Hard Vengeance (A Jon Reznick Thriller)

by J. B. Turner

  “We have to find him.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? This is not your fight. You need to go back home. Do you hear me? It’s over for you. You know what I did in the dead of night? You want to know the grim reality?”

  Lauren stared at him.

  “I had to drag the burned corpses of some of our guys out of a still-smoldering fire. So, Lauren, the time for bravado is long gone, trust me on that.”

  “Why are you pushing me away? I’m trying to help. Did I or did I not take down that Aryan Brotherhood guy I was trapped in the car in New York with? He was highly dangerous.”

  Reznick shook his head. He wanted his daughter back home in the States. She was at the early stages of learning to be an FBI special agent. But she was still pretty green. Very inexperienced. “You got lucky.”

  “Lucky? Is that what you call it? What did you once tell me, Dad?”

  Reznick turned away, feeling uneasy that she was still in Mallorca after everything that had happened.

  “You make your own luck in this business. You earn it. But you’ve got to shed blood to get it sometimes. Did you say that?”

  “I did say that. But listen to me. You are my daughter. And I want to protect you. It’s in my nature.”

  “What is it going to take for you to understand that I have the right to decide if I want to help you?”

  “OK, answer me this. Let’s imagine, just for the sake of argument, that we find this nut. Just imagine that for a moment. So, how are you going to kill him?”

  Lauren went quiet for a few moments.

  “You don’t have a gun with you, do you?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “You see my point?”

  “It’s not a very subtle point, Dad. It doesn’t make me feel good when you try and put me down.”

  “This is not about putting you down. I don’t mean to belittle you. This is about stark reality. Cold reality. How the fuck are you going to kill this guy? You going to fight him? Knife fight?”

  “I would if I had to.”

  “Adam Ford, you checked his file?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “I know about this guy. While he’s a doctor, he’s also a trained killer. Hand-to-hand combat. Top-notch sniper. He’s a cold-blooded killer. And you know, the guy has already escaped my clutches once before.”

  “When?”

  Reznick sipped some red wine. He took a few minutes to tell Lauren how he’d foiled the attempt on the President’s life. “I brought down Ford before the hit was carried out. Ford was in custody. But some backup crew freed him. And I had to chase him down. He escaped into the waters near JFK.”

  “You never told me about that.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know. This guy is a survival expert. And he’s as tough as they come. What makes him even more dangerous is his compulsion to kill. I think he enjoys it. Thank God they got Martha out of the country before he realized she’s still alive. But you know what concerns me now? Keeps me awake at night?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “You. I worry about you all the time. When you’re here, my job is to keep you safe.”

  “Who gave you that job? I didn’t give you that job.”

  “I’m a father. That’s my job. That’s the rules. If you have children you’ll understand. Your number one duty is to protect them until they can protect themselves.”

  “I can protect myself.”

  “Which leads me back to my question. How would you kill him?”

  Lauren gazed at him, tears in her eyes. “I’ll never be good enough to match up to you, will I? I’ll never be good enough for you.”

  “You’re completely missing the point. And don’t turn this into some sob fest, OK? I don’t want to hear it.”

  Lauren shook her head. “I’m trying to reach out to you.”

  “And I’m trying to keep you alive. Don’t you think he’ll try and get to you? As long as you’re here, you’re at risk. He was calling your cell phone. He accessed your FBI cell phone, goddamn it. Think about that. Do you understand that means that all your contacts may have been compromised?”

  “I know that. Finsburg and a couple of the State Department guys debriefed me on this whole thing.”

  “They don’t want you here either.”

  Lauren stared straight ahead, blinking away the tears. “Too bad, I’m staying.”

  “You still haven’t satisfactorily answered my question. How do you kill that guy if you come face-to-face? Answer me that.”

  “I need a gun.”

  “Are you really thinking this through? I mean, you work for the FBI. I’m sure Lionel Finsburg has already quoted every goddamn FBI rule to you.”

  “Over and over again.”

  “He’s not wrong. If that maniac does come face-to-face with you, and you have a chance to take him out, you have no gun.”

  Lauren looked at him, eyes fierce, like her mother’s. The same defiant, beautiful glare.

  “Even guys that had guns, the Agency crew that went up there last night—that didn’t save them.”

  “I want a gun so at least I can defend myself if I do come face-to-face with him.”

  “If you’re caught with a gun in Spain, and it’s not authorized or you’re not on official business, then you could be prosecuted by the Spanish courts.”

  “I’m talking to you as your daughter. I would like a gun, to defend myself, at the very least.”

  “Like I said before, Lauren, you have to realize that your career could go up in smoke if you fire a gun in Europe, if you’re not on official business or have TSA authorization to carry. I have still got that authorization. At least they haven’t taken that away from me yet.”

  “Didn’t you once say that a gun is a great equalizer for any woman?”

  Reznick nodded.

  “I don’t want to be at a disadvantage.”

  “You’re my daughter, and I love you. And you’re right, you’re a goddamn adult. And you know the consequences, right? And you’re prepared to face those consequences if things go wrong?”

  “I’d rather be alive and face the consequences than be dead.”

