Brasserthaddoneagoodjobofkeepinghisbacktothecameras,obscuringhis actions.HisbroadshouldersalsoblockedofftheviewofLonnie’sface.Securitywouldhavenothingtoacton.She’dbedeadbefore anyone was even aware there was a situation.Lonniesteppedintotheelevator.Brassertfollowedher,theknifeprickingherbackashedrewclose.
“Ifyouletoutasound,Iwillsliceyousofast,youwon’tevenfeelituntilyou’reholdingyourbastardinyourarms.AndIwillgutthelittleshitinfrontofyourface.Nowstandbymyfriend,withyourbacktothewall.”
Shecomplied,mindracing.HerphoneandherGlockwerebothinherpurse.She felt the weight of herbackuppistol,ablued-steelWaltherPPK.380 that was seldom even noticed after years being of worn on her ankle every day.Bothgunswereloadedwithspeciallydesigned,andveryexpensive, MagSafe ammunition. The bullets,a mixtureofepoxyandsteelbirdshot encased in a brass shell,transformedthepowerofastandard.380intosomethingcomparabletoa.45,andthatofa.45caliberpistoltothepowerofa.50caliber.Theywereamongthemostlethalammunitionavailableintheworld. But both weaponswere worth very little at the moment because neither couldbereachedfasterthanLeonardcouldslashwiththeknife.
Heronlyhopewouldbetomakea loud, attention-grabbing sceneastheysteppedinto thelobby.Thathopeevaporatedamomentlater whenLeonardslidakeyintothemaintenanceswitchandturnedittooverride.Hepushedthebuttonmarked “B,” andtheelevatorstarteditsnon-stopdescenttothebasement.Thelikelihoodofsurvivalplummetedwitheveryfloortheypassed.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?” sheasked, defiantlyrefusingtosoundafraid. “Takemeforransom?”
Shefedtheideatohim,hopingtochangehisintentionsfromwhatsheassumedwere torture,rape,andmurder.
“Shutup,” Brassertreplied. “You’llknowsoonenough.”
Hispartnerremainedsilent,standinglikeastonegargoylebesideher.Theelevatorcametoastopandthedoorsslidopen.Brassertpokedhisheadout.Therewerenosignsofactivityinthebasementhallway.Hesignaledandtheothermansnatchedthepursefromherhand,grabbedherarm,andshovedherthroughthedoor.TheupperfloorsoftheHotelCaptainCook,thecustomerareas,werelitwithasoftyellowglowandwarm,darktextures.Thebasement,ontheotherhand,wasthepolaroppositeintermsofatmosphere.Harshfluorescentfixtureslitthecorridorwithahyperactiveflickerthat gaveLonnieaheadacheasthemenledherdownthehallwaytowardadoorattheend.
Lonnielooked ahead to the doorway.Ifshetook her out ontothestreet,shemightbeabletoscreamoutforhelp.Shedevelopedaplaninhermindasshedrewcloser.ShecouldhitBrassertinthebackofhisheadwithasolidpalmstrike.Theblowwouldstunhim.Thenshecouldscreamandkickthemanbehindherintheballs.Thenshewouldboltaway,rollontotheground,andpullherpistolfromherankleholster,thenturnandshootBrassertandhiscompanionbeforetheyrecovered.Thewholeplanworkeditselfoutinherthoughtsinthespaceoflessthanasecondastheydrew near the exit.
Brassertslammedthecrashbarwithaloudbangand the door burst open.Lonnie’splandissipatedalmostinstantlywhenthey stepped out.Awhiteutilityvanwasparkedjustacoupleof feetawayinanalleybehindthehotel.Agarbage dumpsterblockedtheviewfromoneside.Athickcementsafetybarrierpolejuttedfromthepavementafootfromthewall. Someone had stuck a yellow smiley face sticker on the side of the dumpster, the line drawn mouth grinning at her plight as if mocking the reality that there was noone tohearherscream,noplacetorun.Thequietmanshovedhertowardtheopensidedoorofthevan.Outofthecornerofhereye,shecaughtabriefflashofasky-bluevehicle,aminivantaxipassingtheendofthealley.Nowaythedrivercouldhaveseenthepregnantladybeingforcedintothebackofavanbytwomuscle-boundmurderers.
Herhopemeterpeggedatzero.Shehaddoneeverythingwrong,accordingtotherulesforahostagecrisis.Asatrooper,shetaughtwomenself-defenseclassesthatemphasizedhownottobekidnappedorraped.Nowshefoundherselfstuckintheverysamesituationshethoughtsheknewhowtoavoid.Havingbeeninmorefightsandbrawlsthanthevastmajorityofwomenwouldeverexperience,shehadneverimaginedherselfbeingcaughtinasituationlikethis—locked inavanwithtwomenintentonmurderingherandherbaby,andnooneelse, not her friends, not her fellow cops, not her husband hadanyideawhereshewas or what was happening.
Themiddlerowseatshadbeenremoved from the van,leavinganopenspacejustinsidetheslidingdoor.Alongbluevinylbenchwithnoseatbeltsstretchedthewidthofthecompartmentattherear.Thefrontseatareawasclosedoffbywiremesh.Alloftheglass,withtheexceptionofthewindshield,wastintedadarkshadethatprohibitedpryingeyesfromseeinganythinginside.Itwaslikeacage.Brassertgotinthebackwithher.Theothermanclimbedintothedriver’sseatandstartedtheengine,thenputitingearandmoveddownthealley.
“Whereareyoutakingme?”Lonniedemanded.
“You’regoingtomeetmywholefamily,” Brassertsaid.Anevilglintsparkedinhiseyes.Heputtheknifetoherchin,thenputhishandonherplump,tenderbreastandsqueezed. She wincedasasourpainshotthroughherchest. “Allmybrosaregonnagetapieceofthatassforwhatyoudidtome,youdinkbitch.ThenI’m gonna sliceyouandyourbabytopieces,realslow.AndthenI’mtearapartyourbaby’scorpseinfrontofyoubeforeyoudie.”
Theboldnessofhisstatementhitherliketonofbricks.Hemadenopretense.Hewassolelyfocusedonterrorandrevenge.Forthefirsttimeinhercareerasalawenforcementofficer,LonnieWyattJohnsonwasterrified—totally, unabashedlyterrified.
