Sarah could already feel that they were coming to understand Xander like she did. She had been skeptical at first too. She had thought there was no way this could be right, a man exacting vigilante justice; then she spent time getting to know him from afar. “I know. It’s terrible. Mitch Boyle was a monster.”
Director Manning cut in again. “Look, I think we get the point. The other six monsters on this page all deserve what Xander gave them, but that isn’t what we need to focus on. Get to that please, Sarah.”
Director Manning paused, then held up his hand. “You know what, actually . . . let me just take it from here.” He stood up and shuffled Sarah to the side.
“But Director Manning—”
“Thank you, Sarah,” he said, dismissing her. Sarah took a seat by the podium. She wanted to give them a better sense of things. She wasn’t sure they understood Xander yet. She didn’t want them to stop the good things he was doing to right the wrongs the judicial system couldn’t manage to take care of. There was nothing more she could do now, though; it was Manning's show. She had assumed he was thinking the same way she was, but he had called this meeting for a reason.
Manning took the podium. “Now, the way I see it, we have three options here. One, we could shut Xander down and bring him up on charges . . .”
Sarah’s stomach dropped.
“Two, we could let Mr. King continue to go about this, what I think we all would agree is noble work and just continue to monitor him—”
“What, and just let him play like he’s Batman?” Richards interjected.
“Deputy Richards, I understand that concern, and that’s why I think my third option is the only way to go. We will just have to be careful how we go about it.”
“Which is?” Richards said.
“Which is, we get him to go to work for us.”
Sarah tried to hold her tongue, but she couldn’t. “Xander will never work for the government, Director Manning. You’re wasting your time on that notion.”
“Now hold on, Sarah. I just told you we would have to be careful how we went about it.”
“I don’t understand, why wouldn’t we just make him work for us?” Mary asked. “We do have evidence that he has killed these people.”
Again Sarah couldn’t help herself. “He just simply won’t do it—”
Director Manning gave Sarah an “I’m warning you” glare and continued to explain. “What Ms. Gilbright is so passionately stating is that Xander doesn’t agree with how the United States government goes about some of its business. He made this very clear when he abruptly left our Special Ops team. He loves his country, but not its governing body.”
“Xander was Special Ops?” Mary said.
“Xander King was everything you could be in our military. After his parents died, his sole mission was revenge and he wanted to be trained by the best. He joined the navy, quickly becoming a Navy SEAL; then in record time he was running Special Ops missions. I’m not sure what you have or have not heard, but he just might be the best damn soldier this military has ever known.”
“So what happened?” Mary asked.
“Well, like a lot of our soldiers, he didn’t agree with the missions he was sent on and frankly, as you all know, some of the innocent casualties that go along with keeping this country safe. So he’d had enough. To be honest with you, I’m not so sure this wasn’t his plan all along.”
“What do you mean?” Richards asked.
“I mean, I think he used our military.”
“Used us?”
“Don’t get me wrong, he laid his life on the line every single day for his country, but yes, I think ultimately he used us. I think the only thing Xander ever wanted was to find the people responsible for the murder of his parents.”
“And he used the military to train him to do so,” Mary Hartsfield said as she let that sink in.
“That’s right. But we need a man like this. A man with his skills. Sometimes a surgical strike works far better than bringing in the entire army. Saves a lot of lives too. As you know, things are getting downright scary on the terrorist front and we could use a silent weapon like King.”
Mary stood up. “So what then? What are we supposed to do?”
“The only thing we can do. Use our resources to find what he wants before he finds it. Then we give it to him . . . at a price.”
“We find out who killed his parents and force him to do jobs for us for the information.” Richards recognized the direction Manning was suggesting.
“It’s the only way it will work.” Manning hiked up his pants. “He will go to prison before he stops hunting their killer, and we can’t have that happen. We can’t lose him. He wouldn’t go to prison anyway; he has too many resources. If he really wanted to, he could just disappear. That is why we have to take our time and get this right, and that is why Sarah is going to head up a team that will monitor Xander and Sam while finding the information that King desires.”
Sarah couldn’t contain the joy she found in that news, and a smile grew across her face.
“When we find that information—who killed Xander’s family—we will approach him. But . . .”
Manning paused and looked over to Sarah.
“We have to be careful. If something goes wrong, if Xander were to kill the wrong person and it gets out that we knew what he was doing and we let it happen, we kiss all of our jobs good-bye.”
Richards stood and gathered his things. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, why take the risk? You ask me, we should shut him down and find a soldier who wants to work for us. There has to be a hundred guys in our great military who can do the jobs we need done, the jobs he can do—”
“I assure you there is not.”
Director Manning's expression was dead serious.
“There isn’t one. Not in our military, or any other military. That’s the only reason I would even call this meeting. If it was someone besides King doing this, we would just shut it down. But this soldier is special. We just have to make him an offer he can’t refuse, and we need to do it fast. As far as I’m concerned, this is of the highest priority. The United States needs Xander King.”
