The Terminal List

by Carr, Jack

  Ben looked at Katie, her eyes wide with a mixture of revulsion and horror. “Oh, and Katie is just here to ensure you make the right decision. I’m sorry about your family, Reece, I really am. Nothing can bring them back now. Let’s all do the smart thing. The pardon is a gift. Katie’s life is a gift. Don’t fuck this up, bro.”

  Reece looked at Katie, then back to Ben, his eyes the picture of resolve.

  Horn broke the silence with a loud, slow clap, pulling himself out of his chair to take a more domineering position above the other conspirators.

  “Ben, that was a lovely breakdown of the plan. Thank you, but I’ve had a change of heart. I am modifying the terms of the deal. Our negotiating power has shifted. Let’s clean this mess up right now, shall we?”

  “What do you mean, Horn?” asked Ben skeptically.

  “Tonight, Commander,” Horn said, turning his attention to Reece as if presenting an investment opportunity to a client, “you get to actually save a life instead of taking one. You get to save Katie. You get to save her by dying.”

  Reece hadn’t dropped the M4, but he did shift it toward Horn, the SECDEF tensing up as the barrel passed across her face.

  “Come on, Reece,” Horn said in an almost bored, exasperated tone. “You are not leaving here alive. You are half-dead now from that tumor, if I understand correctly. If you kill any of us, Ben lets go of that button, and you kill the one friend you have left, who seems to be quite fond of you, by the way. Shoot yourself or let us shoot you, it matters not either way. Point being, you keep Katie alive, and we all move on with our liv—”

  Horn never finished his sentence. The explosion from the charge in the driveway split the SUV in half, turning the Capstone Security men into human mulch. The blast shattered the multitude of windows on the mansion’s front and sent a shockwave through every room.

  Reece’s first bullet caught Horn between his nose and mouth, forever leaving him with a look of surprise on what was left of his face. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  “Nooo!” screamed the SECDEF, crawling up onto her chair, covering her ears with her hands. Reece’s next two rounds found their way into her upper chest. A third to her head completed the job.

  Reece settled back on Ben.

  “What the fuck, Reece?” exclaimed Ben in amazement, holding up the detonator. “What the . . . . ?”

  Reece’s M4 finished the night’s deadly business, firing two 77-grain Black Hills 5.56 rounds at 2,340 feet per second directly into Ben Edwards’s face at ten feet. His head snapped back, empting its contents onto the chair behind him, and his hand came off the button.

  • • •

  Katie screamed through the bandana that stifled her cries, but surprisingly her head stayed intact. Reece stepped forward and fired two more rounds into Ben’s face, then slung his weapon and knelt down to help Katie.

  He cut the bandana off her head before slicing the zip tie that held her hands behind her back. Falling forward into him, Katie sobbed uncontrollably.

  “It’s all right, Katie, it’s all right,” Reece repeated, stroking her hair and holding her tight to him.

  “We have to go, Katie. We don’t have much time, we have to go. Can you walk?” he asked, helping her to her feet and replacing his magazine with a fresh one from his chest rig.

  “Yes, I can walk.”

  “Okay, follow me.”

  Reece led Katie outside, finding the shed he had identified on satellite imagery. Next to the shed was an old seventeen-foot Boston Whaler Montauk on a trailer. Gas cans were set between the boat and the shed. Reece picked up the first one. Empty. Then he picked up the second one and shook it. Plenty of gas. He handed it to Katie and picked up another. Full.

  “Follow me,” Reece ordered again, already moving back to the house.

  “Pour that gas around the room, furniture, drapes, anything that will burn.” Katie did as requested. It felt good to take action against these monsters who had grabbed her in the dead of night from her brother’s home.

  Reece doused the bodies with gas and then told Katie to run to the door. Looking down at the symbol on his father’s old Zippo, Reece slid his thumb over the striker, grinding sparks off the flint and igniting the fuel to produce a flame. Tossing it onto Ben Edwards’s body, Reece followed close behind.

  • • •

  It was still raining when they hit the street, the summer home beginning to flame up behind them and the SUV smoldering in the driveway.

