by Brad Taylor
Earlier, waiting on approval from Kurt, I’d kicked Jennifer from the car to play the “lady out for a stroll” while I took video from our vehicle on the target house. Since all I had done was take pictures, I’d tasked Jennifer with coming up with a plan. She’d briefed me her idea, basically sneaking in from the back deck using a caving ladder, but she hadn’t wanted to be responsible for telling the team. She wanted me to do so because of my referent firepower in the Taskforce, an idea I’d automatically shit-canned. There was nothing worse than someone else briefing your plan. I mean nothing.
I said, “Did he think your course of action was weak? Or was it because you’d come up with the plan?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “Neither. I think he was afraid of making the computer guy climb. But there was no other way.”
I laughed, started the car, and said, “He’s just pissed that he didn’t prepare for contingencies. Good to go. Get Kurt on the phone.”
She dug through her purse, and in the overhead glow from a streetlight I saw blood on her forearm, seeping through the bandage. Much worse than should have been happening. Reminding me how this wasn’t all fun and games. I said, “What’s up with your wound?”
“Nothing.” She dialed, then passed me the cell. “The butterfly bandages aren’t holding, that’s all.”
I started to respond, then heard a voice on the line. I scowled at her, knowing she’d handed the phone over precisely to prevent the conversation.
It was Kurt. I gave him a SITREP, then asked how the timing was going for my brilliant plan.
“Police are alerted. Shouldn’t be too long now. Oversight Council has the ball. They’ve already prepped the groundwork. Just waiting on the trigger.”
“How long before the video is released?”
“We don’t really know. Supposedly in the next few hours. We might actually get the arrest before it goes out, but even if we don’t we’re okay.”
“Sounds good. I have to get Jennifer to an emergency room. Her cut has busted open. I’ll be on my cell. Let me know.”
Kurt said, “I’ll do better than that. Your team is in town. The Colorado thing is blowing over. The fingerprints from the dead guy are tracing back to Mexico, tied into a bunch of drug cartel killings. Nothing to do with the team. The police are on a totally different trail now and spun up about the cartels being in Colorado. It was significant enough to bring in the DEA. They couldn’t care less about a bar fight. The worst of it is going to be a large fine for public drunkenness and disorderly conduct.”
I leaned back in the seat, thinking about the circumstances. About how the dead hit man was going to provide cover for our team. About how I had been prevented from bringing out his body, and now that was going to draw attention away from our mission. About the random events that had caused the outcome.
I said, “That’s probably the best news I’ve heard in days.”
“After your last SITREP, I’m sure it is. Decoy’s waiting with a full med bag. Skip the emergency room.”
I put the car in gear, saying, “Where are they?”
“Twenty-Second Street Embassy Suites. They’re waiting on you at the bar. They’ve already reserved a couple of rooms for you and Jennifer. I’m going to need you in town for a few days, just in case.”
I looked at Jennifer and said, “I can deal with that. No problem.”
* * *
We arrived at the Embassy Suites and moved straight to the restaurant in the back. It was closing in on one in the morning, but I wanted to see the team before crashing. We entered and they were all there, drinking around a table and telling lies. They saw us and waved. Decoy stood up and took Jennifer’s hand, stretching out her arm and checking out her bandaged wound. He was surprisingly tender, given his reputation as a man-whore.
“I understand you could use my skills again.”
She smiled and said, “Yeah. I guess so. I’m not as indestructible as you guys.”
From the table, Knuckles grinned back, saying, “Nobody is. In our own minds.”
She and Decoy walked away, and I got the skinny on what had happened after I’d flown out. In between talking, we watched the television like we were tallying precinct votes on an election night, waiting on the story.
I waited for a break in the conversation, then leaned into Knuckles and said, “You didn’t tell anyone, did you? Nobody knows about Jennifer and me, right?”
He said, “Pike, I haven’t said a word. Honestly, if you can make the right decisions, like you did in Mexico, I’m good with it.”
“What about the team? You didn’t say anything to them?”
“No. Not a word. Unlike you, when I say I won’t do something, I don’t.”
I grimaced and said, “Knuckles, it wasn’t like that. It just happened. I didn’t ask for it.”
