had a brother.
Alvin had resigned from the sniper team a few years back, immediately after I’d been forced to kill one of our own snipers. Word was he was too disturbed over what had happened to remain in law enforcement, and he had turned to swinging hammers for a living. Apparently, swinging hammers didn’t fetch the kind of payday as mercenary work, and here we were.
Keeping my pistol trained on Alvin’s forehead—just to the left side of Dawn’s face—with my right hand, I lifted my left hand. “Shannon’s not dead,” I lied, trying to negotiate with him. I didn’t want to have to kill another person I had trained if I could help it, but I would if I had to. Of course, making an instantaneous no-reflex kill shot with a handgun round was next to impossible, so any move I made would put Dawn’s life at risk. The safest thing for me to do was talk our way out of this mess. “Shannon’s alive and well. We took him into custody, but I’ll trade him for Dawn, if that’s acceptable to you.”
“That’s bullshit!” Alvin shoved the muzzle of the pistol deeper into Dawn’s temple and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. “I heard the gunshots!”
“I winged him,” I said as convincingly as I could. “He was a thousand yards out when I fired. You know that’s a long shot for a three-o-eight round. We actually traded shots and he blew the windage knob off my scope. It was a good shot, considering the distance and wind value—”
“Enough of that shit! I want to see him now or Dawn dies!”
I nodded and began backing out of the room to give him space to follow. “He’s in the hel
icopter, but you’ll need to take him to a hospital. He’s not hurt bad, but he’ll probably need surgery.”
I didn’t know what I would do once we got to the helicopter and he realized I was lying, but I needed to buy as much time as I could.
“We’re not going to no damn hospital.” Alvin tried to peer beyond me as we moved out of the hallway and into the living room area. “Who’s in the bird? Is it Ben?”
I nodded slowly. “It’s Baxter.”
Alvin nodded his approval. “If you do exactly as I say, I’m going to take Shannon and Dawn with me and Ben’s going to fly us out of here. If no one follows us, we’ll leave Dawn and Ben someplace safe. But if you try anything heroic, they’ll die a horrible death.”
My mind was racing, trying to figure a way out of this mess. “What happened to you, Alvin?” I needed to get his mind off of the present situation. “We were like brothers, you and I. All of us were. Don’t you remember all the good times we spent together?”
“Yeah, that’s before you went and killed Gina.” He spat the words. “You showed everyone how much we meant to you. I bet you’d kill me right now if you had the chance, wouldn’t you? There’s no such thing as family with you—there’s only your sense of right and wrong. If I cross your self-righteous line of justice and go over to the wrong side, you’ll put a bullet in me just as quickly as you did when Gina—”
All at once, there was a burning sensation along my right cheek and Alvin’s face stretched and contorted—his words dying on the wind in front of his lips—as an explosion and an audible ping sounded behind me. Before the echo of the M1 Garand had time to bounce off the distant mountainside, Alvin collapsed in a heap, knocking Dawn sprawling as he did. I rushed forward and steadied her, then glanced over my shoulder to see Ben standing on the front porch of the cabin, still leveling the rifle in his hands.