  “Airfield is four miles west. Can you run that far?”

  “Yes, but why don’t we take this?” Katie asked, pointing to an exquisitely restored 1973 two-tone forest green and alpine white Toyota FJ55 Land Cruiser parked next to the shed. Residents of Fishers Island loved their classic cars.

  Reece couldn’t suppress his grin, then looked back at the flaming house.

  “I think I just melted the keys.”

  Katie smiled, opened the driver’s-side door, and pulled a set from the ignition.

  “It’s a Fishers Island thing,” she said.

  “Well, that’s working smarter. Let’s go.”

  Reece took the wheel, and Katie squeezed in beside him. They were on the road before the volunteer fire department had their boots on.

  CHAPTER 75

  REECE LOOKED AT THE luminous dials on his watch. Liz would be landing in six minutes. This was cutting it close. Her instructions were to wait for thirty minutes and then take off. If he didn’t show up, she was to assume he was dead.

  By the time they made the four-mile drive, Liz had already taxied to the north end of the runway, spun the plane around, and began readying for take off. Reece ditched the truck and moved Katie to the waiting aircraft. The door folded downward.

  “Who is this?” Liz shouted from the cabin door, past the hot exhaust of the outtake.

  “Liz, this is Katie. Katie, Liz.”

  “Well, get in and let’s get out of here,” Liz shot back.

  “I’m not coming, Liz. I’m taking the secondary extraction. This is going to be a mess. I am not bringing you two down with me.”

  “Get in the fucking plane, James,” Liz ordered impatiently.

  Reece ignored her and turned to Katie.

  “Take this,” he said, pressing a minicassette recorder and thumb drive into her hand. “These are the only copies. Everything those bastards said in there is on the cassette, along with some other admissions from Saul Agnon. The thumb drive has all the emails and intel that Ben gave me to help back things up. That should keep you busy for a while. Somebody has to set the record straight for my men and my family. You might even get another journalism award out of it.” He smiled.

  “Where are you going, James?” Katie asked with tears beginning to stream from her eyes.

  “I’m going to die, Katie. They killed me before I even left on that last deployment to Afghanistan. They killed all my guys before we even left. It’s my turn now.”

  He ushered her up the steps. She was too shocked to say anything. Liz just glared at him with eyes that shot fire.

  “Get in the plane, James?” she tried again.

  “I love you, Liz, now get out of here.”

  As Reece stepped back to close the door, Katie turned sharply in her seat, snapping out of her trance.

  “Reece, how did you know Ben didn’t have that detonator connected? How did you know he wouldn’t blow my head off?”

  Reece paused, looked Katie in the eye, and over the sound of the wind, the propeller, and the rain, replied, “I didn’t,” before shutting the door and moving off at a run toward the marina.

  EPILOGUE

  Atlantic Ocean

  Present Day

  REECE AWOKE BELOW DECK, the sound of the Beneteau Oceanis 48 cutting through the water and the flapping of the sails waking him from his thirty-minute catnap. After throwing his feet out of his bunk he made his way topside and into the light. The storm that had kept him busy for the first three days after departing Fishers Island
had subsided, leaving beautiful rolling seas and steady winds.

  Raife’s sister Victoria had sailed the Beneteau from their Martha’s Vineyard home down to Fishers Island the day before Reece’s assault, removing all the electronics per Reece’s request. He had also instructed Raife to report it stolen, but somehow doubted he would. That Victoria could handle the massive forty-eight-foot sailboat on her own spoke volumes about her competence and seamanship; Reece was struggling to just keep the boat headed in the right direction. He had sailed as a kid, though nothing this large and complex. Luckily, the Navy had seen fit to send him to a civilian sailing school years ago. The idea was that he would have the ability to rent sailboats around the world and use them to conduct surveillance or to blend in with local maritime traffic and insert SEALs into denied areas. He didn’t know how much longer he had to live. He doubted if he would make it to Europe or Africa before the tumor killed him. He was at peace and he was ready to leave the world behind. He thought about Lucy and cried for her, for the life she would never have, and he thought about Lauren and the second child they would never bring into the world. He was ready to join them.