He smiled and said, “Yes, you did.”
Before I could answer, Blood said, “Here it is.”
On the screen was a local newsman talking about an arrest for child pornography. The story would have been small, but it involved a very, very influential member of the political establishment, and in Washington, DC, that’s all it took. The newscaster made a point of saying that it wasn’t clear whether the computers in question had been from the father or the son.
A twist I hadn’t even considered, but one that would definitely work in our favor.
Jennifer returned with Decoy, her arm in a new bandage. She had a smile on her face like she’d just heard a good joke. Given that she’d been with Decoy for thirty minutes, it raised my alert status.
I said, “Good to go? He didn’t carve you up like a SEAL?”
She said, “No. He was gentle.” She winked at me and said, “I swear all we did is talk about you.”
For no reason whatsoever the words caused a spasm of jealousy. What the hell does that mean?
Decoy said, “You two must be smoked. No rest for the wicked.”
I said, “Yeah, actually, I could use some sleep. You guys have our rooms, or do we need to check in?”
Blood said, “We checked you in.”
He slid across a key-card envelope. I opened it and saw a single key.
Confused, I said, “Is this my room or Jennifer’s?”
I looked up to find all of them smirking. Next to Decoy, with a grin on her face, Jennifer said, “I don’t know about Kurt, but I think that answers your question about the team.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Originally, in outline form, this manuscript was tracking to be a personal Taskforce action to rescue Jennifer’s brother, period, with little in the way of global stakes. Even so, I needed something to get the Taskforce involved and chose our unmanned aerial vehicle usage on the border as a sort of throwaway linkage to the drug cartels. I studied weaknesses and homed in on the GPS controls, specifically for the UAV. It would have stayed that way, but the more I researched our GPS constellation, the more astonished I was at how many things in our lives are controlled by it. So much so that Arthur Booth was born and the manuscript took a decidedly different tack.
The Architecture Evolution Plan for our GPS is real, as is the fact that Boeing is building it. Selective availability is a real thing, and President Clinton did order it turned off in 2000, for good reason. GPS does, in fact, provide a single point of failure for a ton of things you don’t even think about, such as most of the cellular phone networks in the United States, a majority of banking transactions, power grids, stop lights, and a host of other things, but the reader can rest easy at night. The GPS constellation is a very important part of our daily lives, but it’s also one of the most secure and robust assets that we have, from the ground systems to the satellites themselves. How do I know? Because I had the honor of seeing it in action.
I’m indebted to LTC Tom “Steamer” Ste. Marie and public affairs officer Jennifer Thibault, who both
graciously facilitated my visit to Schriever Air Force Base. Steamer, the commander of the 2nd SOPS that controls the GPS constellation, took time out of his busy schedule to explain how it functions and fix some of my pretty boneheaded technical details (proving once again, just because it’s on the Internet doesn’t mean it’s accurate). In my previous life, I had to give informational briefings to numerous people, and it was always a pain, as it took me away from something more important—namely national defense. We used to call it Touching the Magic, and this time I was on the receiving end from the 2nd SOPS squadron commander. For that, I am grateful. More important, we’re all indebted more than we know to the men and women of the 2nd SOPS who keep the GPS constellation flying. They do a tremendous amount of work that goes unsung by the average public, but not by those who study such things. In 2011, the International Astronautical Federation gave a one-time sixtieth anniversary award, picking the single thing in the annals of space exploration that demonstrated measurable benefit to humanity as a whole. The Global Positioning System was chosen out of everything else that’s ever been done in space. After my research, I’m surprised it took so long. Rest assured, while the 2nd SOPS is allowed to chuckle, any mistakes with reference to the constellation are mine and mine alone.
