by Jack Carr
“Why? I don’t get it. I appreciate it, trust me I do, but I don’t understand your loyalty to someone that you barely know.”
The hot tea arrived and Katie made a big production of squeezing the lemon and stirring in the sugar. Satisfied that she’d sufficiently doctored it up, she took a sip and put the cup back on the small saucer, looking Reece directly in the eyes.
“In the eighties, there was a young army doctor living in Czechoslovakia. He loved his country, but he hated what the oppressive government was doing to its people. As he rose in the ranks, he saw the hypocrisy of the leaders close-up and was determined to help make a change. He started giving information to the Americans, little things at first, but he ended up being one of their most important assets in the country. As a military physician, he had access to the medical records of most of the party elite and knew things about their physical and mental health that were of great importance to the CIA. He gave them everything that they wanted and he asked nothing in return; he was doing it for his country, not for himself. It went on like this for a few years before the secret police caught on to what he was doing. He, his wife, and their baby boy went into hiding, but not before getting a message to his handler at the Agency. Apparently the folks back in D.C. were willing to let him hang but his case officer had made him a promise that he’d get him and his family to safety or die trying if something ever went wrong. He risked his career and his life getting the doctor and his family out of Czechoslovakia and eventually to the United States, where they grew their family and still live today.” Katie paused. “Reece, that doctor was my dad and the case officer was your father, Thomas Reece.”
Chills ran through Reece’s body. He had thought that he was dead inside and unable to feel emotion, but he was completely overcome by the bomb that Katie had just dropped.
“How did you know it was my dad? I didn’t even know he worked in Czechoslovakia. It must have been when we were living in Germany when I was a kid.”
“Your father was like a god in my house growing up, Reece. All my dad ever talks about are Thomas Reece and Ronald Reagan, his two American heroes. I got curious about him later in life and did some homework. I saw your name as a survivor in his obituary, and when I heard about your team getting ambushed, I put two and two together. I emailed my dad, and he confirmed that you were Tom’s son. They stayed in touch through the years. Your dad was so proud of his son the SEAL that he told my dad all about it.”
“No way! What a small world. My dad was a SEAL before he was Agency. I worshipped him growing up. He did two tours in Vietnam with Team Two before going to work for the CIA. I was born in Virginia when he was still going through his intelligence training. Of course, I didn’t know any of this until way later. He always had some cover job at State. I spent a lot of time with my mom and my grandparents while he was running around Europe and South America fighting the Cold War.”
“I actually met your father as a little girl. He came to our house to visit my parents, and they treated him like absolute royalty.”
“I can’t believe it, wait, actually I can, knowing my dad. He was a mystery wrapped in an enigma. He touched a lot of people during his time in this world. People might have a hard time believing what a gentle soul he was, knowing what he did for a living, but he really was a great guy.”
Katie reached across the table and put her hand on Reece’s. He didn’t pull it away. “I was so sorry to hear about his death. I would have loved to have spent time with him as an adult. He was the kind of person they write books about.”
“Thanks, Katie, I really appreciate it. After all he lived through, I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I can only imagine.”
“He was a great man and a better father.”
“I know he was, James, and that’s partially why I’m helping you. My family owes yours a debt of gratitude, and life has put me in a position to help pay that debt.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Katie, but I’m glad to have your help. I will not let you get hurt because of this. I’m not going to let these assholes hurt anyone else that I care about.”
Reece was embarrassed as soon as the words came out of his mouth, his face flushed, trying in vain to hide in his menu. Mercifully, the waiter approached at about that time to take their order, and Katie took care of it for both of them. She was obviously better versed in the ins and outs of real Chinese food than Reece, who was happy to let her handle it.
• • •
Kamir had been sitting in the taxi waiting line at Lindbergh Field when he received the text from his handler. His instructions were to head north to Los Angeles as fast as possible and await further instructions. Adrenaline surged through his body at the thought that finally his time had come. He pulled out of line and headed for Interstate 5. It was late morning and at this time of day he could take it all the way to L.A.
He was passing through Anaheim when he received an updated text message providing him with the location of an intersection where, Inshallah, he would find his target. Five minutes later, they sent him the name of a restaurant. His journey took him into the heart of L.A.’s Chinatown, which, due to its crowded hustle and bustle, reminded him of his home in Pakistan. He found a curbside parking spot that afforded him a good view of the restaurant’s entrance and shut off the engine.
He looked at the photo of his family that sat on his dash and was overwhelmed with sadness, knowing that he would probably never see them again in this life. He would kill his target and as many infidels as Allah would allow. Now was not the time to be weak, though; now was the time to be strong. His service to the Prophet would fill his family with pride. He would meet them again in paradise.
• • •
Their food arrived and Reece and Katie spent the rest of the meal talking about life: where they grew up, where they went to school, places they’d traveled, normal topics in a most abnormal set of circumstances. The conversation put Reece at ease and helped him escape his pain, if only for a short while. The lunch reminded him of some of his early dates with Lauren, which brought the agony of her death back into his conscious thoughts.