Asthevanstartedintothestreet,it lurchedsideways,aloudcrunchexplodedwithdeafeningforce. It slammed to a sudden stop, pitchingLonnieandBrassertforwardofftheseat.Theknifeatherthroatslashedacrossherskin. A shriekofpainandfearescapedinvoluntarilyfromherlipsasshetumbledtotheopenfloorspacewithBrassert. In the split second of flight through the van’s interior she Lonnie wrapped her left arm around her belly to protect the baby from the fall, kicked her leg back behind toward her butt,yankedherpantslegupandwhippedthesmall Walther intoherhand. The pistol came out with a “schlick” sound as the steel slid out of the fitted leather ankle holster.Theroundmassofherbellymadeitimpossibletobreatheasshemaneuveredinthetightspace.Sheforcedherselftokeepmoving,flippingthesafety,thumbingthehammer backandfingeringthetriggerallatonce.Notknowingtheextentofthecutonherthroat,shefearedherlifewasdrainingout.LonniewasnotgoingtoletBrasserttouchherbaby.Shewouldfighttothelastsecondoflife.
Heroaredinarageandraisedtheknifeaboveherbody,tensingtoplungeitintoher.Shepointed the pistol and squeezed the trigger again and again until the slide locked back on the empty chamber, allsevenroundsintoBrassert’storsoandface.Theshotsexplodedwiththeforceofthunderinsidethecrampedspaceofthevan.Themurdererjerkedhishandstohisfaceandthroatasscoresofeighth-inchpelletsrippedthroughhisskinandcrackedagainsttheribs,facialbones,andteeth.Oneofhiseyesburst,and fluidandbloodsprayedLonnieasshetriedtosquirmaway.
As the shotsrangout thedriverjerkedhisattentionfrom the blue minivan that had rammed him totherearviewmirror.He whipped a pistol up and started to turn towards Lonnie.His attention suddenly turned back tothedriveroftheblueminivantaxi who had jumpedout of his vehicle,flailinghisarmsangrilyandswearinginathroaty-soundingforeignlanguage.Brassert’spartnerstarted to swing the pistol toward the oncoming cabbie when the cursing foreigner manreachedinsidethedriver’swindowandjabbedathis face with an unexpected ferocity.Thekidnapperstiffenedabruptlyandfrozeinplace.HisarmsdroppedtohissidesasLonniefiredherlastround into Brassert.
Astheboomofhershotsdiedaway,abovetheintenseringinginherearsLonnieheardtheminivan'sengineaccelerategradually.Notiresquealingorloudrevving—it justdroveawayasifnothingunusualhadhappened.
BrassertfinallystoppedhisthrashingandsaggedintoalifelessheaponthefloorbesideLonnie,trappingherlegbeneathhisdeadweight.Sirensshriekedcloserasthepolicerespondedtotheshotsand911callsofpeoplewhosawtheaccident.
Someoneopenedthedoorstothevan.Lonniecouldnotraiseherselftoseewhowasthere.Thensheheardtheshoutsofpoliceofficers,andtheshadowofthepersonbackedaway,raisingtheirhands.Sheheard voices but couldnotmakeoutanythingbeingsaid.Afterwhat simultaneously seemedlikebothaninstantandaneternity,aparamedicclimbedpartwayintothevan.HesawLonnieandthemessthathadbeenLeonardBrassertandrecoiledinshock.AnotherparamedicjoinedthefirstandtheyhelpedLonnieout,leadinghertoawaitingambulance.Theyspoke to her, but she stared at them in dull confusion, her brain unable to processthewords.Shethoughtshemay have answered,butwasnotcertainsheactuallysaidanythingorwhethertheyreplied.Numbandtrembling,sheturnedbacktowardthevanandsawBrassert’snamelesscompanionsittingupright, eyes gaping, staring out the windshield, his eyes frozen in a shocked expression above theknifeburiedtoitshiltinhisopenmouth,pinninghimtotheseatback.
Chapter18
GoldenviewDrive
SouthAnchorage
2:00p.m.
Marcus’sF250rolledsmoothlyovertherecentlypavedsurfaceofGoldenviewDrive.Herecalledthetimeyearsearlierwhen,asateencompetingintrackmeetsatSouthAnchorage’sServiceHighSchool,hedrovethroughtheGoldenviewarea.Atthattime,itwaslittlemorethanadirttrackwithahandfulofremotehomesteads,muchlikehisownhometownofSaltJacket.SaltJackethadacurrentpopulationofeighthundredinhabitinganareaofnearlyfifteenhundredsquaremiles. A thirdofthoseresidentsstillwerenotconnectedtofull-timepower,telephones,andrunningwater.Goldenview,ontheotherhand,wasavery differentstory.Thedescendantsoftheoriginalmountainsideinhabitantshadmostlysoldouttheirtwo-hundred-acrehomesteadsintheninetiesandearly years ofthecurrentcentury,pocketingmillionsinthehousingboom.
Inplaceoflushsub-arcticrainforestvegetablefarmsandhorseranches,million-dollarmansionshadsprungup,stackedalmostliterallyontopofeachotheronplotsbarelylargerthanthesix-to-tenthousandsquarefootlivingspacescustomdesignedforAlaska’srichandfamous.EverymassivehomehadanimpressiveviewoftheupperlimitsofthePacificOcean,MountIlliamna,TurnagainArm,theAnchorageBowl,andtheroofofthehousebelowthem.Marcusdespisedthedesignthatcomprisedthe “UpperHillside” gatedcommunitiesalongmuchofGoldenviewDrive, what he often termed “Beverly Hills AK.”
Thepackedcollectionofmansionsgraduallythinnedandgavewaytosomethingmorelikewhatherememberedastheycontinuedsouthacoupleofmiles.Furtherdowntheroad,thescenewasagainwooded.Theoccasionalaveragehousepokedthroughheavilytreedyardsintheincreasinglytheruralsetting.Asmatteringofancient-lookinglogcabinsandafewsingle-widetrailerswithwoodenadditions popped into view here and there. Many of them toppedwithblueplastictarpstohelptheroofingstaywaterproofunderthewintersnowload.Thesewere,ofcourse,holdoutsfromtheolddays.Mostoftheareahadbeenboughtupbytherichestoftherich.Thelargertractsoflandhadbecomeestateswithamuchgreaterdegreeofprivacy,plantingmassiveten-thousandsquarefootmicro-kingdomsontheirowntwenty-acreparcelsofarcticparadise.
“So,” Mike said, “gotanyideawhatwe’relookingfor,otherthanawhiteAudidrivenbyaBritishAlbanianguy?”
“No,notreally,” Marcus replied. “IfigureitwillbeliketheolddaysbackinForceRecon,though.Ifwedrivearoundintheareawherethebadguyshangout,we’reboundtorunintothem,oratleasttheirtrail,atsomepoint.”
