"The backup team's in position now. The moment you're sure you've got the target in your sights, I'll tell them to cut the telephone line. The timing has to be right. If we do it sooner than we need to, he might try to use the phone, wonder why it doesn't work, and realize he's being set up."
"In that case, tell them to get ready." The sniper peered through his scope. "The target's on the back porch."
Chapter 12.
Jamie closed the screen door after she and Cavanaugh stepped outside. "I want you to own Global Protective Services."
"But I promised you I was out of the business."
"I'm freeing you from that promise."
Chapter 13.
"Beta, get ready to cut the phone line," the spotter said into the radio.
"On your signal," a voice replied.
"Stand by." The spotter turned toward his partner. "Can you get the shot?
The man lay on his stomach, his left hand gripping the rifle's stock, his left forearm resting on his knapsack. His right hand clutched the rifle's grip, his finger at the trigger. The bolt-action Remington 700 was one of the most accurate sniper rifles. A favorite of the U.S. military as well as law-enforcement SWAT teams, it accurately delivered a .308 bullet up to 900 yards. The sights had one-minute-of-angle accuracy. The trigger was adjusted to a gentle two-pound pull. The powerful scope had a holographic sight with a red dot that indicated exactly where the bullet would strike the target. The state-of-the-art sound suppressor prevented the sniper from disclosing his position and drawing return fire.
But precise equipment was only one element of accurate long-distance shooting. Training, experience, steadiness, the ability to craft handmade ammunition and adjust sights based on conclusions about distance, temperature, altitude, and wind, the Zen control of breathing, temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate, the focus of a lifetime into one steady confident pull on the trigger--the accumulation of all these and more were what made a great shooter.
"I said, Can you make the shot?" Receiving no answer, the spotter peered through his binoculars and inhaled with annoyance when he saw the problem. "Damn it, the woman's in the way."
Chapter 14.
"Sometimes, you don't listen to yourself," Jamie said.
"That's because I don't enjoy one-sided conversations."
"Angelo was talking about his llamas and his ostriches, and he made you laugh so hard, you said you missed him."
"Just a figure of speech. Hey, we aren't going to start shopping for furniture or anything."
"You do miss him. You miss all the agents you used to work with. You miss Global Protective Services and--"
"How can you be sure? I've never said anything about that."
"Sometimes, I see a far-away look in your eyes, as if your mind's somewhere else, doing things in places a lot more exciting than here."
"No."
"You do have that look." Jamie's hands were on her hips, her back to the sun-bright pasture and the aspen-covered eastern slope of the canyon. "It reminds me of tigers and lions in cages in zoos. The look in their eyes. The controlled frustration. It's like they know there has to be a better way, but they also know there's nothing they can do about it. Well, this is your chance to do something about it."
"There's no place else I'd rather be, and no other person I'd rather be with."
"You gave up a huge portion of your life for me," Jamie said.
"But look at what I got in return." Cavanaugh gestured toward the stream flowing through the pasture, sunlight glinting off it, the horses leaning down to drink.
"You still wear a gun and a knife."
"The world's a dangerous neighborhood."
"You still drive an armored Taurus."
"A sturdy, dependable car. The far-away look you see in my eyes isn't longing. It's nervous relief that I don't live that way anymore. It's amazement that I ever did."
"I don't understand."
"Risking my life for people I didn't know and often didn't like. I used to say I had my professional standards. I wouldn't protect child molesters or drug traffickers, anyone who's an obvious monster. But what about the monsters who aren't as obvious? That stock analyst Angelo and I protected. He was in bed with the companies he was supposed to be making judgments about. He let greed mean more to him than the trust investors put in him. A lot of people counted on him for the security of their pensions, and all he had was contempt for them. I hated that man. Part of me was delighted when a ruined investor tried to attack him. Oh, Angelo and I made sure the analyst wasn't injured, but he sure was scared, and I was glad to see him scared. But that was wrong. A protector needs to be absolutely committed to his client. He needs to be willing, if necessary, to die for that client."
Jamie's eyes reacted.
"Now that I'm away from it all," Cavanaugh told her, "I realize how many of my clients weren't worth risking my life for. They were special only because they were rich or powerful or uncommonly attractive. What made them unique poisoned them."
"Not all of them," Jamie said. "You told me some clients were remarkable. 'Saints,' you called a few of them."
For a moment, Cavanaugh did long for his former life. "There was one politician I thought could have made a difference. Unfortunately, his party chose somebody who looked good on TV. There was a billionaire who told me, 'All my life I've been taking money out of the system. Now I'm putting it back.' He had exciting plans for ways to use his money to improve education. But then he got cancer and died, and his heirs fought over his estate. There was an entertainer who spent significant portions of his time performing benefit concerts for children's hospitals."
"What's the downside to that story?"
"Actually, there isn't one. The entertainer still performs benefit concerts, and the children's hospitals keep getting money."
"Who'd want to hurt a man like that?"
"He has several obsessed fans. Plus, he had a manager who was furious because the entertainer fired the guy after discovering how much money was being skimmed from the hospital fund. In Mexico City, where the entertainer was performing one of his concerts, kidnappers tried to grab him for a ten-million dollar ransom."
"You're right. The world is a dangerous neighborhood." Jamie took a deep breath. "But maybe you're being given an uncommon opportunity to make things better. Maybe you could be the equivalent of that billionaire you mentioned."
"I don't understand."
"Maybe you could change the way Global Protective Services does business. Take from the rich. Give to the poor. By which I mean, hold your nose and protect people you dislike so the company can afford to protect people who deserve to be alive."
Cavanaugh studied her. "It would mean the end of all this." He gestured toward the canyon. He tried not to look at the helicopter and all it symbolized.
"We could come back whenever we wanted."
"'We'?"
"You don't think I'd let you go by yourself."
"Maybe you're the one who's feeling restless."
"Not for somebody else, believe me, lover. But maybe happiness isn't enough. Maybe human beings need to be useful."