by Jack Carr
It was the pre-dinner lull and Reece was the only customer in the small restaurant. He ordered a sandwich, no mayo, and a glass of ice water, paid cash, and sat at the table closest to the glass doors at the entrance in an attempt to get a Wi-Fi signal from a nearby business. He had run home after his meeting with Katie and grabbed an old iPhone out of his overseas gear. He’d bought it used in Korea during a training mission a few years earlier. He turned it on and found a weak signal from the nail salon two doors down. With the VPN running, he pulled a business card out of his pocket.
H. JOSHUA HOLDER
SPECIAL AGENT
DEFENSE CRIMINAL INVESTIGATIVE SERVICE
The card listed an address and phone number in Mission Viejo, California, as well as an email address. A cell number was handwritten in ballpoint pen on the back of the card, which he assumed was Holder’s.
DCIS? Reece had only ever heard of those guys in the context of procurement fraud and couldn’t figure out why they were involved in this investigation. And why would this agent leave his card? Maybe because he was certain I was going to be killed in a home invasion. Reece put Holder’s name into the search engine and got hits for a bunch of Facebook pages, none of which appeared to belong to a DCIS agent based in Southern California. He scrolled down until he found a LinkedIn page for “Josh Holder—Department of Defense.” Bingo. He took a screenshot of the page and opened up the Signal app, putting in his password.
He pulled the napkin out of his shirt pocket and typed the list of characters that he’d given Katie into the search bar. Her account was up and running so he added her as a “friend” and sent her a message.
it’s your friend from green beans coffee, this guy fits in somehow, he typed, referencing their initial meeting at Bagram for authentication before attaching the screenshot of Josh Holder’s account.
He deleted the search history, turned the phone off, and put it into his pocket as his sandwich arrived. Ten minutes later, his Cruiser was pulling out of the parking lot, headed toward Coronado.
CHAPTER 22
Bottlefish Restaurant
Brentwood, California
BOTTLEFISH DIDN’T TECHNICALLY open until 11:30 a.m., but a call from Horn’s assistant to the owner made sure that a manager was there early to open the door in time for the 9 a.m. meeting. Horn was a majority investor in the new restaurant venture and wanted this meeting off-site from his Capstone offices. The Brentwood hotspot was open, clean, and inviting, in stark contrast to the topics slated for discussion.
As the men arrived, each was led to a booth where a carafe of coffee was waiting. Row after row of wine bottles were arranged horizontally nearby behind a wall of glass, making Saul Agnon wish he’d had a few glasses beforehand. Josh Holder made him extremely uncomfortable. He wasn’t particularly big or loud; it was his total lack of emotion that unnerved Saul. Holder had helped plan this entire operation as a proxy for the Hartleys, along with Marcus Boykin, who had represented Capstone’s interests. Neither man seemed to place any value on human life, but there was a key difference between them: Holder had no problem doing his own killing.
Mike Tedesco and Saul Agnon sat awkwardly together on the same side of the booth out of deference to the third participant in their meeting. Holder arrived last, his crisp white dress shirt open at the collar and his dark gray suit coat unbuttoned, looking far too sophisticated for a government employee. Once all were present, the manager retreated to his small office to allow them complete privacy. Holder nodded contemptuously at both men as he slid into his seat across from them. No one said a word as he made a long production of pouring himself a cup of coffee and slowly stirring in cream and artificial sweetener. He took a sip before finally looking across the table at Agnon and Tedesco.
“So, what’s this about?”
“Um . . . Mr. Horn wanted us to speak to you in person about James Reece.”
“What about him? Your contacts fucked up the ambush overseas that was supposed to kill him and then the stupid gangbangers you hired to hose down his house didn’t even wait for him to get home. Now you want me to fix it, is that right?”
“Well, you see, we were hoping . . .”
“We?”
Agnon looked around the empty room and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Mr. Horn was hoping that you could eliminate the target.”