  Reznick leaned back in his seat and sipped some wine. He gazed off into the distance, birds in flight, the cypress trees swaying in the hot Mediterranean air. “So would I.”

  “I know you always pack two guns. I want that second gun.”

  Reznick said nothing as he contemplated allowing his daughter to jeopardize her career. But the worst option was her being defenseless. The fact was, there were no good options for her.

  “What is it, Dad? What are you thinking?”

  “Why don’t you ever make it easy for me, Lauren?”

  “This isn’t about making it easy. This is about standing with my father. Shoulder to shoulder, side by side. If need be. That’s how I was brought up.”

  Reznick smiled. “I have two guns. I have one on me. But if I give you that second gun, it will open you up to all sorts of problems in the eyes of the FBI.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Alright, then,” he said and took a large gulp of wine. “So be it.”

  “So, what now?” Lauren asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking it’s time to bring this guy to us.”

  Forty-Three

  Ford could barely suppress the smile on his face as he checked out of the small boutique hotel in Port de Sóller and took a short tram ride up to the picturesque town of Sóller. He sat at a table underneath the shade of a tree in the town square, sipping a glass of wine, listening to an American couple beside him talking loudly, as they invariably did, as if trying to attract attention, about the highlights of their vacation. He listened as they emoted over the wonders they had witnessed firsthand. They talked cathedrals. All across Spain. All over Mallorca, including the beautiful church in Sóller. They were simple people from Iowa. A farmer and his wife. Ford listened as the urge to laugh out loud came
and went. They talked about their children. And how they were thankful that they were following the path of Christ.

  The man sounded like Ford’s own father. Stern. Quiet. A man who believed in the Bible. The literal interpretation of the Bible.

  Ford never could reconcile how a smart lawyer like his father could have faith in a collection of stories written centuries after Jesus was supposed to have been around. But his father had faith. An undying faith. Ford grudgingly respected that.

  His own faith was that of the individual. The primacy of one man. Self-reliance. It was a Darwinian approach to life. Only the strong survive. Kill or be killed. His father, by contrast, showed kindness. True kindness. No matter how much Ford tried, he could never care. He could feign caring. And he often did. He was good at that. But genuine concern for other people, no matter their social standing, was something that simply wasn’t within him.

  Ford didn’t worry. He recognized his lack of empathy for what it was. Classic psychopathy. It was a strength. He wasn’t saddled with worrying about doing the right thing. Thinking of his fellow man. He wanted something—he figured out how he was going to get it. When he was working full time as a surgeon in DC, his lack of empathy had been useful. Essential, even. He didn’t get drawn into feeling emotional about a patient. So, he could do the job. And he did it better than anyone alive.

  “Excuse me, sir, do you speak English?” The voice of the American man at the next table snapped Ford out of his reverie.

  Ford looked up and pretended to smile. He took a few moments to answer, weighing up whether to engage with them or not. “Yes . . . yes, I do.”

  “What luck!” the man said. “You’re American?”

  “Born and bred, sir.”

  “That’s amazing. Say, would you like to join us?”

  Ford felt conflicted. He didn’t want to attract attention and questions. He wondered if he should make up some lame excuse. But in the blink of an eye, he realized he didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb by refusing to join them. “That would be lovely, thank you for asking,” he said in his most polite voice. He turned his chair around and sat down beside the husband. “Well, this is nice.”

  The man shook his hand. “Brian Fairfax. This is my wife, Lesley.”

  Ford took the man’s firm grip. “Lovely to meet you guys. James Forgan. I’m from Washington, DC.”

  “So what brings you here to beautiful Mallorca?” Lesley said.

  Ford considered how to answer that. He was very adept at creating imaginary life stories. But he was also smart enough to know not to say anything too outrageous that made it likely he would be caught in a lie. “I’m taking my first vacation in five years. My wife died six months ago. And I’m just trying to reconcile my faith and I guess try and mend my heart.”

  Lesley was already nearly looking for the tissues, eyes welling with tears. “Oh my Lord. You poor thing, I am so sorry. That’s heartbreaking.”

  Ford put on his best sad face. “She suffered terribly. I did all I could. But you know, I know she’s at peace now with the Lord.”

  Brian now also had tears in his eyes. He put an arm around Ford’s shoulder as if they were old friends. “You’re a brave man. God bless you.”

  Ford sighed, enjoying the synthetic drama. He loathed emoting. It betrayed a weakness of character. A softness. “We’re put on this earth to suffer, aren’t we?”

  Lesley nodded. “You need to have faith. To endure.”

  Ford was tempted to burst out laughing; it was ridiculous. But he kept up the pretense. “So very true. Thank the Lord for my faith, Lesley. And thank you for your kindness. So, tell me, where are you guys headed?”

  Brian cleared his throat. “Twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and thought we’d treat ourselves. We love exploring these old churches, and where better than some of the oldest in Spain. Beautiful buildings.” He turned around and pointed to the cathedral. “Have you ever seen anything so stunning?”

  “I believe the original church dated back to the thirteenth century. Amazing. Have you seen the museum with the works of Miró and Picasso?”