When they finished lunch, Reece realized that they’d spent more than two hours sitting at the table talking. The dining room was nearly deserted as Reece paid the bill in cash before heading for the door.
“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m a big girl, Reece, you don’t have to do that.”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Remember when I said I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you? I meant it.”
“Okay, tough guy, I’m a block over, let’s go.”
• • •
There had been a steady stream of people filtering in and out of the restaurant all afternoon. Kamir tensed every time he saw the door open, but, to his dismay, everyone who exited the building over the next hour was Chinese. He began to grow impatient, checking the time on his phone constantly and wondering whether he was in the wrong spot. He rechecked the text message over and over and was sure that he was indeed at the correct location. He retrieved the handgun from under the seat and examined it. He had found a YouTube video describing its operation but still wished he had taken the time to test-fire it. Allah would guide his hand.
Finally, just after 3:00 p.m., the door opened and a blonde woman exited, followed by a tall Caucasian male. Unlike the man in the photos that he’d studied, this one had a thick dark beard, but he still met the description. Something about the way he walked told Kamir that he was the target; he looked like a predator. When the man turned to scan the area, Kamir got a good view of his face and was sure he was looking at James Reece.
Reece and his female companion were moving down the sidewalk away from where he was parked, so he started the cab to follow them as they walked. He would intercept them at the next block, get as close as possible, and then start shooting.
• • •
“Did you ever get tha
t biopsy?” Katie asked with genuine concern.
“I did. After we talked, I made the appointment and did it. I won’t lie, it was a bit unnerving to have someone drill into your head, but I survived.” Reece smiled. “I haven’t heard back with the results yet. I guess it takes a few weeks. With the headaches that I’ve been having, I’m just going on the assumption that I’m terminal. It makes what I’m going to have to do that much easier. I’m certainly not afraid that somebody’s going to kill me. I just can’t let them get to me until it’s done.”
Reece discerned a mixture of concern and sorrow in Katie’s face and quickly turned his head away to avoid her gaze and scan the street. That turn probably saved their lives.
Reece’s eye caught movement, looking left, past Katie, to where a yellow taxicab was parked in the street with its driver’s-side door open. His body went into autopilot even before he saw the handgun, his left hand roughly shoving Katie down onto the sidewalk as his right hand went to the Glock inside his waistband. The man had the drop on him and already had his gun raised by the time Reece’s brain registered the threat and began the process of reacting.
Observe. Orient. Decide. Act. The whole world went into slow motion. His handgun was already clearing the holster and rotating toward the target before Katie hit the ground. He saw muzzle flash and the blast of the assailant’s handgun but he felt no pain or any indication of being hit. His body had pivoted left to face the gunman, and he fired three quick rounds as soon as he indexed the handgun at the outside edge of his pectoral muscle. Two of the jacketed hollow-point rounds entered the gunman’s chest and the third struck the outstretched hand that was gripping the pistol, severing a finger. Reece’s left hand slid across his chest and formed a two-handed grip as he pushed the gun forward until his elbows almost locked out, taking up the slack of the trigger as he drove the Glock toward his target. The G19 barked two more times at the instant that the front sight met his eyes. Both rounds found their mark on the gunman’s face and gravity sent him straight to the ground in a bloody heap.
Reece did a 360-degree scan of the area, looking for other threats to engage. Seeing none, he diverted his attention to Katie, who had curled herself into a ball on the sidewalk at his feet. He dropped to one knee beside her and grabbed her upper arm with his left hand, pointing the muzzle of his Glock skyward.
“You okay? You hit anywhere?”
“No, no, I, I don’t think so. Who was that?” Katie asked, visibly shaken and wide-eyed.
“No idea.”
Reece rose and inserted a fresh magazine into his Glock, placing the partially spent one in his back pocket. He continued to scan the area as he covered the ten or so yards to where the man’s lifeless body lay on the street in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. His senses became aware of screaming bystanders running for cover as he kicked his would-be assassin’s handgun away and removed the wallet from the dead shooter’s back pocket, tucking it into his own. Beginning to rush back to Katie, he stopped and turned toward the taxi, approaching it purposefully, yet cautiously, weapon ready for more work. Reece swiftly cleared the vehicle through its windows to ensure there were no other threats and confirmed it was empty. Though there were no dangers of the human variety, what he did see confirmed his worst fears. Lying on the passenger seat was a paper with a series of four photos, one of them Reece’s official Navy photograph, the one commands make SEALs take before deployment to ensure they have an appropriate death photo in case they don’t make it home. He quickly opened the passenger-side door and grabbed it before hurrying back to Katie’s position.
“C’mon, we gotta move. Let me have your keys,” Reece said, pulling her upright as he began, half dragging, half pushing her toward her parked car a block down. He opened her door and gently helped her into the driver’s seat of her silver 4Runner. “Look, that wasn’t a random act of violence. Check this out,” he continued, showing her his Navy file photo from the front seat of the taxi. “They’re onto us, or at least me. You can’t go back to your place. Is there somewhere else safe you can go?” His voice was calm and his speech was methodical.
