Lethal Redemption

by Richter Watkins

  He had no interest in killing her. He needed her as a hostage and that meant getting behind her.

  He knew she had the advantage of a lane of high rock and brush and that she was trying to cut off his escape into the jungle.

  He had only one way out of this. Only one way to yet get victory.

  Her!

  If he could nab her, he could win this yet. Or, at the very least, use her as a hostage and get out. Her death guaranteed his.

  He moved as quiet now and careful as any hunting animal. When he reached tall boulders he rose to his feet and inched toward where he thought she was.

  He couldn’t go too slowly because he feared at any moment, with the battles ebbing across the field, she’d have help coming.

  Then when he finally moved out where he had a line of sight toward where he thought she might be, she was there, hunkered down and shifting very slowly to her left.

  I got you, Cole said to himself. He was close enough if he wanted, he could kill her. But he just kept moving. He wanted to be close enough she couldn’t run, couldn’t dive for cover.

  She’d removed the gold jacket or whatever she’d been wearing and was in black now. But it didn’t matter. He had her.

  55

  Kiera stopped, now unsure and sensing she’d gone too fast. She turned to her right, her vision partially blocked by boulders and shrubs in the field between her and the burning wreckage.

  Something bothered her even as she believed Cole should have made his break to the trees by now. He’s down, she thought. He’s been hit.

  But then a new feeling came over her. A new scenario she didn’t like at all: Maybe he wasn’t hit, and wasn’t making a break for the trees. Maybe he was closer that she’d expected and was working his way back to come after her!

  Now, for the first time since leaving the caves, she felt vulnerable, thrust back to reality, and it wasn’t comfortable. She was exposed. All the fighting was going on across the field in the jungle and she was alone and no longer confident she’d make the right move.

  I made a tactical mistake. And that mistake became evident a moment later.

  From behind and off in the opposite direction, came his voice.

  “Kiera Hunter. Relax. I’m not going to kill you. You can’t help either of us dead. Just don’t make any kind of stupid move.”

  She froze. Furious with herself. He’d outsmarted her in the simplest and—now clear to her—most obvious way. Running off into the jungle wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed her.

  He needed a hostage and she was the perfect hostage.

  He was closing in behind her.

  Knowing he didn’t want to kill her was her only asset at the moment.

  “You’ve given me a real run for my money,” Cole said. “That whole thing with being the reincarnation of Trung Trac worked brilliantly. Genius. These mystical fools bought it hook, line and sinker. But now, in the end, you and I will come to terms. Just as she ultimately lost, so will you. Drop your weapon. Be smart, Kiera. You gave it your best shot and you almost won. But there’s nothing you can do. No heroics. No one here to help you. Now put that gun down nice and slow.”

  Kiera turned toward him. He came toward her out of the rocks. He looked in his late sixties and she realized she recognized him from the funeral. He was the one who’d introduced himself as a former colleague of her grandfather’s. He’d had all kinds of glowing things to say and then asked about memories, diaries. He was thinking of doing a book. But she’d known he was the one that her grandfather always knew didn’t believe the amnesia story.

  “The gun, please,” he said. Motioning down, indicating he wanted her to drop it. He looked very pleased with himself.

  “Don’t even think something stupid,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “We need each other. We’re going to work something out. Porter Vale is the cause of this mess. Had you worked with me right from when I came to you at Arlington we would have done really well. And, yes, I was serious about doing the book. Your grandfather was one of the greatest operatives I’ve ever seen. You should have trusted me.”

  She didn’t do anything, just looked at him. He was about twenty feet away, his weapon leveled at her midsection.

  “I will kill you if I have to,” he said. “That’s the last thing I want to do. Obviously. So don’t be stupid. You’re a beautiful, talented woman. The next Lara Logan or Christiane Amapour. I have great respect for war reporters, especially females. It is as close to combat as I believe women should be. And in the Middle East it’s ten times more dangerous.”

  Kiera said, “How do you plan on carrying this off?” Keep him engaged. Make him think he’s getting somewhere.

  “The gun?”

  “Just explain how this is going to work. I’ll give you the gun.”

  “We’re gonna get that big elephant of yours. You’re going to tell Porter Vale and his Hmong to get out of here. I assume you found everything intact. Am I correct?”

  “Yes. It was all there. The statue, the box of documents, the money. All of it.”

  “That’s great. We’re going to really do something, you and me. I like reason. I was so frustrated with Vale’s buddy, the vet McKean. You can’t reason with people like that. Now he’s dead. I really hated to see that. All he had to do was be reasonable. I give you credit. You really have people protecting you. Even that pathetic scooter driver was willing, it seemed, to die for you. You’re truly amazing.”

  She stared at him.

  Cole said, “We’re going to resolve this so we’re both winners. I have a really nice proposition for you. But first you and I are going to take charge of this little expedition. The gun, please.”

  No, that’s not how it’s going to work. Her Glock in her right hand rested against her thigh.

  I’m going to kill this bastard, she told herself. I’m going to shoot him in a few seconds.

  She studied him intently. He had his finger on the rifle’s trigger, and the barrel moved up now to her chest. But in the periphery of her vision there was something else. Something way across the field. A double circle of flash. Binoculars. Porter?

