“What the hell is going on?”
Barker opened his mouth to answer just as death reached out for him. The slug entered Barker’s left temple and left a gaping hole on the other side of his head. Due to Tanner’s proximity, he was sprayed with the man’s blood, and through his grip on Barker’s neck, he’d felt a little of the bullet’s impact.
Tanner scrambled beneath Barker’s car as more rounds were fired. The shots disabled the vehicle, and leaking fluids mixed with the blood already on Tanner’s face.
In 1849 a group of pioneers gave Death Valley its name. It certainly became a valley of death for Herb Barker, and if Tanner didn’t come up with a plan, it would claim him as well.
55
On Your Marks…
BAJA CALIFORNIA, MEXICO, JULY 1998
With the test due to begin at noon, Cody and Romeo listened to the last-minute advice Spenser had to give them. They were about to start off on the hundred-mile journeys that would determine their futures. The temperature had climbed all morning and was over 100-degrees, while expected to reach 107. The boys wore loose-fitting white shirts and pants that would deflect the sun’s rays while also preventing the moisture on their skin from evaporating quickly. The sweat kept the skin cooler than it would be without it. Keeping hydrated was vital.
The identical backpacks they wore were lightweight and held only what they needed. Among those items was a letter written by Spenser, which he told them to only open sometime after the sun rose the next day.
The two routes Spenser had mapped out ran parallel to each other but were separated by miles at their widest point. Still, they began at the same position and ended together. Since Romeo currently had the fastest time on the thirty-mile trek, he was allowed to choose which route he would take. He chose the one that had an old silver mine toward the end of its route, while Cody’s route would take him within sight of an abandoned town. The town was frequently visited by tourists, but Cody wouldn’t be close enough for anyone to be a hindrance to him.
The routes were clearly marked for them, while Spenser would be checking their progress and leaving cool water for the boys to drink along the way. A road ran south between the two routes and Spenser would use it to track their progression.
“You’ll feel exhausted long before the finish line but don’t give in to the fatigue. Even a short nap would rob you of time that could have been used to cover miles.”
“Should we rest at all,” Romeo asked, “or just tough it through?”
“You’ll get some rest whenever you stop to drink, but only take a break if you’re ahead of schedule. Remember, you’ll be much stronger today than tomorrow. If you’re not well past the fifty-mile mark by midnight, you’ll likely never make up the miles.”
“Night will be cooler, and without the sun beating down on me I expect to eat up the terrain,” Cody said, but Spenser disagreed.
“Night will be dark, the ground uneven, and the headlamps I gave you to use only help so much. If you move recklessly and twist an ankle, it’ll be game over. Pace yourselves appropriately. I can’t stress that enough. Go hard and fast early to cover as much ground as you can but not so fast that you have nothing left later. This race truly is a marathon and not a sprint. In fact, it’s damn near four marathons. It will take everything you’ve got.”
With less than a minute left before they were to begin, the boys turned their attention on each other.
“We’re going to do this, man,” Romeo told Cody. “No way I’m gonna let this beat me.”
Cody smiled at him. “I feel good. What about you?”
Romeo grinned back at him. “A hundred miles is nothing.”
“Hey, guys?” Spenser said.
The boys turned to look at him.
Spenser placed an index finger to his head.
“Your limits are all in your mind. Go beyond limits. That’s what it takes to be a Tanner.”
Cody and Romeo nodded in understanding. Moments later, they stepped to the start position and awaited Spenser’s command.
“Go!” Spenser said.
The boys dashed off while headed in different directions. Behind them, Spenser whispered a prayer.
56
Hit The Hitter
DEATH VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, AUGUST 2012
Half a mile away from the abandoned gold mine where Tanner met with Herb Barker, a man calling himself Mr. Smith gazed through a pair of binoculars. Smith was forty-two, looked fit, and was handsome. His dark hair showed the first signs of gray at the temples while a half-moon scar marred his chin. The scar was acquired during a violent incident.
Standing beside Mr. Smith was his young aide, Mr. Jones. Jones was twenty-seven, wore glasses, and had dark hair and brown eyes. Mr. Jones was watching the scene below through his own pair of binoculars.
The two men were sweaty as a result of having to hide beneath a sand-colored tarp that had obscured them from view. The camouflage had been the idea of the man who was with them, named Phelps. Phelps, an ex-Marine sniper, had fired the shot that killed Herb Barker. Phelps was in his thirties and had blond hair and gray eyes. One of those eyes was pressed to a scope and looking for an opportunity to kill Tanner.
“I see your shot killed Barker, but where’s the assassin?” Mr. Smith said. He had a cultured English accent.
“He’s hiding beneath the car. Once he pops his head up I’ll blow it off.”
Mr. Jones pointed toward the scene.
“Barker is moving. He’s still alive.”
“That’s not possible,” Phelps said, but as he adjusted the scope a bit, he saw that Barker’s body was indeed moving.
“What’s going on down there?” Smith asked.
“That hit man is up to something,” Phelps said. “He’s dragging Barker’s body out of the line of fire.”