“Howfarbackdoesthisroadgo?” Mikeasked.
Marcus pointed south. “Alittlewaysfurther,itsplitsupintoabunchofsmallerdirtroadsthatwindaroundthehills.Mostofthemaresteepandunmaintaineddirtpaths.Idon’tthinkFarrah’sAudiwillbedownone of thoseroads—it lookedtooclean.”
“Yeah,hedidn’tseemlikethebackwoodstype.” Mikejerked athumbtowardthestackedmansionsthatmadeuptheProminencePointsubdivision. “YouthinkhemightbeupinminiBeverlyHillsbackthere?”
“Idoubtit.Whilehisprofilefitssomeonewhowouldn’tmindthatenvironment,he’dbelookingforseclusion.Maybeevenadefensibleposition.”
“Thatmakessense.”
MarcuspassedthenewMuslimretreatcenter.Therewerenosignsormarkingsontheroadtoidentifyitslocation,andhealmostmissedit.Theownersofthecentertriedtostayoutofthepubliceyeasmuchaspossible.Theonlyreasonheknewaboutitatallwasfromapopularradiotalkshowearlierintheyear.ThehostwasdecryingthegrowthoffundamentalistIslamintheUSandcitedthatevenAlaskanowhadmultiplemosques.Marcusmulledthepossibilityofaconnection.Heneverlikedtobaseopinionsonstereotypes,buthehadspenttoomanyyearsintheMiddleEastfightingmenwhoregularlyusedmosquesasbasesformilitaryoperationsinhopesofgivingWesternforcesbadpresswhentheyfoughtback.OneofthebloodiestdaysinhislifetookplacebeneaththeminaretsofamosqueinIraq.
Theyreachedtheendofthepavedroad.WorkingontheassumptionMarcushadmadeaboutFarrah’scharacter,heturnedthetruckaroundandstartedanotherpassalongthemainroad.Afewcarshadpassedastheydrove,mostlyLexus,Mercedes,andVolvoSUVsandacoupleof minivanswithmiddle-class soccermomsatthewheel.Themajorityofthearea’sresidentswereinthecityatwork.Thegigglysoundofchildrenplayinginthesummersunbouncedontheairfrombehindahousesetbackfromtheroad.HalfwaybacktoRabbitCreekRoad,asky-blueminivanwithataxilightonitsrooftoppedarisenearlyhalfamileinthedistance.
“Pulloff!” Mike hissed.
Marcusobeyedandturnedontoasidestreet.
“What’sup?” Marcusasked asheroundedthecorner.
“Thatcab.What’sthelikelihoodsomeoneoutherewouldhireacab?It’dcostfiftybuckstogetarideallthewayouthere.AndKharzaiwasinacabjust likeit.”
Marcusturnedthetruckaroundandnosedbackuptotheintersection.Thecabpassedamomentlater.Thereardriver’ssidefenderwasbadlydented,thebackbumpertwistedawayfromthebodyandpointeduplikeatail.Mikecaughtagoodlookatthedriverashepassed.Hisfacejuttedforward,beardedneckstretchedandmouthopenwide.Histhickblackhairquiveredwithasuddenmotionashebobbedhisheadforward,presumablyintimetomusic.
“It’shim,” Mike said, “butthatdamagewasn’tthereyesterday.”
“Yeah,justasIrememberhimtoo,” Marcusreplied.Memories of Kharzai's erraticanticswhentheyfirstmetinIraqnearlytenyearsearlierplayed across his mind.
“Givehimsomespace,thenlet’spullout.Itdoesn’t looklikehesawus.”
Marcuswaitedabouttenseconds,thenturnedontoGoldenview.Kharzai’scabwasacouplehundredyardsahead.Hewastravelingfairlyfast,theblueFordFreestarboundingovertheshortrollinghillswiththegraceofaturtleoncaffeine.
Brakelightsflaredandthevanabruptlyslowed,thenturnedofftheroadand intoadriveway,kickingupdustashedrovetothehouseattheend.Marcusdidnotslowashepassed.Mikeglancedupthedirt-and-graveldriveandsawtheminivanpullbehindalargegaragebuiltoutofthesamethicklogsasthehousenexttoit.Henotedtheaddressonthesideofthemailboxthatstoodbesidetheroad.Marcuscontinuedtotheendoftheroad,thenturnedontothewinding,unpavedsectionsandtookthebackroutetoreturntothehighway so as not to beseenpassingthathouseathirdtime.
Chapter19
CaptainCookHotel
2:10p.m.
HildearrivedinthehotellobbytomeetLonnie.Notfindingherimmediately, shetookaseatononeofthewideleatherchairstowait.ShepulledouthercellphoneanddialedMiketoletthehusbandsknowwheretheyweregoing.Beforethefirstringstarted,thedistinctsoundof gunshotspoppedinrapidsuccessionfromsomewhereoutside.Shehungupthephoneandrantowardthenoise,dreadfillingher.Throughthewindows,shecouldseethatthesidewalksandstreetsoutsidethehotelweremostlyempty.Sheducked through asidedoorontothestreetjustintimetoseeablueminivantaxiwithamangledrearbumperturnthecornerawayfromthehotel,notspeeding,drivingatanormalrateandthereforenotanimmediatesuspect.Shetookastepfurtherandsawa whitevanjuttingfromthealleybehindthehotel.Itsfrontbumperwassmashed,andshesawamansittingstraightupinthedriver’sseat.
Therewassomethingstrangeabouttheman,somethingaboutthewayheheldhismouth.Shemovedforwardtoofferhelpandgaspedatwhatshesaw.Asolidobjectjuttedfromhisopenmouth.Hiseyeswerewidewithsurprise.Painandshockwere capturedinthetightskinaroundhisface.Theobjectwasthehandleofaknife,itsbladejammedthroughthebackofhisskull,pinninghimtotheseat.
Ahalfdozenpolicecarsandanambulancecamechargingaroundthecorner.Someonehadcalled911.Hildepulledoutherpistolandrantothesideofthevan,flungopenthesidedoor,andsawLonnielyingonherback.Alargeman'sbodysplayedbesideher,trappingherbeneathhisweight.Threepoliceofficersmovedquicklytowardher,weaponsdrawn.
“Freeze!” thepoliceofficersshouted. “Setyourweapononthegroundandputyourhandsintheair!”
Sheobeyedinstantly.
