Grey would have taken less but didn’t want to seem overly eager. Twenty million rubles was roughly $300,000 U.S. Not bad for a wanted man.
“That is very generous of you, Pakhan, but there is one other thing.”
“Which is?”
“I want a man dead.”
CHAPTER 4
Kumba Ranch, Flathead Valley, Montana
REECE SETTLED INTO THE cabin and put what few possessions he had into the bedroom’s dresser drawers and closet. He was struck by how quiet it was. He liked it. There was no television, Wi-Fi, or cell service. The Hastings family used two-way radios to communicate on the ranch, as they were the only reliable means of staying in touch. Repeater stations placed upon various peaks and ridges ensured that one was usually in range.
He opened the French doors that led toward the lake and walked toward the shoreline in the crisp, clean air. There were a pair of Adirondack chairs near a stone fire ring just feet from the water’s edge. Reece took a seat and admired the view. Who would occupy the other? His pregnant wife, Lauren, and their daughter, Lucy, had been gone for almost two years now, murdered in their home as part of the cover-up of a deep-state medical experiment gone wrong. Avenging their deaths had brought him closure. Or, had it? His mission accomplished; what he hadn’t expected was to live. He’d thought he was dying, a tumor slowly killing him from within. He had counted on joining his wife and daughter in the afterlife.
Africa had taught Reece to live again, but the Agency had tracked him down in Mozambique, sending his old sniper school partner Freddy Strain to recruit him. The carrot was that he could have his life back; the stick was that those who had helped him would go down. Reece chose the carrot. He had done what was asked of him; he’d killed the terrorist leader whose attacks had put the continent of Europe under siege, as well as the former GRU colonel who had masterminded the campaign of terror in an attempt to pave the way for his triumphant return to lead Russia back from the brink. Freddy had died saving the life of the president of the United States, taken by a sniper’s bullet, a sniper who still walked free. A sniper Reece planned to kill. Reece would find him and the CIA mole who had provided the intelligence for the operation. In time, both would die.
His debt to America having been paid following the events in Odessa, Reece’s new boss at the CIA, Vic Rodriguez, provided a safe house in Annapolis that Reece could use while he prepared for, and recovered from, surgery. Vic was slowly turning up the pressure, continuing his personal recruitment efforts on the former SEAL, who remained noncommittal.
Reece’s friend Katie Buranek was like a guardian angel; she’d been by his side as he was wheeled into surgery and stood vigil while he recovered. She lived nearby in Old Town Alexandria. There she could work the D.C. Fox News desk and commute to their New York headquarters. It also allowed them to pick up where their friendship had left off. She had helped him unravel the conspiracy that launched him on his mission of vengeance, and she had paid the price, almost losing her life in the process. Unbeknownst to the former frogman, the tough young journalist had questions she needed answered; in matters of the heart, trust was paramount.
* * *
Snow was falling on a morning when Katie came to see Reece after one of his physical therapy sessions. He was only a week out from surgery and would soon be leaving for Montana. Katie knew that Reece had a continued affiliation with the darkest side of the U.S. intelligence apparatus, though she hadn’t probed. She’d seen a man she recognized as the head of the CIA’s Special Activities Division with Reece’s doctor at Walter Reed. As a journalist, and with her family’s history with the Agency during the Cold War, she was not a believer in coincidence.
She also knew there was a place Reece needed to visit before he left for the mountains. Reece accepted their destination in silent resignation. It was time to say good-bye to someone.
Katie drove south, crossing the Potomac River, and traversed from Interstate 495 onto George Washington Memorial Parkway. The road wound through leafless oaks, the tall modern skyline of Rosslyn, Virginia, visible through the frosted passenger side window, Pierre L’Enfant’s iconic neoclassical tribute to the republic across the river to the left. Reece never tired of seeing America’s symbols of freedom: the Capitol dome, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial.
Planes on final approach to Reagan National Airport roared overhead as Katie exited GW Parkway and steered her 4Runner through a plowed asphalt path that would have, at one point, been in Robert E. Lee’s front yard.
Reece had been a casket bearer for too many funerals at Arlington National Cemetery over the years; consequences of a life at war. Katie pulled her SUV curbside on Pershing Drive and shut off the motor. Reece let her lead the way. Neither spoke. He knew where they were going. The sound of their footsteps in the freshly fallen snow was a haunting reminder that beneath this hallowed ground rested generations of America’s bravest warriors.
Reece paused among the granite headstones in silent recognition at the grave of Johnny “Mike” Spann, the CIA officer killed by Al Qaeda at Qala-i-Jangi in Afghanistan. The Alabama native had been the first American to die in combat during the War on Terror. In the nearly two decades since, he had been joined by a legion of heroes who had given their last full measure for the nation.
Reece turned and looked toward Katie. She stood to the side of two headstones on the oak-shaded hillside. Reece approached and bowed his head at his father’s final resting place.
THOMAS
REECE
JR.
MASTER CHIEF PETTY OFFICER
US NAVY
SEAL TEAM TWO
MAY 12 1946
JULY 9 2003
VIETNAM
COLD WAR
NAVY CROSS
Reece had visited his father’s grave only once since the funeral in 2003. He could hardly believe it had been that long since he’d lost the old warrior. He pushed the mystery surrounding his father’s death to the side and slowly turned his head to read the marker just beside it, a newer slab of granite stabbed into the cold ground.
JUDITH
FRANCES
REECE
MARCH 2 1951
APRIL 24 2018
DEVOTED WIFE
MOTHER
Despite the cold, Reece’s entire body flushed with warmth. He fought back tears as he knelt in front of the stone tribute, a lifetime summed up by a few simple lines. His mother had suffered from dementia for several years and had lived her life in an Arizona nursing home after his father’s death. Reece had, in many ways, mourned her since the cruel disease had robbed her memory. He had secretly held out hope that some miracle treatment could bring her back to him; now she was gone forever, back at his father’s side. He treasured his last visit with her, when, in a moment of lucidity, she’d recognized her only son, reminding him of Gideon’s mission in Judges. “You’ve always been one of the few, James. Keep watching the horizon.”
Reece closed his eyes and whispered a silent prayer, asking his late mother and father to take care of his wife and daughter until he got there to take the watch.
I love you.
He wiped his eyes on his sleeve as he rose to his feet and felt Katie’s gloved hand slip inside the crook of his elbow.
“I’m sorry, James,” was all she said before turning to walk toward her waiting vehicle.