  Kiera said, “You really think you can get the Hmong and the Buddhists to back off?

  “I can’t. You can.”

  “I’m not sure that’s going to happen.”

  “Don’t play games, sweetheart.”

  “You shoot me, you get nothing. Except death, and death is on its way.” She glanced over his shoulder. “So maybe you better think of another way to resolve this.”

  She said it with calm and very matter-of-fact and he seemed to sense she wasn’t kidding.

  Porter and half a dozen Hmong were moving in their direction.

  Cole couldn’t resist a quick glance. It wasn’t much, but enough. She raised the Glock and shot him.

  It surprised her how fast she did it. She came up with the Glock and pulled the trigger and then pulled the trigger a second time.

  He seemed utterly surprised as if it was the last thing he expected her to do. As if the negotiations were going to go on and she would come around to his view of things.

  At least one bullet hit bone as it forced him to take a step back before he sat down, his weapon falling next to him.

  Then he bent forward and listed off to the side.

  She knew he was dead before she touched his carotid artery to make sure.

  “We’re not doing things your way,” she said.

  She watched Porter as he jogged toward her.

  “He dead?”

  “Very much so. I take it the bandits or whatever they are didn’t make out any better?”

  “It didn’t work out so good for them.” Porter smiled and shook his head. “What possessed you to do this and how the hell did you convince the Hmong at the caves to go along with it?”

  “A dream.”

  “A dream?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Porter looked back at the chopper ruins. “How�
�d that happen?”

  “They left without Cole so he shot it down.”

  They both turned as Bo and the mahout came toward them. Then the other elephants and Hmong soldiers emerged from various points in the jungle. All of them checking out the smoldering ruins of the chopper.

  “That must have been one hell of a dream,” Porter said. “The Trac sisters would have been proud.”

  Kiera smiled. “I think they would have.”

  56

  The sweet pungency of a cinnamon smell from Joss sticks burning along the walls inside the main cave filled the air.

  The dead bodies of the Hmong, along with one dead Buddhist monk, all lay on makeshift funeral beds, awaiting a ceremony.

  Strings were placed across the bodies, including the backpack holding the remains of the man Kiera would turn over to the military recovery authorities in Bangkok.

  Kiera sat with Phommasanh and Porter Vale in the place of honor facing the carefully wrapped bodies.

  Chants to heal the bad karma reverberated against the rock walls, a power of incredible emotion.

  After the Hmong’s spiritual leader said his chanting prayers, Narith said the Diamond Sutra in English:

  “Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world: A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream; A flash of lightning in a summer flood; A flickering lamp, a phantom, and a dream.”

  After a silence, after it was over, Kiera felt the whole weight of what had happened—not just since her arrival, but from all that had happened in her grandfather’s war.

  Two hours after the ceremony the statue of Trung Trac, secured on the back of an elephant and accompanied by Narith and the armed Viet monks and four Hmong, left for Nui Ba Den, the mountain of the Black Virgin. The secret icon would return to its secret home.

  The remaining Hmong, led by Phommasanh and Tang, cleared the caves and melted into the jungle on their way to a new home in the mountain jungles farther north. A resilient, nomadic people.

  Kiera said goodbye to Bo and then she and Porter, with two Hmong escorts, headed for the Sweet Serpent and Thailand. Her plan was to hand over the remains to U.S. authorities in Bangkok, and then go with Porter to Burma.

  After that? Who knew… The only thing she knew was that she didn’t intend to let the elusive Porter Vale out of her sight, at least for a while. Hell, maybe they could pay his father a little visit in Tahiti for some R&R, work at their unfinished business while she sorted out how she felt and what was next.

  As though he guessed her thoughts, Porter turned to her and landed a quick kiss on her mouth, then pulled away, leaving her with a smile…maybe a glimpse of what was to come.

  It didn’t matter now. Nothing much mattered. As long as they were together, for however long that might be, she had a feeling they were an insurmountable force.

  And that felt good.

  Coming Soon!

  Look for Cool Heat in February, 2013

  While trying to solve a murder, former Tahoe investigator Sydney Jessup becomes the target of a professional killer hot on her trail, a killer hired by the most powerful man in the Sierra Nevada. Her success or failure will depend on her ability to elicit help from ex-con, Marco Cruz, but helping her threatens his lucrative future with the very man who wants her dead.

  About the Author

  Richter Watkins writes thrillers that invariably include the great outdoors. He grew up in the mountains of Pennsylvania where he began a lifelong love of trekking in the wilderness. A war veteran who earned his MFA in screenwriting from the American Film Institute, Richter presently lives in San Diego with his wife, Mary Leo.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my wife, Mary Leo, for her endless patience and endurance. To Jocelyn Hughes for her insightful reads, and to Janet Wellington for her editing expertise.

  And a special thanks to David Morrell and the folks at ITW for creating a brilliant thriller organization that has resurrected many a stalled career.

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Lethal Redemption

  Copyright © 2012 by Richter Watkins

  Published by Pryde Multimedia, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author and/or publisher.