“I’m FBI,” sheshoutedback. “Mybadgeisinmypantspocket.”
Shepointedwiththefingersofherupraisedhanddowntowardherbody.
“Slowlypullitout,onehanded.”
Threeofficerskepttheirweaponstrainedonher.Shereachedwithonehand,andusingonlythetipsofherfingers,pulledtheID walletfromherpocket.AnofficermovedforwardandinspectedthebadgeandIDinthewallet.
“She’slegit,” hecalledtotheothers.Theyallloweredtheirweapons,butdidnotholsterthemastheymovedforward.
“Whathappenedhere?” askedasergeant.
“Twodeadmeninside,” shesaid. “Thewomanispregnant—she’s astatetrooper.Ithinktheywerekidnappingher.”
Aparamedicrushedforward.Anotherparamedicjoinedhimmomentslater.TheypulledthedeadmanoffLonnie,andafteraquickinspection,helpedhertoherfeet.
“What'syourname,ma'am?” oneasked. “Doyouknowwhereyouare?”
“Yes. I'mLieutenantLonnieJohnson,StateTrooper.IthinkI'mokay.”
“Canyouwalk,Lieutenant?” Oneoftheparamedicscheckedthecutonherneck.Asheetofstickybloodcoveredherskinandsoakedintohercollar.
“Yes,” shesaid, “Icanwalk.”
Theygotheroutofthevanandledhertowardtheambulance.Anothermedicrushedtowardthemwiththegurney.Aftertheytookseveralsteps,sheturnedtolookbackatthewhitevanandfrozeassheprocessedtheimageofwhatshesawagainstthememoriesofwhathadhappened.Theknifestickingoutofthedriver’smouth.Thebluevan.Thespeed.Thebrutality.
LonnielookedtowardHilde.TheFBIagentmoved near andputherarmaroundher.Lonnieglancedback.Tearsfilledhereyes.
"CallMarcus."
Chapter20
Farrah’s Rented House
Goldenview Drive
3:08 p.m.
Kharzaigotoutofthevanand was met by Deano as he approached the back door to the garage. He reached down and scratched the dog behind his ears, a treat for which the animal was clearly thankful. He waved the dog away and casuallyenteredthehousethroughthe breezeway. Heturnedintothesmallbathroomoffthehallwayandwashedthedriedbloodfromhislefthand.Hemutteredangrilytohimselfashewashed.
"Ugh.Thatguy’smouthwasentirelytoobig,nearlyswallowedmyhand.” He shookhishead."Ihatetothinkwhatkindofgermsapiglikethatcarriedaround."
Thefrontdoorofthehouseopenedwithaslightcreak.Footstepssoundedonthefoyertiles.Kharzaidriedhishandsandwalkedoutofthebathroom.Spotsofdriedbloodfannedupfromthe endofhisshirtsleeve.Thecousinsweretakingofftheirshoesandsocksinthefoyer.Kharzaiwasalwaysamusedathowtheybothpreferredbarefeetwheninside,shunningany kind of foot coveringlikeacoupleofhillbillies.LekaturnedtohimandscrunchedhisfaceatthesightofthebloodstainsonKharzai’ssleeves.
Withacuriouslook,heasked,"Whathappenedtoyou?"
"Cutmyselfshaving."
"Yourvan,” Kreshnik saidinheavilyaccentedEnglish. “Itcracked."
“Cracked?No,Ithinkyoumeancrashed.” Kharzaiwavedofftheircuriosityandchangedthesubject. “What’s thenameofthatgangidiotfromthetraindepot?"
"Snake,"Leka replied.
"Morelikeworm,” Kharzai said,curlinghislipindisgustatthesoundofthename. “Heisapatheticexcuseforahumanbeing."
"Whydoyousaythat?"
"Becausehelethisdickjeopardizethemission,that'swhy."
"WhoDick?"Kreshnik asked.
"Notwho,what,"Kharzai corrected.Hegrabbedhiscrotchandsaid,"Thisisadick."
"Oh,"Kreshnik replied. “Ithoughtthatballs.”
"It'sacombinationpackage."Kharzaiwaved hisfingerinacircularmotionaroundhisgroin."Butnowisnotthetimeforananatomylesson.CallSnakeandhissecond—what’s hisname?"
“Blue,” Leka said.
“Blue?” Kharzaiscrunchedhiseyebrowsindisbelief, “Whatkindofanameisthat?Whonamestheirchildafteracolor?”
Lekashrugged. “Gangnamesdon’tneedtomakesense. Justsoundcool.”
“Whatever.” Kharzaistartedupthestairstohisroom. “TellthemIwanttoseethembothherewithinthehour.”
“WhatdoIsayisreason?”
“DoIneedareasontoseethem?”
“Ithelpsthemhurry,perhaps.”
“Iamgoingtopaytheminadvancetoensuretheirloyalty.”
Kharzaitookahot,steamyshower,washingawaytheresiduesofmurder.Hechangedhisclothesandstuffedthebloody shirt intoapaperbag,whichhewouldtakeoutandtossintoapublicDumpstersomewhere.Asheturned,hecaughtaglimpseofhimselfinthemirrorabovethechestofdrawersintheroom.Hestoppedandstaredatthespecterof a man that reflected back.Hewasonlythirty-eight,buthefeltasancientasthemountainsthatsurroundedthecityofAnchorage.
Tothecasualobserver,hemight actually pass for someone much younger.Thethickballofhairthatexplodedfromhisscalpwasstillblackasnight.Thespringycurlsbouncedandquiveredwitheverymovementofhishead.Hisolive-tanskin,whatcouldbeseenbetweentheblackforestofhisbeardandhair,wasstillsurprisinglysmooth and wrinkle free,especially considering ofbadweatherandabusehehadendured in more than a decade and a half of shadowy service.Hisbodywasstrong,hisjointslimber,andhisreactiontimestillalmostsuperhuman.Peoplealwaysfounditdifficulttoguesshisagebasedonhisphysicalappearance or demeanor,mostassuminghewasinhisearlytwentiesratherthannearlyforty.
Hisownimpressionofhimselfwassomethingdifferent.Hiseyesnolongersparkledthewaytheydidindayslongpast,pasted overinsteadbyadull imitation of life,devoid of the joy that had once marked his personality.Histrademarktoothygrinhadfaded.Whenhetriedtosmilethesedays,hefeltthathelookedmorelikeananimalbearingitsfangs.Insidehewas coldandempty.SincethelossofhispreciousLeila,nothinghadbeenabletobringhimback.Atthethoughtofher,alumpformedinhisthroat.Shehadbeenbeautiful.Shehadtrustedhim.Hewouldhaverescuedheroutoftheprisonofherlifeandtheywouldhavesettledtoawonderfulnewworldofpeaceandhappiness.