Holder shook his head, visibly disgusted. “Are you guys that dumb? This guy survives the ambush in Afghanistan, I ‘suicide’ the only other survivor, and then a random home invasion takes out his family. Don’t you think it would be just a little bit suspicious if he suddenly turns up dead at this point? Can we give the cops and the press a little bit of credit?”
Agnon started to speak but stopped himself, looking to Tedesco for backup.
The taller man finally spoke. He too was intimidated by Holder, but his relationship with their common mentor gave him a measure of courage. “Josh, Horn spoke to J.D. and he offered to help. I followed up with him and he has a solution for us.”
“Solution?”
“He offered us the use of a ‘sleeper asset.’ He said that you would know what he meant.”
“J.D. told you that?” Holder’s disposition softened at the mention of his rainmaker.
“Yes, he said that it was the best way to take Reece out without raising suspicion. With all the publicity from the Afghanistan fiasco and then the home invasion, Horn thinks this particular sleeper agent won’t arouse that kind of suspicion. There is a lot at stake here, Josh.”
“Hmm . . . If that option is on the table, I agree that we should move forward with it. If J.D. has offered it up, I’ll make it happen.” Holder took another sip of coffee before staring directly at Tedesco. “You holding up?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this kind of thing isn’t your deal. You gonna be able to keep your shit together or do I need to keep an eye on you, too?”
“Me? I’m fine, Josh. Don’t worry about me.”
“Just don’t get weak on us, Tedesco, we need everyone on the bus. How’s that pretty wife of yours doing?”
“She’s fine. I’m good . . . seriously.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Agnon and I have a couple of things that we need to discuss.”
“Um, okay. Let me know what you need from me.” Tedesco rose from the booth and walked nervously toward the door, wondering what it was that they couldn’t say in front of him.
• • •
Coronado, California
Reece slept better that night than he had since before the last operation overseas. He awoke, without an alarm, at 6:45 a.m., splashed some cold water on his face, and looked in the mirror over the sink. Eighteen years of jumping out of planes and helicopters along with lifting weights and practicing combatives on the mats had taken a toll. He looked tired. Not quite forty, he was surprised his thick dark hair still didn’t show signs of gray, though he did notice specks of it beginning to take hold in the beard that was coming in. All in all, he felt very fortunate to have escaped the ravages of combat relatively unscathed when so many other service members had returned from theater broken in body, mind, and spirit. Reece shuffled stiffly into the kitchen and found the coffeepot empty. Lauren was an early riser and always had the coffee made. He knew that little reminders like this would dredge up the grief of her death for the rest of his life and there was nothing that he could do about it. Nothing but kill everyone responsible. He skipped the coffee and put on his running gear.
Each combat deployment as a SEAL was prefaced by a training period where team members physically and mentally prepared for the dangerous tasks that lay ahead. Small errors in combat can lead to men coming home in body bags, and skills such as shooting, demolitions, using communications equipment, and employing first aid are perishable. Reece knew he had a fight of a different kind ahead of him, and ensuring that his body and mind were ready for it was the first step in his own personal work-up.
Preparing for h
is early morning run, Reece went though a series of active stretches before looking down at the iPod shuffle in his hand. He hesitated for a second before hitting the PLAY button and closing his eyes. It was Lauren’s shuffle. He knew the music would take him right back to her. He wanted her to be with him, but he also knew that when it came time to do the business, he would not want the distraction. Right now, however, it would fuel him. Pressing PLAY and clipping the device to his shirtsleeve, he was rewarded with “I Will Wait,” one of Lauren’s favorite songs by Mumford & Sons. He remembered listening to it with her, wrapped in a blanket on the lawn section at a late fall concert, sneaking sips of whiskey that Lauren had smuggled into the venue in her boot. When they first met in college, Reece couldn’t stand Lauren’s taste in folk rock. He much preferred a more hard-core sound, but she soon had him converted and they enjoyed many a night to the sounds of harmonicas, drums, fiddles, and guitars from bands around the world, with a few songs by Hank, Waylon, Haggard, and Cash thrown in for good measure. With Lauren’s playlist vibrating through his earbuds, he began a run that would take him on a seven-mile loop around the island.