“Barker said the man’s name was Tanner. He also said he was very good at what he does,” Jones said.
“He’s not better than me,” Phelps said, “and he’s got nowhere to run.”
“The brush is thick over there on the left, and there’s an old stone wall near it. If Tanner makes it beyond that you might lose sight of him,” Jones said. He was speaking of an area that was full of creosote bushes, blackbrush, and Joshua trees. Beyond the stone wall was a series of large sand dunes.
Phelps took his eye away from the scope and glared at Jones.
“I know what I’m doing.”
Jones smiled weakly at Phelps.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise.”
Phelps went back to watching for Tanner, then saw an unusual sight.
“He’s placed Barker on his back to use as a shield.”
Down below, Tanner was crouched beneath Herb Barker’s body with his head ducked down. As he moved forward while holding tight to Barker’s arms, the dead man’s legs dragged along in the sand behind him. Barker’s wider frame hid Tanner from view, and the bulletproof vest gave protection.
Although he’d been expecting it, the impact of Phelps’ first round into Barker’s body knocked Tanner off balance.
He sprawled forward with Barker’s weight on top of him, then was nearly struck in the left elbow by a rifle round. Tanner hoisted Barker onto his back again and headed toward the heavy brush Jones had mentioned. As Tanner moved deeper into concealment, five more rounds slammed into Barker’s corpse, but the vest did its job and the rounds never penetrated flesh.
When a break came in the firing, Tanner threw Barker’s corpse off him and sprinted deep into the brush, where he fell onto his belly and began crawling behind the crumbling stone wall. As Tanner suspected, Phelps had been reloading his gun. By the time the sniper had fresh ammunition and placed his eye to the scope, Tanner was out of sight, and likely out of range.
“You can’t let him get away,” Smith said.
Phelps cursed as he studied the terrain below and saw nothing definitive to shoot at.
“Have your men drive the jeeps in and we’ll hunt Tanner d
own.”
“I repeat,” Smith said. “This man cannot get away. Find him and kill him, Phelps.”
“Yes sir,” Phelps said. “Consider him dead.”
Tanner crawled behind a dune, then used the harsh sand to clean globs of blood and motor oil from his face. The sand wouldn’t remove all of the foulness, however, perspiration would cleanse his face eventually, as he wiped the sweat away.
He sat up and checked to see if any sand had made its way into his weapon. The gun was fine, but the situation wasn’t. His vehicle was parked off in the other direction and he had no idea who or how many were gunning for him.
And then there was the heat, which was hovering above 100-degrees. Tanner being Tanner, he had dropped caches of water along the route he’d taken in, as well as the surrounding area. It was a precaution he took whenever venturing into the desert to meet a contact.
Rising from the sand, Tanner ran along the rear of the dunes with the aim being to circle back to his vehicle. As he ran, he thought about Herb Barker’s last words.
They have my daughter, Tanner. They have my Andrea.
Miles away, Andrea Barker was seated on the closed lid of a toilet inside a mobile home. The bathroom’s tiny window had bars attached on the inside but allowed a view. There was little to see, as her captors were parked on an abandoned road in the desert.
Andrea, who was sixteen, recalled how terrified she was when the men burst into her home. They were young, her captors were, not much older than herself. Their names were Rudy and Cord, or at least that’s what they called each other. Rudy had brilliant green eyes while Cord wore a cowboy hat and boots. Andrea couldn’t be certain, but she thought they might be brothers.
It was Cord who punched her father in the stomach, while Rudy held her by the arms. They were working for a man named Smith. Smith had been with Rudy and Cord, along with a man he referred to as Mr. Jones.
Smith was an Englishman who had cruel eyes, and he was the one who ordered Cord to punch her father in the stomach. Nothing Smith said made any sense to Andrea, but her father had understood him. From what she’d gathered, her father had been involved in something shady. That was not a shock to Andrea. She loved her father to death, but the man had never worked a regular job during her lifetime, while always having money.
“I’m a facilitator.”
That was what her father told her when she was twelve and asked him what he did for a living.
“What’s a facilitator?”
“I coordinate the activities of different people. Let’s say that man A wants a certain job done but lacks the skill to do it himself. My job is to act as a go-between for man A and man B. Man B has the skills, but no client. When I introduce him to man A, a client, man B gladly gives me a fee for doing so.”
“Oh, but how come you don’t need an office for that?”
Her father had smiled at her.
“That’s too much overhead, honey, besides, I’m a people person.”
That explanation had satisfied Andrea back then, but now she knew there was more to it. Either man A was angry with her father or man B was, but someone had sent thugs to their house to abduct her, so that her father would do what they wanted. No, Smith was in charge. Andrea was sure of that. She couldn’t imagine that man taking orders from anyone.
The sound came of the bolt being slid back on the bathroom door and it opened. It was Rudy, the boy with the green eyes. If Andrea hadn’t known what a psycho he was, she might have thought him cute.