Atleast,that’swhathekepttellinghimself.Thereality,ofcourse, wasthatshemayhavereactedopposite what he hopedwhenherevealedhistrueidentity.Butnowtherewasnowayofknowing, becausehistrueidentityhadcaughtupwithheratthesametimethatitcaughtupwithherfatherandtheterroristsKharzaihadinfiltrated.TheCIAhadtrackedhimandexterminatedthetargetwithextremeprejudice.Infulfillinghismission,theykilledtheonlywomanhehadevertrulyloved.Hehadunselfishlygiventhemeveryounceofhisownlife,faceddeathnearlyeverydayforsixteenyears,thenwhenhethoughtofcallingitquits,theystolefromhimtheonelifethatofferedhimachanceatredemption.Hecouldneverforgivethemofthatcrime.Never.Aknockathisdoorsnappedhisthoughtsbacktothepresent.
“SnakeandBluearehere.” Leka’svoicecarriedthroughthedoorpanels.
“Tellthemtogobehindthegarageandwaitforme.Iwillberightdown.”
Leka’sbarefootstepsslappedagainstthetilefloorandbackdownthestairstowardthefoyer.Amomentlater,Kharzaicameoutandwalkedthroughthehalltothesidedoorofthegarage.Heenteredandretrievedaduffelbag from a shelf on the back wall,thenwalkedoutthe rear door.SnakeandBluewaitedforhim,smokingcigarettesintheshadebehindthegarage.Thesunhaddippedseveraldegreesintothewestandnowcastanincreasinglylengtheningshadowtotheeast.
Snakeadjustedhisstance,holdinghisarmsinacasualmannerthattriedtosay, “Iain’tscaredofnothin’ yougot.” Theattemptatatough,‘gangsta’lookfellwayshort,duein in largeparttotheswollenpurplebruisefromtheblowMarcushadlaidacrosshistemple.Thedayaftertheslap down,itwasswollenandframedbyajaundiced-lookingyellowtinge, the puffiness reaching to to his mouthmakinghimlooklikehewaspoutingandabouttocry.Kharzaidroppedthebagonthegroundasthetwomencautiouslywalkedtowardhim.
“Hello,boys. Welcometoourmeeting,” Kharzaisaid invoicelikeaspiderinvitinginsectvisitorsintohisweb.
“So,what’sthisallabout?” Snakeasked.
“Lekatoldyou,right?Iwanttopayyou.Bothforworkdone,andforwhatyouareabouttodo.Therearesomethingsweneedtomakesurearesealedinstone,andpre-paymentseems thebestwaytodoit.”
Kharzaileaneddownandopenedthebag.Hepulledoutashrink-wrappedbundleofcash.Hereachedbehindhimselfandfeltforhisknife, twistinghislipsinconsternationasherememberedleavingitembeddedthroughthethug’sskull.HestretchedhishandtowardSnake.
“Handmeagoodsharpknife.”
Snakestareddownatthepackageofmoney.Throughtheplastic,hesawthatthebillswerealltwenties, atleasttwelvewrapped stacks in the larger bundle.Hedidthecalculationsinhishead. Nearlytwelvethousanddollarscash.Snakereachedintohisbeltandpulledoutaspring-lockfoldingknife.Heflicked the thumb lug, snapping it open andhandedittoKharzai,handlefirst.
Kharzaitooktheknifeandadmireditbriefly.Thebladewasfourincheslong,thelowerthirdofitserratedwithwicked-lookingteeth.Heputthepointintotheplastic.Snaketookastepforward,greedyanticipationglimmeringinhiseyes.
“ThisispaymentforyourworkattherailyardtheothernightwhilewatchingoverMr.Farrah.”
Kharzaiflickedthebladeacrosstheplasticwrap,thenkeptgoing.Hismovementwas sofastandprecisethatneitherSnakenorBluenoticedwhathehaddoneatfirst.Snakeflinchedinsurpriseasasharp,cramp-likesensationbitintohisabdomen.Ahalfsecondlater,atsunamiofpainshotthroughhisbodyin an unending succession oflightning explosions, severed nerve endings screaming into his brain.Heraisedhishandstohisbelly,expectingtograbatsomethingsolidandsqueezethepainaway.His grasping fingers clamped down on looseentrailsthat spilledintohishands inaslimymessofbloodanddigestivefluids. His intestines squirmedandslitheredbetweenhisfingerslikelivesnakesashetried in vaintostuffthembackinsidehisbody.Thestenchofstomachacidandhalf-digestedfooddriftedup,thesteamyodorstinginghisnose.Hismouthgapedandhedroppedtohisknees,thenfelltohisside,hisbrainslowlyprocessingwhathadhappened.His mouth finally opened and let outahigh-pitchedscream thatmadeKharzaiwince.Bluestaredinhorrorashisbosswrithedinamessofbloodandfilth,makinghorriblenoisesthatfailedtoformintowords.
“Oh,shutup,youdicklesswonder.” Kharzaikickedhiminthefacehardenoughtoknockseveralteethloose,thenturnedtoBlueandpointedtohimselfwithtwofingers.
“Hey!Eyeshere,onme.”
Bluestartedfortheguninthebackofhispants,butKharzaipokedhimintheforeheadwiththeknifehandle,thenturnedthebladebacktowardhim,flickingitbetweenhiseyes.
“Youdon’twanttodothat.Iwillkillyoubeforeyoucanevengetitout.Besides,you'rebeingpromoted.”
Blueheldhishandsupinsurrender.KharzaikneltdownandwipedtheknifeonSnake’spantleg.
“Niceknife.Lostmineearliertoday,soI’llkeep this one,thankyouverymuch.”
Snakequitscreaming,hisfacestrainedagainstthewavesofpainthatcoursed throughhim, life visibly draining out of him.Kharzailookedintohisbulgingeyes.
“Incaseyouarewondering,thiswaspartlybecauseyoutriedtorapethosetwowomen.WhileIhaterapistswithapassion,andthinkthatmenlikeyoushouldhavetheirminusculelittle-boypenisesshreddedwithacheesegrater,themainreasonIhavekilledyouisbecauseyougaveawayourpositiontotheotherside.Youletyourtinypee-peedoyourthinkingandnowhavejeopardizedourentiremissionbecauseofit.IamputtingBlueincharge,andamquitecertainhewillunderstandthedeeperimplicationsofyourfoolishdeeds.”