2
The King Is in the Building
The black Cadillac Escalade glided down the 5 freeway, heading south. The tangerine evening sky hovered over downtown as it admired its own reflection in the glistening waters of San Diego Bay. A 737 commercial airliner pulled its wheels up into itself and floated out over the Pacific Ocean, carrying passengers headed to all sorts of different final destinations. Some flying back home from vacation, others just starting theirs, and others unfortunately leaving for work or maybe, even worse, a loved one’s funeral. Xander King took in the scenery from the passenger seat. His eyes wandered over the airport, trying to pick out the hangar where his own private aircraft awaited his arrival. He wished he were on his way there now, but he wasn’t. He had business to tend to.
Xander’s phone vibrated in his lap.
“Hey, Sam,” he answered.
“Xander.” She spoke in a strong, proper British accent. “The two of you are behind schedule. You should only be ten minutes from Juarez’s compound at the moment.”
“Sam?” Through the phone Sam could hear Xander’s wry smile grow as he started speaking. “Are you watching us on GPS again?”
“Of course I’m following you on GPS. Someone has to keep you on schedule. It isn’t like you are late to a film. I know this is all second nature to you, Xander, but your life depends on the preciseness of my plan. Every second you are behind is a second that I hadn’t planned for, and—”
“Then it’s a good thing I know how to improvise, Sam. You act like it’s my first time. Relax, darlin’. How many times have we done this?” Xander attempted to reassure her. He threw in the word darlin’ for good measure, because he knew how much she hated it.
“I hate it when you call me darlin’.” Sam over-countrified the word darlin’. “I know exactly how many time
s we have done this. I know, because every single time, we have to have this little chat beforehand.”
“And every time, everything goes just as you’d planned. Now, if you don’t have anything important to offer about the target, I’m gonna get back—”
“I have confirmed there are at least three young girls being held captive in the cellar,” Sam interrupted. “All of them under the age of fifteen.”
Her words hung over them with the weight of an elephant. Xander’s playful mood instantly switched off, and a sickening rumble permeated his stomach. Live hostages changed the game entirely. His level of precision would have to parallel perfection.
“Jesus, Sam.”
“This changes everything, Xander. All yellow targets are now green. I know you never like eliminating anyone but our main target, but there are innocent lives at stake here. You know that everyone working security for Juarez is fully aware of the horrible things he plans to do to these poor young ladies. They all have a hand in the rape and the brutal—”
“All right, all right. I get it. You don’t have to tell me why we are doing this.”
“I know I don’t. As soon as you give me word the compound is clear and you are well on your way, I will send in the authorities to pick up the hostages. Xander, I—”
“I know, Sam . . . They all have to die.”
“I’m sorry, Xander. It’s the only way.”
* * *
It never ceased to amaze Kyle how poised Xander could be in these situations. He had been driving for him going on four years now, and still he always felt more nervous than his friend seemed in these moments. His mind couldn’t compute how calm Xander could remain, like he had ice water in his veins. He supposed it was because of Xander’s training, but still it amazed him. With downtown now behind them and the last of the auburn sky fading to black, Xander read through the target file. Another file full of all things drug trafficking, prostitution, and murder. Yet again, a profile of another of the world’s nastiest human beings, and by looking at him, you would think Xander was reading a magazine. Not a fidget or a squirm of nervousness, even though he was about to walk right into the lion’s den.
Alone.
Kyle could tell by Xander’s conversation with Sam that things at the target’s compound had become more complicated. However, you’d never know it by looking at Xander.
“You need some more air or anything?” Kyle asked.
“I'm good. Just doing my homework,” Xander replied. “Did Sam brief you before we left?”
“Not really, just the drop-off and pickup points. Sorry. I got back too late from the DMV. They were giving me shit about not having a California driver's license. And . . . I may have been a little hungover.”
“No worries. Last night was fun.” Xander smiled.
“It really was—”
“Let me catch you up before we get there,” Xander interrupted, all business now. Fun and games were over. He shuffled back to the beginning of the profile. He looked down at a photo of a young Mexican man, midtwenties, a gold-toothed snarl on his face, bald head, and a tattoo of a snake winding up and around his neck. Xander thought the snake tattoo seemed rather appropriate. He read aloud to Kyle.
“Okay, the target is Miguel Juarez—son of Jose Juarez—the founder of the Trinity Cartel. About three years ago when his father died, Miguel took over operations and has grown it by more than double. As you know, I don’t give a shit about drug trafficking. If it were just about that, I definitely wouldn’t waste our time.”
Kyle nodded as he navigated the palm-lined roads. They had now crossed over into Chula Vista, California’s southernmost city, just above Tijuana at the Mexican border. He knew Xander wasn’t worried about petty crimes that only involved drugs.
“But about two years ago our boy Miguel here started dipping his toes in the human trafficking waters. Young teenage girls, to be more specific.”
“Wow, who does that?” Kyle said.
“I know. Since then he has bought or kidnapped and sold more than two hundred young girls, to the fate of God knows what. Lately, and the main reason he popped up on Sam’s radar of potential targets, Miguel has figured out that young San Diego white girls fetch a lot more money on the black market than his usual lineup of teenage Mexicans.”
“Does he have anything to do with the reports I've been seeing lately on the news about young girls going missing?” Kyle asked.