  One beautiful sunset turned into another stunning sunrise, and Reece continued to sail. Victoria had seen to it that the boat was filled with provisions for a long voyage: water, food, and medical supplies. What would he do if he were still alive when he reached the Old World or the Dark Continent? Turn south and continue sailing until the tumor took him? Maybe he would go for a swim and never surface? Maybe that would deliver him to Lauren and Lucy? He knew he wasn’t long for this world, so he might as well continue sailing until the sea or the tumor decided it was his time. Either way, his work on earth was done.

  Sitting on deck at the starboard helm steering station, the storm a distant memory, and with the blaze orange sun setting behind him to the west, Reece reached into his pocket and removed a Ziploc bag. Pausing, he slowly opened it and unfolded the paper within, drawing lines through the last of the names on his list.

  JOSH HOLDER

  MARCUS BOYKIN

  SAUL AGNON

  STEVE HORN

  CJNG, MEXICO

  ADMIRAL GERALD PILSNER

  MIKE TEDESCO

  J. D. HARTLEY

  LORRAINE HARTLEY

  LEONARD HOWARD

  HAMMADI IZMAIL MASOOD

  BEN EDWARDS

  He looked at the list without a hint of remorse. It was done.

  Then, hesitating briefly, he turned it over and smiled, running his fingers over the crayon drawings of his beautiful wife and daughter under an arching rainbow, the perfect splendor of which only the young and innocent can capture. His eyes glistened over, and a tear fell onto his most treasured possession.

  “I’m coming, baby girl,” Reece whispered, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll be with you soon. I love you.”

  With that, he moved to the stern and, watching the sun drop below the horizon, he touched the paper to his heart and let it fall from his grasp, committing it forever to the peace and tranquility of the sea.

  • • •

  FBI Headquarters

  Washington, D.C.

  In the days following the revelation that Secretary of Defense Hartley and financier Steve Horn had been found shot to death and incinerated along with an unidentified body in a Fishers Island mansion, on the heels of Congressman J. D. Hartley’s targeted assassination in SoHo, the conspiracy theorists went into overdrive, cluttering the Internet and airways with one explanation after another.

  Congress appointed a special prosecutor to investigate and make sense of the mess because so many government officials were involved, all of them dead thanks to one Lieutenant Commander James Reece, current whereabouts unknown.

  Things really got interesting when investigative journalist Katie Buranek published the first in a series of scathing stories exposing a conspiracy involving illegal testing of drugs on the nation’s most elite special operators, the sharing of top-secret NSA-gathered intelligence information with certain individuals in the financial industry to assist in the assassination of innocent civilians, and a program of intentional radicalization of jihadi assets by elements of the U.S. government for domestic terrorist operations, leading all the way to the SECDEF herself. Ms. Buranek was uncooperative in assisting investigators to unravel the story, instead telling them to wait for her next exposé.

  Among the piles of evidence collected by the special prosecutor was a cell phone belonging to James Reece of Coronado, California. Having not been used in the preceding weeks that Reece was on the move, it sat untouched on the dresser of his California home until it was subsequently collected by investigators.

  Later, after it had been tagged, exploited, and stored into evidence, a call had come in and gone to voice mail.

  • • •

  Head and Spine Associates

  La Jolla, California

  “Um, hello, Mr. Reece, this is Dr. German. We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. We usually don’t leave messages like this, but I wanted you to hear this as soon as possible. Your biopsy came back and, under the circumstances, it is the best news that we could expect. Your tumor is what’s called a cerebral convexity meningioma, which is a very common and slow-growing lesion. Based on the type and location of the mass, I am very confident that I can remove it surgically. We are talking a seventy-five percent or better survival rate. It could be causing you headaches, which is nothing to be alarmed about. Please call us back and my assistant will schedule you an appointment for a follow-up. We can speak in more detail at my office. Again, sorry to have to leave this on your voice mail, but I didn’t want you to worry needlessly. Have a great day, and enjoy your new lease on life, Commander.”