Kharzairosetohisfeet.Bluestaredwide-eyed,hismouthhalfopen.
“So,nowyouknow.Blue,youareincharge.Doyoufeelempowered?”
Bluenodded.
“Good,” Kharzaisaidashehandedhimthepackageofbills. “Hereistwelvethousanddollars.Ineedyoutogetatotaloffourof your mostfaithfulmenandbringthemtothisaddress.” He reachedintohispocketandhandedhimasmallpieceofpaper. “Tonightatseven.IftheydowhatIask,eachmanwillgetfourbundlesjustlikethisone. That’sforty-eightthousanddollarseach.Allforafewhoursofwork.”
Bluetookthepackage,hisattentionnolongeronthe nearly dead Snake.
“OnlygetmenIcantrusttobediligent.OryouwillendupsheddingyourlifeliketheRaunchyReptilehere.” Kharzaimotionedtowardthe man whowassuckinghisfinalfewbreathsinshort,sharpgaspsthatkickedtinyplumesofdustupfromthegroundinfrontofhisface. “Speakingofwhich,takehisbodysomewhereanddumpit.Iamsureyouhaveplaceslikethatsomewherearoundhere.”
Chapter21
ProvidenceHospital
4:45p.m.
TheemergencyroomatProvidenceHospitalwas very busy. Summertime activities provided no shortage of sprained ankles, broken bones, and other assorted injuries, many the result of mixing alcohol with activities like mountain biking or riding four-wheelers or jet-skis. MarcusandMikewalkedinandfoundHildewaitingforthemamidstacrowdofpeoplewithailmentsrangingfrombrokenlimbstoinvisiblesicknessesthatcouldbe anything from the imaginary to the deathlycontagious.Marcushatedemergencyrooms—his bodyvisiblytensedastheywalkedthroughthedoors.Hildesawthementerandmovedtowardthem,tearsinhereyes.AtthesightofHilde,alumpformedinMarcusthroat,preventinghimfromspeaking.
“Issheallright?” Mike asked.
Hildenoddedquicklyandwipedthetearsfromhereyes.
“She’sfine.Nophysicaldamage,butshe’sbeenthroughalot.Itwasprettybad.”
Hildemotionedtothesecurityofficer,whobuzzedthedooropenandletthemthrough.Theywalkeddownashorthall,theirshoesclickingonthetileslikeaclockcountingdown.Theyturnedandwentdownanotherhall,passingseveralsmallexamroomsuntiltheycametoLonnie.AlookofreliefrapidlyspreadacrossherfaceasMarcusenteredtheroom.Hebreathedanaudiblesighatthesightofheralive,thensuckedasharpgaspassheturnedtowardhim.Abruisecoloredtherightsideofherface,and herlipswereswollenonthatside.Abandagecoveredthecutacrossthesideofherneck,andseverallargeBand-Aidscoveredherforearmsandthebacksofherhands.
“DearGod,Lonnie,whathappened?” Marcusasked ashecrossedtheroom.Hestoodinfrontofherandgentlyexaminedthewounds. “Whodidthistoyou?”
“Imetanoldfriend,” Lonnierepliedthrough puffy lips.
“I’llkillthebastard.”
“Toolate.”
Heputhisarmaroundher,restinghishandonhershoulder.Shewincedatthepressureofhistouch andhepulledaway.
“Thebaby?”
“Babyisokay.Thedoctoriscominginwithanultrasoundtoverify,butthewayit’skicking,Iamprettysurethebabyisfine.Toughkid.”
“LikeMom.”
“Marcus,Kharzaiwasthere.”
“Kharzaididthis?”
“No,hesavedme.”
Hildesteppedforward.“Hewasn’ttherewhenIcametofindyou.”
“Hecrashedintothevan.He’stheonewhokilledthedriver.”
“Yousawhim?” Mikeasked.
“No.Justaflashasthetaxibackedintothevan.Itwassosudden.ButIamcertainitwashim.”
“Didyoutellthepolice?”
“No,andthecrazythingiswithallofthatviolence,therewerenootherwitnesses.”
“Noone?” Marcusasked.
“Thestreetwastotallyempty,” Hildereplied.
“Maybewecangetsomethingonthe surveillancecameras.”
Hildeshookherhead. “Icheckedintothat.Thehotelonlyhasonecamerainthatbackalley.Aravenwassittingonitthewholetime.Therewasonlyatinywindowofviewbeneaththebird’stailfeathers,andtherewasnothingbutpavementinthatarea.”
Marcuslet out ahumorlessgrunt.
“What?” Hilde asked.
“Remember I told you that nativemythologysaysthatravensarespiritsthatlovetoplaypranksonmortals.Iguessthere’ssomethingtoit.”
Mikeletoutabreath. “Andweknowwhosesidethey’re on,too.”
Acrashatthedoordrewtheirattention.Anoverweightnursestoodinthedoorway,herscrubsstretchedtightatthebelly,butt,andthighs.Shewasinherearlythirties,rebelliousbrownhairinabarelycontrolledponytailpulledbackfromafleshyfacewhichwasplasteredwithtoomuchmakeupandtooblueashadeofeyeshadow.Shewheeledinaportableultrasoundmachine.Thenursepausedasshelookedatthefourpeopleintheroom,toomanyforthetinyspaceiftheyexpectedhertobeintheretoo.MikeandHildemovedbackagainstthewalltoletthenursepullthemachinepastthem,thentheyheadedtowardthedoor.
“We’llgobacktothehotel,” Mikesaid, “andgetholdofToniaandWarnertoletthemknowwhat’s goingon.Seeyoubackthere.”
Marcusnodded,andtheywalkedoutoftheroom.ThenursedrewneartoLonniewiththemachineandbegantouncoiltheultrasoundwand.Anametaghungawkwardlyfromherleftbreast.Itdangledwhenshemoved,asifitwerenotcorrectlyattachedtohershirt.Thename “Nellie” stoodoutinboldblacklettersonthewhiteplastictag.Beneaththenamewashertitle, “Nurse:OB/GYN,Prenatal,Delivery”.
“Areyouthefather?” ShelookedupatMarcus and smiledflirtatiouslyathim.Hewastakenabackandflusteredbyherbrazenlook.
“Yes,Iam,” hesaid. “She’smywife.”
“Hmmm…yougotagoodonethere,Mrs.Johnson.He’sahottie.”
“Yeah,he'sbeengettingthatreactionfrom a lot of women lately.”