“He has everything to do with them.” Xander casually took a sip from his Red Bull. “Listen, I’ve heard awful stories of what’s happened to some of these girls, and it is sickening. Rape, slavery, torture. I heard one girl he sold ended up being a sex slave to an entire cartel in southern Mexico. Fifteen men raped and beat her whenever they wanted, for months, before she finally found a way to kill herself. And it’s all courtesy of Miguel here, our dead man walking.” Xander briefly flashed Kyle the photo of Miguel.
“Sam did mention I was dropping you off just outside this guy’s compound. Any special instructions?”
“No, you can drop me off just around the corner. It’s pretty isolated, and as always, I’ll see you at the pickup point when it’s over.”
“No problem. I’ll be there," Kyle assured him. “Only about ten minutes away now.”
Xander nodded and got back to reading over the blueprints of Miguel Juarez’s compound. The glow of the GPS in the middle of the Escalade's dash was all the brighter now that the sun had set and darkness had filled in around them. Kyle always left the last few minutes of these rides for silence. Xander never said he needed it, but he knew his friend about as well as he knew himself. Besides, Kyle always felt that if it were he who was about to walk into a notorious gangster's personal compound in order to kill him, he would at least like to take a few minutes to gather himself. Not that Xander ever needed it, but it was the least Kyle could do.
The semirobotic female voice of the GPS broke the silence. “Turn left onto Palm Bluff Lane, and in two-tenths of a mile your destination is ahead on the right.”
“This is close enough,” Xander said as he pointed to the side of the road. His voice was calm, as if he were getting dropped at the bus station. It was pitch-black now, and the only light on the isolated road beamed from the front of their Cadillac. Kyle brought the SUV to a stop and popped open the liftgate. Xander opened the passenger door, and the overhead light of the vehicle shined down on his chiseled face as he turned back to Kyle.
“I'll meet you back here in exactly twelve minutes. Any longer and I’ll meet you at plan B in half an hour. We really don’t have time for plan B, though. We have a launch party to get to," Xander said with a smile and a wink. His deep and tranquil blue eyes showed no signs of fear or nerves.
Kyle smiled back and reached out his hand for their customary fist bump. Xander gave Kyle’s fist a knock. For more than ten years this is how they left each other. It hadn’t changed since the first touchdown he threw to Kyle senior year against their cross-town rivals, the Ashland Tomcats. Kyle knew he would see Xander in exactly twelve minutes. Four years in and there had never been a need for plan B. Xander had never missed his mark.
Xander’s smile turned to game face as he shut the passenger door. The cool Southern California breeze said hello as it carried the faint salty scent of the ocean. He made his way to the back of the Escalade and inside were a few tools of the trade. He took his sniper rifle from its case and threw the strap over his shoulder. Sam had also left him two silencer-fitted Glock 19 pistols for his shoulder holster, and he slid both of them in their slots beneath his perfectly tailored black blazer and shut the liftgate. He’d had the blazer custom made to allow for plenty of movement while maintaining a snug athletic fit. He chose Glock 19s as his preferred piece because he liked the way it felt in his hand. And at that point, he had sent thousands of rounds down the gun range with it, so it felt like a reliable old friend. He gave two pats on the back of the Escalade, and Kyle pulled a U-turn, leaving Xander alone to his mission.
Xander walked down a small grass-covered embankment toward the tree line to avoid being noticed by any potential passersby. As he made his way toward Miguel’s driveway, another cool breeze swept through his hair and seemed to awaken the rows of pine and palm trees that stood watch over him. With only a sliver of moon visible, there wasn’t much to light his path. Branches and pinecones snapped and popped beneath his feet as he moved methodically toward the now visible light of the gate and guardhouse at the foot of the compound. About a hundred meters, he figured.
Cloaked in the shadows of the freshly fallen night, he took a knee and pulled the rifle from his shoulder. The ground was soft under his weight. He checked his Apple watch—8:00 p.m. An iron gate—the only way into Miguel Juarez’s completely walled-in, drug and slave money–funded mansion—opened and a black SUV drove through. Xander crouched lower and watched with a keen eye. It stopped for a moment, then proceeded out onto the main road, just as Sam had said it would. According to her calculations, there was a 50 percent chance that Juarez was in that SUV and a 30 percent chance he wouldn’t return for at least forty-three minutes. Sam was never wrong. However, in this case the intel wasn’t absolute, and as she had stated in her briefing, this left Xander with a probable success rate of only 14 percent. She always teetered on the side of caution.
Xander did not.
The exhaust rumbled as the driver stepped on the gas, and the red glow of the SUV's taillights disappeared in the distance. Xander loaded two specially made tranquilizer bullets into his silencer-modified, bolt-action M24 sniper rifle. It had a range of over eight hundred meters, but only about a hundred of those would be necessary to take out the guard stationed at the gate. Xander had read that the gate guard was employed by an outside security firm, so there would be no reason for him to die. He readied the sniper rifle. Every time he used this rifle, it reminded him of his time as a Navy SEAL. Moreover, it reminded him of his course manager, Sergeant Marx, who used to never let a moment go by without giving Xander a hard time about being the son of a billionaire oil tycoon.
Xander King BoxSet Page 2