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“You said you came here, to this house, as a boy, Gibson. Why did dear old dad haul you to such a dump? Some parents take their kids to Paris or London or New York, but you end up in the ass-end of nowhere?”

Gibson moved to the kitchen and came back with a fresh water bottle. He opened it and drank. “One of the family assignments was to establish safe houses for the agency in interesting places when the Middle East started to heat up. Along the way, we created some rabbit holes where we could also hide.”

Swanson grunted, as if in admiration. A safe house meant weapons, money, comm gear, identity papers. Probably under the rugs. Also, his Excalibur sniper rifle had been laid on a nearby table, along with his other gear and ammo.

Gibson turned a chair around and straddled it to face Kyle. “I know what you’re doing, Mr. Secret Agent Man. You’re noting things you might be able to use in an escape. We went to the same schools on that shit, remember?”

“I’m tired of your bragging about your weird family business,” Swanson snapped. “What’s the point? You get me here, then you kill Marks…” He stopped in midsentence. The words of the Boatman came back, and things started to snap into place.

“This cannot be done alone.” All the while, Swanson had believed the subconscious voice was urging him to take Gibson on as the partner he needed for a complicated mission. No, it had been about the partner and the target working together in a complex ballet of death to lure him into a kill zone. “You and Marks were a team!”

“Almost. I need specialized help now and then. He was handy when I decided to reel you in and teach the CIA a lesson.” Gibson opened a tall armoire and tossed a couple of bundles of clothing on the table, then undressed while continuing to talk. “It was the damned agency, you see that? I worked for them all my life, as my family had for generations, then they betrayed me. I was the one who did the high-value targets, I was the one with the best assignments and rewards, I was the loyal soldier who could go anywhere and do anything. Anything! So what did they do to piss me off so much? You, Kyle Swanson, Marine Corps legend and top shooter for Task Force Trident, became available — out of the corps and still in your prime, plus your connections to Excalibur. That’s a helluva weapon, I gotta say. But, presto, you were number one from the day you walked in the door.” The belts and boots and jumpsuit were thrown into a pile, and he donned loose pants, a tunic, and sandals like those worn by the kid in the corner. Changing into local garb; getting ready to fade away.

“No such thing, Luke. I’m pretty much full time with Excalibur and only do occasional contract work for the agency. There is no rating system of who’s who in the sniper world. The number of kills is a media fantasy. You know that.”

Gibson pointed a finger at him, the smile gone. “And YOU know that they always turn to you first in a clutch. That fucking Marty Atkins thinks you’re a god of war. Atkins is the one who promoted you over me.”

“So you’re going to ruin Marty? That’s silly. He’s a bureaucrat, and someone just like him will take his place. It isn’t a personal judgment, Luke — just who he has available and where at the right time. I hardly know the man.”

Gibson was growing agitated as he adjusted his new clothing for comfort. “So I decided to set things straight, once and for all. Top of my list is that you have to go. I’ve already ruined your reputation. Understand? Next, Marty has to go. Then I’ll send the whole fucking CIA right down the sewer.”

Swanson cocked his head and said, “Gee, Luke, you seem upset.”

Gibson slapped him hard across the face and the chair tumbled to the floor, with Swanson bouncing along with it.

22

KAISERSLAUTEN, GERMANY
11:45 AM LOCAL
1630 ZULU

There were moments in her job when Marguerite del Coda knew it was best to act on her own. That not only got things moving faster but also shielded her superiors in the event something went wrong. This was one of those moments.

The situation in Afghanistan had deteriorated from a somewhat unusual but still routine job to a potential catastrophe faster than a flash flood fills a Texas ditch. The news had caught her in the middle of her first glass of wine, and she pushed it away as Ryan Winters filled her in.

A weird radio message had been picked up from Luke Gibson, deep in Afghanistan, and it made no sense whatsoever. Two veteran operators were trying to kill each other, and a third one had been tortured? No way.

“We put a drone overhead, didn’t we, Ryan?”

“Yes, boss. It was for attack purposes, however, with only tactical vision. We don’t have an eye in the sky.”

“Let’s change that, then. Get a camera overhead.” She knew Langley would have no problem with that, since flying drones was a big part of her job. The next part was more of a roll of the dice.

“Do we have anybody else in the general area?” she asked.

Winters played his keyboard for about thirty seconds. “The closest option would be that other sniper team, Brandt and Thompson. They’re just coming off that successful assignment in Pakistan.”

“Let’s get them saddled up as soon as possible to get to that location, find out what the hell is going on.”

Winters hesitated and gave a little wince. “Are you sure you want to do that, Marguerite? Langley may not like it.”

“My call, Ryan. Easier to ask forgiveness than to seek permission, and we need to sort out some details. Crank it up. I’m on my way back to the office. This may end up as a full-blown search and rescue in a hot zone, but we’re not abandoning our people on the ground.”

CLARKE, VERMONT
NOON LOCAL
1700 ZULU

Coastie sulked her way through a long talk with herself, then called Mexico, and she and Mama Castillo shared a long cry across the miles. “I don’t know what to do, Mama,” she confided between sobs. “I can’t get over what happened to Mickey. I’m doing and thinking crazy things.” She stroked Nero, who stretched beside her.

“Miguel is gone, my sweet Beth. We cannot bring him back.”

“How did you get over it when Papa died? What’s the secret?”

There was a brief silence, then Mama quietly replied, “Only time, my dear. One dawn at a time. The hurt fades away, although the ache of such a lost love stays forever. Miguel loved you with great passion.”

“I know. Just as I loved him.” She snatched another tissue from the box and wiped her nose and eyes. “It was special.”

Mama’s tone changed a bit, kind but sharper. “However, we both knew he was in a very, very dangerous business. He risked his life every time he went out. That was the kind of man he was when you first met him, remember? He didn’t change. He couldn’t.”

“Damned drug cartels!” Coastie said, gripping a handful of Nero’s fur. The dog looked up, startled, and she went back to petting him.

“Beth, remember that you were in that same line of work. You understood him in ways that no other woman could.” Her tone softened then. “You’re not meant to be a housewife, Beth. Miguel often told me that you could conquer dragons. You need a cause, something bigger than yourself.”

“I should just come back to you and the family.”

“NO!” Mama was adamant. “There’s nothing but trouble for you now down here, Beth, and a drug war is under way in the region. The family is fine. I’m getting better. I won’t let you come back and sit around and wilt away wrapped in black lace and sorrow. That isn’t who you are. Is Kyle helping you out?”

“I haven’t seen him for a while,” Coastie said. “Don’t know where he is. I’m up in the state of Vermont right now, and some old friends are trying to help. Apparently, they find me to be a heavy load to carry. I miss Mexico.”