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  AC-130 SPECTRE: A ground support aircraft used by the U.S. military, based on the C-130 cargo plane. AC-130s are armed with a 105mm howitzer, 40mm cannons, and 7.62mm miniguns, and are considered the premier close air support weapon of the U.S. arsenal.

  Accuracy International: A British company producing high-quality precision rifles, often used for military sniper applications.

  ACOG: Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight. A magnified optical sight designed for use on rifles and carbines made by Trijicon. The ACOG is popular among U.S. forces as it provides both magnification and an illuminated reticle that provides aiming points for various target ranges.

  AQ: Al-Qaeda. Meaning “the Base” in Arabic. A radical Islamic terrorist organization once led by Osama bin Laden.

  AQI: Al-Qaeda in Iraq. An Al-Qaeda-affiliated Sunni insurgent group that was active against U.S. forces. Elements of AQI eventually evolved into ISIS.

  AT-4: Tube-launched 84mm anti-armor rocket produced in Sweden and used by U.S. forces since the 1980s. The AT-4 is a throwaway weapon: after it is fired, the tube is discarded.

  ATF/BATFE: Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. A federal law enforcement agency, formally part of the Department of the Treasury, which doesn’t seem overly concerned with alcohol or tobacco.

  ATPIAL: Advanced Target Pointer/Illuminator Aiming Laser. A weapon-mounted device that emits both visible and infrared target designators for use with or without night observation devices. Essentially, an advanced military-grade version of the “laser sights” seen in popular culture.

  BDA: Bomb/Battle damage assessment. The practice of assessing damage inflicted on a target from a stand-off weapon, most typically a bomb or air-launched missile.

  Benghazi: A city in the North African nation of Libya and the site of the 2012 attack on the U.S. consulate. The U.S. ambassador to Libya, a Foreign Service Information Management Officer, and two CIA Global Response Staff members (both former SEALs) were killed in the attack.

  Beretta 92D: A double-action-only 9mm handgun that is a variant of the 92F used by much of the U.S. military. The 92D does not use a manual safety and its bobbed hammer cannot be manually cocked.

  Beretta 92F: Double-action 9mm handgun that has been t
he standard-issue sidearm for the bulk of the U.S. military since 1985, as well as a favorite of action movie propmasters. In 2017, the U.S. Army selected the M17, manufactured by SIG Sauer, to replace the Beretta.

  Blind Sheikh: Nickname for Omar Abdel-Rahman, who is currently serving a life prison sentence for his role in the 1993 World Trade Center bombing.

  BUD/S: Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. The six-month selection and training course required for entry into the SEAL teams, held in Coronado, California. Widely accepted as among the most brutal military selection courses in the world, with an average 80 percent attrition rate.

  C-4: Composition 4. A plastic explosive compound known for its stability and malleability.

  C-5: Lockheed Martin “Galaxy” aircraft used as a military transport. The C-5 is one of the largest functional aircraft ever produced.

  CH-47: Boeing “Chinook” twin-engine heavy-lift helicopter used by the U.S. Army. Often used in Afghanistan’s mountains due to its high service ceiling, the Chinook is a large aircraft that resembles a flying school bus.

  CIA: Central Intelligence Agency.

  CJSOTF: Combined Joint Special Operations Task Force. A regional command that controls special operations forces from various services and friendly nations.

  CRRC: Combat Rubber Raiding Craft. Inflatable “Zodiac-style” boats used by SEALs and other maritime troops.

  CZ-75: 9mm handgun designed in 1975 and produced in the Czech Republic.

  Dam Neck: An annex to NAS Oceana near Virginia Beach, Virginia, where nothing interesting, whatsoever, happens.

  DCIS: Defense Criminal Investigation Service.

  DEA: Drug Enforcement Administration.

  Delta Force: A classic 1986 film starring Chuck Norris, title of the 1983 autobiography by the unit’s first commanding officer and popular name for the Army’s Special XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  DOD: Department of Defense.

  DOJ: Department of Justice.

  Echols Legend: A best-quality hunting rifle designed and hand built by gunmaker D’Arcy Echols of Millville, Utah. Considered by many to be the highest-quality sporting rifle ever made.