“Well,itlookslikehegotthatreactionfromyoutoo.” ShewinkedandflashedasmiletowardMarcus,herchubbycheeksballeduponthesidesofherfacemaking herlooklikeaCabbagePatchDollwithclownmakeup.
Marcuswasuncomfortablenearher.Hemovedtotheothersideofthebed,puttingLonniebetweenhimandthe rotundnurse.Lonnielayback,barelystiflingaburstoflaughter.ThenurseremindedherofthesecretaryonTheDrewCareyShowfromthenineties.Marcus’sreactiontoherwasalmostasfunnyasthewomanherself.
“Okay,let’sgetstartedhere.” Nelliegrabbedatubeoflubricantfromtheshelfunderthemachineandsquirtedsomeintoherrubber-glovedhand.
“Ifyoucouldpullyourshirtup,honey,justoveryourbelly.Don’tneedMr.Studtheretogettoomuchofaneyeful.”
SheslidherhandontoLonnie’sbelly.Thebabyjumpedatthecontact.
“Oh,boy—the baby’s certainlyalive,ain’tit?Thelotionisgoingtobealittlecold,honey,butitmakesthewandworkawholelotbetter.”
NellierubbedthelotionoverLonnie’sbellyuntilitwasevenlyspread,thenswitchedonthewandandputitstipagainstthelowerpartofherdistendedbelly.Thescreenontheultrasoundmachineimmediatelylitup.Marcuslookedattheimage,asmilestretchingacrosshisface.Aclearpictureofthebaby’sfacecameintoview.Thebabystretchedasifcraningitsnecktogetabetterviewthroughthewindowofthemachine.Itwassuckingitsthumb,theotherarmwrappedarounditsmiddle.
“Wow,” Marcussaid,alookofwondermentonhisface, “itlookslikeitisalivealready,likeIcanjustholdit.”
“Well,that’sbecauseitisalive,sillyman,” Nelliereplied. “Thatrightthereisatotallyviable,totallyalive,ready-to-conquer-the-worldbaby.Youwanttoknowthesex?”
MarcuslookedatLonnie, and she lookedbackathim.Theypausedforamoment,thenLonnieturnedbacktoNellie.
“Yes.Wedo.”
“Allrighty,then.”
NellieslidtheultrasoundwandtothemiddleofLonnie’sbelly.Alltheycouldseewasthebaby’ship.Thebabyhadturnedasifsuddenly beingmodest.
“Okay, baby,nowjustrolloveralittlebit,” Nelliesaid. “Weain’tgonnahurtyou.Justalittlepeeky-weeky.”
ThebabyrolledoveratNellie’surging.
“Wellnow,therewego.” ShesmiledupatLonnie,thenturnedtoMarcus. “Nowyouknowwhatcolortopaintthebaby’sroom,eh?”
Chapter22
Farrah’s Rented House
Goldenview Drive
10:00 p.m.
“Thankyouallforattending.” Kharzaislidhiseyesoverthegroupoffourtattooedmeninthegarage,notingthatnoneofthem,otherthanBlue,hadbeenattherailyarddebacle.Hislipsstretchedinaserpentinegrinthatwould have madeamongoosebristle. Hecrossedthecementfloortoametaltubeleaningatasteepangleproppeduponabipod.
“Thisisthetoolwithwhichyouwilleachearnyourmoney.” He stoppedbythemortartubeandscannedacrossthem. “Idon’tsupposeanyofyouhappenedtohaveservedinthemilitaryandknowhowtouseoneofthese.”
“M-224,60mmLightweightMortar,” avoicesaid,thencontinued. “Infantryportablesmoothbore,muzzle-loading,high-angle-of-fireweapon.Itcanbefiredfromabipod,orhandheldpositioninclose-insupportofgroundtroops.”
Thevoicewasthatofayoungmaninhismid-twenties whomtheotherscalledBones.TattoosswirledinCelticpatternsacrosshisfaceanddownhisneckandarms,accentuatedwiththree-dimensionaldemonfacesandafewswastikas.OnhisrightwristwasadetailedinkoftheMarineCorpsEagleGlobeandAnchoremblem.Aredslash,drawnlikeagapingwound,marredthesymbol.Anangryfistjutteditsmiddlefingerintothewound.Aroundhisneckhungastringofknucklebones. Among the mix of adult-sizedboneswereinterspersedsome that had come from verysmallfingers.
Kharzailookedcoldlyattheman,hiseyesbarelycontaininghatredthatboiled.Inallhisyearsofkillingpeople,he'dmadeitarulethatnochildren,eveniftheyactivelyfoughtfortheotherside,wouldbeintentionallyhurt.Thisbastardobviouslydidnotfollowthatcredo.
“Veryknowledgeableanswer,” hesaid,buryinghisemotions.Hemotionedtowardthetattoo. “YouwereintheMarines,huh?
“Iwasamortarman.Twotoursinthesuck,” themansaidwithasmirk, “asweusedtocallIraq.”
Kharzaiglancedatthetattoo,thenbackupattheyoungman’sdefiantface. “Unhappytimeintheservice,Iassume?”
“Yeah,” Bones replied. “TurnsouttheCorpsdoesn’treallylikekillingpeopleasmuchasyou’dthink—at least,notasmuchasIdo.Contrarytopopularopinion,someofusarenotpartofthat'OnceaMarine,Always a Marine'bullshit. There really aresomeex-Marinesoutthere. I know ‘cuzIgotnothingtodowiththosecock suckers.Theybustedmyassrightoutoftherejustfortakingafewtrophies.”
Hejangledhisbonenecklace.
“Yeah,” Blue said, “thatandthe littlegirlyoutoldmeabout.Whatwasshe,likesix?”
“LikeIsaid,” Bone’sfacestretchedwithanevilgrin, “trophies.Tight,smoothlittletrophies.” He held his hands out in front of his mid-section and thrust his hips forward in a crude sexual gesture.
Kharzai gritted his teeth into a grindingrage-filled grin. Nomatterhowhardacountry,anycountry,triedtokeepitsmilitaryclean,monsterssomehowalwaysfoundtheirwayinandmadeamessofthings.Likethisex-Marine-turned-gangster,theywereablotchonthefaceofhumanity.Murderersandchildrapistswerenotthetypeanyrealmilitarywantedaround,especiallythemilitaryforcesofacountrytryingdesperatelytomakeitselfouttobethegoodguys.Theyusuallyrecognizedandcaughtthemquickly,butsometimes one got throughuntiltheyhadcommittedaheinousactthatcrossedthelinebetweenthewarriorcodeandsavagebarbarism.