He took the first mile at a slow and even pace and then began intervals of two minutes each: running at a hard, almost sprinting anaerobic pace and then alternating to a normal jog. For the final mile of the run, he left the sidewalk for the white sand of the beach, the same sand that he’d run on during BUD/S nearly two decades earlier. His legs screamed as he fought to propel his body forward in the soft sand, pushing the pace as hard as he could. He sprinted across his self-imposed finish line at the rear of the famed Hotel Del Coronado, joining the line of vacationers coming in from carefree walks on the beach heading toward the cluster of structures said to have inspired the Emerald City in L. Frank Baum’s classic The Wizard of Oz. Being a sweaty guy in workout clothes made you virtually invisible in most parts of the United States, especially hotels. He made his way to the nineteenth-century lobby and accessed the free Wi-Fi.
There was a message from Katie waiting for him.
I’ve found some stuff that you need to see.
When can we meet?
Reece responded, i don’t have a job anymore so i’m good whenever, tell me where you’ll be.
Reece stood for a second staring at the screen and hoping that she was logged in and would respond immediately. She did.
I have a rehearsal dinner tonight for a college friend who’s getting married. I’ll be staying at the Hyatt on Huntington Beach. Can you be there between 4 and 6?
i can. i’ll find you, Reece typed, turning off the device and descending the steps out the front entrance of the hotel to grab breakfast on his walk home.
CHAPTER 23
Huntington Beach, California
REECE WHEELED THE CRUISER into a spot on the beach parking lot and made his way across the pedestrian bridge to the Hyatt. He was dressed in khaki pants, an oxford blue button-down shirt, and a blue blazer. He would pass equally well as a salesman or a guy headed to a rehearsal dinner, urban camo at its finest. He walked past a lawn area where party planners were putting the final touches on what he assumed would be the event Katie was attending. Judging by the elaborate setup and decorations, he was fairly sure the groom’s father wasn’t operating on a Navy salary.
He wanted to avoid the lobby, if at all possible, but assumed that all of the beach-facing doors required room keys to access; he was right. He pulled out his phone and held it up to his ear as if in conversation. When he saw a sunburned vacationing couple about his age walking in from a day spent drinking by the pool, he said, “Okay, bye,” to his imaginary caller and followed through the doors behind them. He walked down the main hallway toward the elevators and found a house phone on a small table. He picked up the handset and immediately heard ringing.
“Guest services, how may I help you?”
“Can you connect me to Miss Buranek, please? B-U-R-A-N-E-K.”
“One moment, please.”
“Hello?”
“Katie, it’s me. I’m here. What room are you in?”
“Twenty-two thirty-one. Second floor, east side of the building. Great view of nothing.”
“See you in a minute.”
Reece walked past the elevators and took the stairs to the second floor. He wandered the halls in a direction that he assumed to be east until he saw a sign directing him to the numerical collection of rooms that included hers and knocked on the door.
It opened immediately and his jaw nearly hit the floor. Katie was obviously dressed for the rehearsal dinner. She was wearing a tight-fitting black cocktail dress that showed off her slim, toned physique. Her hair was down and she glowed with just the right amount of makeup. She wasn’t wearing shoes, making her almost a full foot shorter than Reece.
“Jeez, how tall are you? Six two?” she asked, popping up onto her tiptoes for effect.
People always thought Reece was taller than he actually was.
She surprised Reece by giving him a big hug, and he stiffened up uncomfortably. Unsure of how to respond, he patted her on the back as if he were hugging his grandmother.
God, she smells good, he thought with more than a little guilt.
“I’m sorry, I’m a hugger,” Katie said, as Reece stood speechless. She looked him up and down. “You clean up well. Come sit down. I have a ton of stuff I want to show you.”