  The couple looked at each other. “I’m not sure that’s our thing,” Brian said.

  Ford didn’t doubt it. He could tell a country hick a mile off. “Well worth a visit.”

  “We might check that out if we get a moment, James,” Lesley said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “So, are you staying in Sóller for a few days?”

  “Just overnight,” said Brian.

  “How are you guys getting around?”

  “We got a great deal on a beautiful RV.”

  Ford had earlier overheard Brian telling his wife that he had parked the vehicle nearby, down a side street, around the corner from the Seat garage. “Nice.”

  “We’re going to have an early night, and then head out at first light for Palma.”

  “Now, Palma has got an amazing cathedral.”

  Brian nodded. “So I’ve heard. Never been to Europe. Quite something.”

  “Southern Europe has a different pace of life than we’re used to,” Ford said.

  For the following hour, they made small talk. Ford bought them a drink and they bought him one. It was all very civilized. Eventually, the couple called it a night, saying they would offer a prayer for him at the cathedral.

  Ford finished his drink and thanked them as his mind began to race. He watched them amble across the square to their hotel. He waited a few minutes before he retired for the night as well. But he wasn’t interested in sleep. Quite the contrary.

  He walked five minutes to the Seat garage and located the Mercedes RV parked underneath a lemon tree.

  Ford took out an electronic dongle from his pocket. He pressed a switch, and it deactivated the car’s alarm and clicked open the central lock. The wonders of the dark web. He slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat position. Then he leaned forward and pressed the start button, and the engine purred to life. “Here I come, Reznick!”

  He turned up the air-conditioning to maximum, thankful for the cold blasts on his warm skin.

  Ford smiled. By the time the couple discovered their vehicle wasn’t there, he’d be long gone.

  The GPS showed his location. He carefully entered his destination, Cala San Vicente. It showed he was sixty kilometers away. Thirty-seven miles or so. Maybe an hour’s drive.

  Ford pulled out from the curb slowly, knowing that Jon Reznick and his daughter wouldn’t be far away.

  Forty-Four

  Reznick watched as two cars pulled up outside the apartment in the dead of night. He held the 9mm Beretta.

  The buzzer rang.

  Reznick checked the security intercom. He relaxed when he saw it was Todd Mavor, the State Department official.

  “Jon, you want to let me in?”

  “What the hell do you want at this time of night?”

  “A word.”

  “About what?”

  “Adam Ford. He’s on the move.”

  Reznick buzzed Mavor and three of his State Department pals in. He looked across the room as Lauren emerged bleary-eyed from her bedroom. She wore jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “State Department. Relax.”

  A couple of sharp knocks at the door and Reznick let them in.

  Mavor waited until the door slammed shut before he spoke. “Sorry to bother you at this time of night, folks.”

  Lauren rubbed her eyes as she looked at Mavor. “So what’s going on?”

  “We’ve got a break. The first one so far.”

  Reznick said, “Why are you telling us? I thought I was out of the loop.”

  “We believe he’s coming for you.”

  “I knew that already,” Reznick said.

  Mavor handed him a surveillance photo of what looked like Ford. “Taken only six hours ago in Sóller town square. He was chatting with two Americans. Then he stole their RV.”

  “So he’s broke
n cover. I’m surprised he got so sloppy. How did he register on your system?”

  “When he stole the RV, it pinged Civil Guard in Madrid. The voice in the car wasn’t a match of those who rented it. We were alerted. The NSA quickly retrieved the image from the town’s surveillance network.”

  Reznick thought it seemed strange.

  “You don’t look convinced.”

  “Adam Ford, as you know, is a very, very intelligent man. He’s cunning. And he’s supersmart. I’m surprised he was just suddenly found. He’s eluded detection so far. I’m assuming he’s been using a portable jammer to evade detection up to this point. Standard gadgetry, right?”

  Mavor sighed. “I think he’s assumed he would go unnoticed. But I’ve been told that the RV he stole is very high end. It doesn’t rely on the GPS signal to keep track of the vehicle.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “The vehicle indicated that it was probably stolen, through unfamiliar voice recognition. So, it transmitted, in very short, low-power radio signals on random frequencies.”

  Reznick felt his heart rate hike up. “Now, that is interesting.”

  “We checked the GPS remotely—well, the NSA did. The directions. He’s headed for Cala San Vicente.”

  “Why haven’t we intercepted the vehicle?”

  “We found it thirty minutes ago. At the bottom of a cliff, five miles up the coast.”

  “Was anyone in it?”

  “We don’t believe so. No sign of anyone.”

  Reznick contemplated the move. “He’s ditched the vehicle and is heading into town on foot?”

  “That’s what CIA analysis is showing. Might’ve stolen another car. But so far, nothing has been reported stolen within twenty miles of here.”

  Reznick looked across at Lauren. Her arms were folded.

  “We want you to know, Jon—you too, Lauren—that there’s still time to get out of here. That would be the smart move. That’s the advice I would give you both.”

  Lauren stared at Mavor but didn’t speak.

  Reznick sighed. “Is that the official State Department advice?”