Kharzaimadeaseriouseffortnottolethisemotionsboilover.Yearsof livingalifeofviolence,ofcoveringhistruefeelingsaroundevilpeople,hadwornhimthin.Theveilthatkepthisemotionsincheckgrewmoreandmoretransparenteachday,liketheskinstretchedoveranoldcelebrity’sfaceastheytrytodisguisetheirage.Kharzaifeltasthoughhisveilwouldsoontearthroughandhewouldnolongerbeabletomaintainthefaçade. Themonsterwithinhimhadbecomerestless.Itwaitedimpatientlynearthesurface,barelycontained.
“Wellthen,Isupposeyouwillknowwhattodowiththis.” Kharzailookedacrosstherestofthem. “Fortherestofyou,payattention as you learn how to use this weapon,oryoumaynotlivetocollectyourpayoff.Theselittlebabiesarenotforgivingtowardthestupid.”
Thegroupcircledaroundthemortar tube,andKharzailedthemoveritsfeaturesandcapabilities.Heassignedthemtotwotwo-manteamsandgavethemthebasicinformationtheyneededtofiretheweapon.Theyranthroughsettingupandtearingdowntheequipment.Oncehefeltcomfortablewiththeirskilllevel at that task,theypracticed getting range and elevation, and ran dry-firedrills.
“Whendowegettodosomeliverounds?” askedoneofthemenafterthreehoursoftrainingandpractice.Theentirelengthofhisarmdisplayedatattooofanakedwomanwithahugesnakecoiledfromherlegsupandaroundhertorso.Itsheadjuttedbetweenherbreasts,whereitflickedoutitsforkedtonguetotouchherpuckeredlips.
“Wecanonlypracticedryfirehereforobviousreasons,” Kharzaisaid. “There’snotexactlyaplacewecansettheseoffwithoutdrawingattention.Youonlyhavetoputtworoundsontarget.Sojustbereadytonotbesurprisedbythenoisewhentheytakeoff.It’slouderthanashotgunwhenitfires.Onceyou’vefiredtworounds,packitupandboogieoutofthere.”
“Whataboutthemoney?” Blue questioned.
“How’dIknowyou’dask? You’lleachgettwoofthosenicelittlestackstonight.Thedayoftheevent,afterIhearallfourpops,Iwilltextmessageeachofyouthelocationoftheotherhalfofthemoney.”
“Waitaminute.You’lldowhat?” saidthetattooedex-Marine. “Weneedtogetpaidupfront.Iain’tgoingtoberunningaroundtryingtocollectafterwards.”
“Youdon’thaveachoicereally,” Kharzai said. “You’vealreadyagreedtobehere,andthereforeyouwilldoasyou’retold.Otherwise,youcanchoosetowalkawaynow.Ifyouarefastenough,youmightactuallygetaway.”
“What,areyougoingcutmelikeyou …”
Mid-sentencehis words became a loud puff and wheeze asKharzai’sfootdroveintothesoftfleshofhisbelly.Bonesinstantlycrumpledtothefloor.
“Youmightthinkyou'retoughbecauseyourapelittlegirls,andyoumightthinkyouareabadassbecauseyouwearanecklaceoffingerbones,butletmeexplainsomethingtoyou … Bones.” Kharzaiputhisfootonthepunk’sthroat.HisarmstretchedtowardBones’face,apistolpointedat the man's eye.Noneoftheothershadseenhimdraw the weapon or realized he was even carrying one,andnoneofthemdaredmakeamovetointervene.BonesgrabbedKharzai’sankle,butrelentedwhenhefoundhimselflookingintothebarrelofthenine-millimeterMakarovsemi-auto.
“Ihaveshownyoumysecrets.Youhaveagreedtotakemymoney.Youtrytorun,youtrytoescape,youtrytocrossme,andyouwilldieahorribledeathunlikeanythingevenapatheticchildmolesterlikeyoucanimagine.Ihavemademylivinghurtingandkillingpeoplesincebeforeyourmothercrappedyouintothisworld.Idonotneedtowearmyvictim’sbonesastrophies.Idonotneedtobragaboutmykills,andIdonotneedtohurtlittlechildren.BecauseIambadenoughtoknowthatthereisnomanonthisearthwhocandefymeandlive.”
Bones’facedarkenedtoapurpleshadeofblue.Kharzairemovedhisfootandtookastepback,glancingaroundat theothers.Theyallavertedtheireyes, staring at the floor or the mortar tube, anything other than hisfierystare.
“Anyoneelsewantaturnatnegotiation?”
Chapter23
FBIHQWashingtonDC
Wednesday, June 22nd
9:00a.m.EasternTime
ThephoneonUndersecretaryPaulHogan’sdeskrangtwicebeforehewasabletogetitoffthehook.Hedidn’tmoveasfastorasaccuratelyasheusedto.HoganhadrecentlybeenpromotedtotheofficeofFBIUndersecretaryforTerrorismInterdiction,anewandlittle-knowndivisionthatactivelysoughtanderadicatedterroristthreatsonUSsoil.ItwasajobwithwhichPaulwasintimatelyfamiliar.EighteenyearsintheUnitedStatesMarineCorpsSpecialOperationsdetachmentendedwithhimmedicallydischargedjustshortofretirementafteraTalibanRPGrippedup hislegsandshreddedhisbaby-makingapparatusneartheendofhisthirdtourinAfghanistan. Those injuries had granted him a rating of 70% disabled, according to the VA, U.S. Department of Veteran's Affairs, providing a monthly stipend just more than half the amount he would have been able to make if he'd survived two more years in the Corps to full retirement.
Once recovered, he joined the FBI, and after onlysixyearsinthe Bureau,hewasnearlykilledbyasinglebullet.Thatincidenthadoccuredtwenty-fourmonths ago when a former Soviet spy working with the Sons of the Sword Muslim terrorist group had blasted him in the chest. While he survived and the enemy agent died, the bastard's shot had takenoneof Hogan's lungs.Asubsequentstaphinfectiontookhisspleenandhalfofhisliverandhadcausedseriousdamagetohisalreadyarthriticjointsbythetimethedoctorshadgottenitundercontrol. No one had ever been abletoverifywhetherhehadgottentheinfectionfromthedirtthatentered hisbloodstream wherehelandedbythatremoteOhiorailbedorfromtheten-monthhospitalstayhehadendured.Hewasprettysurehehadgotten it