She pulled a manila folder out of what looked like a beach bag and spread a series of photos on a small table near the room’s balcony. She sat down in one of the chairs and Reece took the other. The photos were printed on regular printer paper, so the resolution wasn’t great, but they were still decipherable.
“I pulled all of this stuff up using the database at Fox. I freelance for them so they give me office space when I need it and access to their systems for research. They have an extremely sophisticated database and the ability to search using facial recognition technology. I don’t have my own username or anything so it would take some work to figure out that I’m the one who pulled it up.”
She held up the first photo, which was an enlarged version of the head shot from the DCIS agent’s LinkedIn profile. The man depicted in the photo was likely in his early forties, fit, with a hairstyle that made him look more like a TV anchorman than a federal agent. “This, as you know, is Josh Holder. He apparently was an Army CID investigator before hiring on with DOD. DCIS agents do a lot of contract fraud cases, but their powers are fairly broad. From what I can determine, he’s from Northern Virginia and moved out here relatively recently.”
As she pulled out the next photo, Reece couldn’t contain his shock. It was one of those file photos that are taken by pool photographers outside of congressional hearings. It depicted the secretary of defense walking through the Longworth House Office Building, surrounded by what looked like a rugby scrum of aides. Walking closest to the secretary was none other than Josh Holder.
“What’s he doing with the SECDEF?” Reece asked.
“That’s a really good question. What is a midlevel DOD law enforcement agent doing walking alongside the secretary of defense, and likely next president, Lorraine Hartley? Best as I can tell, he’s never been employed in a security capacity and nothing lists him as being part of her staff.”
The third photo that Katie produced was a screenshot from a society magazine in L.A. and showed a tuxedo-clad Holder standing among a group of partygoers at a swanky charity event.
“Who is this guy?” Reece wondered aloud.
“According to the magazine, that is Saul Agnon. I ran a search on him, and he’s an employee of this man,” Katie said, pointing to a tall man in the center of the photo. “Steve Horn. Big in finance. He runs Capstone Capital, which is a private equity fund. They do a lot of international work. The other guy in the photo is Mike Tedesco, Capstone affiliated and a well-known fundraiser for the Hartleys.”
“That Mike guy was leaving the admiral’s office the day I was called on the carpet.”
“Well,
that is not a coincidence. Somehow these guys are all connected, James, and I’m betting that whatever they’re up to involves a lot of money and a lot of important people. I couldn’t find out much more. Other than LinkedIn, Holder does very little on social media, and public records searches didn’t turn up much of any substance. The only way I even found these photos was using facial recognition software.”
“I can’t thank you enough for this, Katie. It gives me something to go on. I really appreciate your help. Go enjoy your party.”
“Happy to help and I’m not going to ask what you’re going to do with this information because I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know. Just be careful.”
“Will do. Can I have these?” Reece asked, pointing to the photos.
“They’re yours.” Katie tucked them back into the folder and handed it to Reece.
“Got an appointment for tomorrow to get my head checked out. I’ll let you know how it goes.” He extended his hand, and she slapped it out of the way, coming in close for a hug.
“I told you. I’m a hugger.”
CHAPTER 24
Head and Spine Associates
La Jolla, California
REECE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE at the clinic to get prepped at 6:30 a.m., but he couldn’t sleep, so getting up in time for the appointment was not challenging in the least. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was more than a little nervous about the biopsy. Not only did he know they were going to stick something into his brain, but the results could confirm that he was, in fact, dying. Added on to the events of the past weeks, it was all a bit overwhelming but also freeing in a strange sense.
The next world was calling, the one with his wife and daughter. He was certain he did not want to die in bed after an excruciating battle with a brain tumor. Knowing his death was imminent and assured made what he had to do all the more clear. There was nothing holding him back. In fact, death propelled him forward. He would die avenging his troop and his family. It would be a good death: a warrior’s death.