Katie was all but calm and struggled to process what he was asking. “Um, yeah, my brother is a cop in Angels Camp. It’s a tiny town in the Sierras.”
“That works. Get there. Don’t go home. I’ll be in touch.”
Reece turned to walk away and then stopped. “Wait.” He reached into Katie’s SUV and put his Glock on the floorboard under her seat. “Don’t shoot anybody unless you can’t drive away. Don’t forget that this truck can be a weapon. The Glock is loaded, and there’s no safety. Just point it and pull the trigger until they go down. Take a couple of deep breaths. You’re gonna be okay. Now it’s time to go. Stay alert and be safe.”
Reece shut the door and watched her compose herself through the window. As she hit the starter and looked up toward the rearview mirror, Reece turned and began making his way back toward his own vehicle. With sirens blaring in the distance, he took a route to the interstate that did not take him back past the scene of the gunfight.
CHAPTER 35
REECE MADE IT HOME without incident. The first thing he did was retrieve a replacement Glock from his safe and load it. Two is one, one is none. He favored the Glock 19 over the SIG he used at work due to its reliability, durability, and size. Just change out the factory sights with aftermarket night sights and you were good to go. He put the handgun into the empty holster inside his waistband and topped off the magazine in his pocket with fresh ammo. He then checked the phone he left on his dresser and found the usual texts and emails from friends and family. This was the phone tied to him by name, number, address, and credit card, which was easily tracked and targeted. There was nothing to indicate that anyone knew he’d just killed a man in broad daylight on the streets of Los Angeles. Setting the phone back down, he opened his laptop and checked a few L.A.-area news sites. One had a short blurb about a shooting in Chinatown, but it was little more than a headline with no relevant facts.
The shooting was clearly justified as self-defense, but leaving the scene was surely a crime of some sort. Reece had made the decision that the risk of waiting for the police to arrive and being publicly involved in a shooting incident would have an adverse effect on his current mission. There was very little to put him at the scene other than a physical description that matched thousands of white males in Southern California. If someone did tie Reece to the shooting, it would probably be too late anyway.
Reece had studied the evidence collected from the taxicab on his drive home. The shooter’s name was Humza Kamir, according to his driver’s license. Who was he and why did he want Reece dead? And how did he get pictures of Reece, one his official Navy photo, and of Reece’s home and vehicle? It looked like there had been another page or pages attached but only a portion was left clinging to the staple that had held them to the page of photographs. He would have to ask Katie to look into Kamir and any possible links to Reece or Naval Special Warfare. The attempt on his and Katie’s lives had to be connected to the killings of his family, his troop, Boozer, and the tumors, but how did they find him in Chinatown?
You can plan forever but at some point you have to execute. It was time for Reece to do what he did best. It was time to start killing. He had only four targets on his list at this point but as he started taking them down, he would generate further actionable intelligence and more names would emerge. It reminded him of the hot-and-heavy days at the height of Iraq’s insurgency. They would hit a house, roll up some bad guys, and exploit the intel gained from the site. Within the hour, they’d be hitting another house down the road based on the information they’d gleaned. It would go on and on like that, house after house, night after night as they dismantled the enemy’s network.
Based on the intel from Holder’s hard drive, he had developed a basic sequence of how he’d implement the plan. This group had the resources to scatter if they knew he was onto them, so timing was crucial, as was the importance of maki
ng each hit look as little as possible like the targeted assassination it actually was.
It was also time to move. The L.A. shooting had cemented beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone or something had targeted him, just as they had his family and his SEAL troop. Reece used SpiderOak to leave Ben a message asking for access to a safe house. Ben responded immediately saying he would be right over, but against his better judgment, Reece wanted to spend one more night in his home, with the memories of his wife and daughter. Ben sent the address and urged Reece to get over there as soon as he could.
Reece spent the rest of the night looking over emails, maps, and images on Google Earth, cross-referencing dates, times, and places. By 3:00 a.m. he had built target packages on his four targets: “high-value individuals,” Reece would have called them at work. He checked the news sites again for any updates on the Chinatown shooting and, satisfied that they knew very little, rigged explosive charges to the front and back doors before passing out on his couch for some much-needed sleep in his body armor, his M4 close at hand.
CHAPTER 36
San Diego, California
THE PLACE WAS CALLED the “Landing Strip,” a classic trashy double-entendre related to its location near the airport. This was no “gentleman’s club” with dress codes and top-shelf liquor. This was a down-and-dirty strip club straight out of the 1980s, and Reece was fairly confident that he’d hear Mötley Crüe playing when he opened the door. He had been in his share of adult establishments as a Navy man, especially in his enlisted days, but he never really got the point of throwing money at women who were among the least likely on earth to go home with you. He always thought it much like a restaurant where you paid to look at the menu and smell the food but couldn’t actually eat dinner. He paid the five-dollar cover charge to a heavily tattooed bouncer with a shaved head, the kind of guy who likely relied on size and intimidating looks rather than actual fighting skill to keep the clientele in line.