As for Mexico, I was once again lucky. When I mentioned to a buddy that I was going to write about Mexico, I found out that a Navy SEAL I know was working in the embassy. I contacted him, and he took time out of his schedule to give me a helping hand peeling back the onion in that part of the world. He was in the process of moving back to the United States, but like SOFs everywhere, he laid out the red carpet upon my arrival, giving me a granular feel that I couldn’t get from books. More important, he introduced me to Dudley A., a journalist who has lived in and reported on Mexico for major news outlets across the world for more than twenty-two years. When you read about Tepito in the book, that isn’t my imagination at work. That’s me being naive enough to allow Dudley to take me through it. I’ll tell you, the pucker factor got pretty high when the cabdriver said—in Spanish—“Please lock your doors now.” We made it out okay, but it probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve done. Beyond Tepito, Dudley gave me invaluable advice on where to go and what to look for to ensure the accuracy of various scenes. All I had to say was “I need a location that does XXX” and he’d say, “I know just the place.” One scene that ended up in the book will make him cringe, because it’s so touristy. We did indeed have a margarita underneath the bullet hole fired by Pancho Villa in La Opera. I had no intention of using that bar, but given the scenario the sicario was dealing with, it worked.
As for the Cloud, I’m indebted to Mike, an old 1/75 Ranger that I met under bad circumstances at Arlington, during a funeral for a mutual friend. He’s now fighting the increasing number of marijuana growers in our national forests—no small chore, and possibly another book—and was more than willing to give me a town that could potentially host the Cloud in Utah. I gave him my parameters, and he gave me a name (by text while he was out in the woods on an operation, no less), but make no mistake, everything involved with the Cloud is pure Brad Taylor. The sheriff, the jail, the holding of terrorists, and the Cloud are all fiction. Pretty believable fiction, though, huh? Look over your shoulder the next time you’re arrested. Just kidding.
Once again, the Barrier Island Free Medical Clinic hosted a charity auction for the naming of an individual in the book. The BIFMC provides continuing primary health care to uninsured adults living at or below 200 percent of the federal poverty level. All of its doctors are volunteers, and all of its operating costs are donated or generated through fund-raisers. When they asked me if I would be willing to auction a character again, I said, “Well, yeah, but I’ve only got a bad guy this time.” They thought that was great, and the bidding went high because people wanted to name someone besides themselves, in secret. In the end, Arthur Booth, the man who founded the clinic, won the “honor,” due to the generosity of some anonymous bidders. He didn’t know it at the time, but he will when he reads the book.
I’m slowly weaning myself from working in the security world in order to become a “real writer,” and I’m indebted to my publisher, Dutton, for sticking with me. To my editors, Ben Sevier and Jessica Renheim, thanks for your keen eyes and necessary tweaks, which always make my manuscripts better—even if it means killing a fifteen-year-old boy at the beginning of the book. Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my publicity guru, Liza Cassity, for her superb work on my behalf, as well as the entire marketing team who is always there at the drop of a hat, regardless of my requests—and sometimes those requests seem a little strange, I’m sure.
I wouldn’t be where I am without the friendship and advice of my agent, John Talbot, who goes above and beyond on my behalf regularly. I truly appreciate all you do. Last but not least, a huge thank-you to my amazing wife, Elaine, without whom I couldn’t do my job. Thanks for keeping all the balls in the air and doing it all with grace and style. She told me she would rather I get to the Honey-Do list than be mentioned in the book. Oh well, I did manage to milk that for a few years. I promise I’ll get the list knocked out soon. I swear.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brad Taylor, Lieutenant Colonel (ret.), is a twenty-one-year veteran of the US Army Infantry and Special Forces, including eight years with the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment–Delta, popularly known as the Delta Force. Taylor retired in 2010 after serving more than two decades and participating in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom, as well as classified operations around the globe. His final military post was as Assistant Professor of Military Science at the Citadel. His first four Pike Logan thrillers were New York Times bestsellers. He lives in Charleston, South Carolina.
In 1864, E. P. Dutton & Co. bought the famous Old Corner Bookstore and its publishing division from Ticknor and Fields and began their storied publishing career. Mr. Edward Payson Dutton and his partner, Mr. Lemuel Ide, had started the company in Boston, Massachusetts, as a bookseller in 1852. Dutton expanded to New York City, and in 1869 opened both a bookstore and publishing house at 713 Broadway. In 2014, Dutton celebrates 150 years of publishing excellence. We have redesigned our longtime logotype to reflect the simple design of those earliest published books. For more information on the history of Dutton and its books and authors, please visit www.penguin.com/dutton.