Rudy certainly seemed to like her, as he stood in the doorway and looked her over. Andrea knew she was good-looking, but thought her breasts were too small. She was so self-conscious about it that she always wore her long dark hair forward, to flow over her chest.
“Are you hungry?” Rudy asked.
“Where’s my father?”
“He’s fine, don’t worry.”
“What was it you wanted him to do for you? Is it dangerous?”
“I don’t know. I’m just doing my job. Do you want to eat or not?”
Andrea shook her head no.
“You’re pretty, you know that?” Rudy said.
Cord’s voice carried from the front of the motor home.
“Leave the bitch alone. Mr. Smith said we weren’t to talk to her.”
“Is Mr. Smith his real name?” Andrea asked.
“I doubt it, but whoever he is, he pays good. Cord and I are getting two thousand apiece just to keep you here.”
“My father will pay you more if you take me back home.”
Rudy was about to speak when Cord appeared beside him.
“Hey, we’re not supposed to talk to her.”
“What’s the harm?” Rudy asked.
“That’s not the point. This is an easy job, so let’s not blow it. Maybe Smith will give us more work.”
Rudy said, “You’re right,” then he eased the door shut while staring down at Andrea’s legs.
While Rudy had been looking at her legs, Andrea had been staring at the gun Rudy wore on his belt. She saw that the loop was unsnapped on the holster. Andrea wondered just how easy it would be to yank Rudy’s gun right out of it.
57
So Far, So Good
BAJA CALIFORNIA, MEXICO, JULY 1998
By sunset, Cody had made great progress and ate up more than forty-one of the one-hundred miles he had to cover. It had come at a price. He was exhausted from eight straight hours of trudging along in high heat and felt as if there wasn’t enough water in the world to slake his thirst.
He’d spotted Spenser’s truck off in the distance once, as he neared one of the designated water stops. There, he had found two quarts of chilled water. One went in his canteen while the other was poured down his throat. That had been the last time he refilled the canteen, at his next stops for water, he drank both quarts without stopping.
The temperature had been brutal, while the humidity drifting in from the sea to the west made the air humid. Upon reaching his next stop for hydration, Cody drained the water jugs, then decided to eat for the first time.
He had no hunger other than his need to complete the course in time, but he felt that taking in a few calories would only help. He wolfed down two protein bars, then reached inside his pack for the headlamp he would need to wear overnight.
He stood while doing all this, as he feared that sitting might make his muscles cramp. Using the headlamp to check the pedometer he wore, Cody saw that he had covered 41.4 miles. He was sure he’d be well past the halfway mark by midnight, leaving him twelve hours left to cover the miles that stretched out before him. If he hadn’t been so tired, he would have thought he’d finish in easy fashion, but the truth was he was already wasted.
He thought about what it would feel like to see Spenser smiling at him as he crossed the finish line with minutes to spare. The image of that moment energized him, and he began moving again. The night grew deeper and the protein bars felt like lead sitting in his stomach.
Four miles away, Romeo was strapping on his own headlamp.
He had done better than Cody, having traveled 42.6 miles, but a muscle in his back had begun to ache. Romeo took the time to change his socks, then his shoelaces, because the shoelaces always seemed to break at the worst moments. After downing his water, he was on the move again. The ache in his back was as sharp as a knife.
After dropping off enough water to get the boys through the night, Spenser returned to the trailer for a few hours of sleep. The boys were doing fine. He knew that, everyone did well in the beginning. The agony didn’t begin until later in the run.
He thought back to when he had gone through the test and the memory made him cringe. There had come a point when he’d had nothing left and just knew he couldn’t go on. But, of course, he had, after finding a reserve of strength he didn’t know he’d possessed.
They’ll both make it. He told himself. He had come to love both boys as if they were his sons and didn’t want to lose either of them. If they both failed
, he would feel as if he’d let them down.
That was ridiculous, and Spenser knew it. No one failed the test unless they didn’t have what it took to pass it. As he told the boys at the start of the race. This wasn’t a test for their bodies, their stamina, but a trial that would judge their mental toughness.
Cody and Romeo would face themselves out there in the desert, and they’d be better men for it someday. Whether they would also remain his apprentices remained to be seen.
After showering, Spenser turned on the radio and received a shock.
The weather forecast had been updated and the news was not good. The revised forecast called for temperatures in the 112 to 115-degree range. By the time the race ended at noon, the boys would be running in a furnace.
Spenser set his alarm so that he would wake up early, then spent the next hour staring at the ceiling.
They’ll both make it. He told himself again, but it sounded like wishful thinking.
58
The Safari Twins
DEATH VALLEY, CALIFORNIA, AUGUST 2012
Phelps looked at a pair of Mr. Smith’s men and shook his head in consternation.
“Why are you two dressed like that?”
The men were wearing safari outfits with short pants, along with pith helmets. Phelps thought they looked ridiculous. They had each arrived in open-top jeeps. Mr. Smith and his aide Mr. Jones would take one jeep while the safari twins helped Phelps with Tanner.
The taller of the two men looked down at himself.
“What’s wrong with our outfits? This is the desert, right?”
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