by Ty Patterson
Rage. Zeb welcomed it, stoked it, grew it into a ball of fire and hurled it deep inside, spreading through his body, reaching his extremities.
He moved toward his assailant, pushing the knife deeper into himself, trapping the assailant’s knife hand between their bodies.
He twisted and grasped the knife hand with his right, squeezed, that ball of fire swirling in his wrist, squeezed and squeezed till the assailant cried hoarsely as his wrist snapped.
Zeb twisted to his left, sought and found the assailant’s throat with his right hand and hurled himself back, dragging the assailant over and on top of him, his hand a vice crushing the assailant’s neck. He ignored the hood’s blows on his body, blanked out the knife going deeper in him during the struggle. Everything dissolved but for his hand around the hood’s throat, squeezing till the hood’s thrashing slowed and then stopped.
Holt lurched to his feet, picked up Zeb’s gun and stood swaying over Zeb, watching him, listening to his harsh breathing.
‘I wonder if you’re worth a bullet now. Looks like you’ll be at the pearly gates soon enough.’
Zeb whispered something.
‘Praying? Shall I administer the last rites?’ He lifted Zeb’s gun.
The shot was muffled and could’ve been mistaken for a car misfiring. Except that the shot was in the room, and there was no mistaking the red, ugly hole in Holt’s body.
Holt looked down stupidly, and Zeb fired again from beneath the dead gunman lying across him, through the gunman’s body, using the gunman’s waist gun that he had grabbed when falling backward.
His exertion had cost him all his life force, though; Broker saw it the moment he entered the hostage room and met Zeb’s eyes. He saw the knowledge in Zeb’s eyes.
He gripped Zeb’s hand, not letting go even when the medics came, working desperately to revive him, ignoring Broker’s screams and curses as he exhorted them to work harder, to do something, do anything to bring his friend back.
Broker was pulled back finally by cops, and Clare took charge, perfectly calm in the tornado of emotions in the room.
She spoke to him softly and asked him to take care of the hostages. She raised her voice when he stared at her blankly, not caring that she saw his tears and anger and bitterness and rage. She slapped him then, bringing him back to the present.
He nodded dumbly and moved to the hostages, the mechanics of activity pushing thought and emotion away.
Clare sat next to Zeb and held his hand.
She saw his cold pallor and looked at the medics and saw it in their eyes.
She stood numbly as they swiftly loaded the body, and followed them to the waiting ambulance below, shielding her face from the media who’d turned out in force.
Alone in the back of the ambulance, the two medics constantly attending to Zeb, she forced herself to think and plan, making up a story to spin to the media and to the FBI. The last vestige of her iron control deserted her then, and she sobbed deeply, uncaring of the medics’ presence.
Zeb was her protégé.
She didn’t notice the medics straighten, didn’t notice them bend over the body, didn’t see them rapidly attach various devices to his body, became dimly aware of someone calling her, and she turned around.
She looked into Zeb’s open eyes. He whispered slowly, ‘Don’t tell anyone.’
It took him four months to recover. Four months of punishing himself to get back to the fitness levels that he demanded of himself, that his job demanded of him.
She tested him hard, threw him into the bear pit that was the Agency’s training ground, where the best SEALs and Special Ops agents trained, and he healed. He became better than what he was before.
She spoke to the doctors, and they marveled at his recovery.
His body was in such fine shape, and his mind, a thing of beauty waxed one doctor, had shut down everything but the barest mechanisms to keep life alive. They thought all his martial arts training and mental conditioning had been responsible for that vital intervention. That, with the immediate and constant medical care, had led to his survival.
No, they’d said, his brain hadn’t suffered any damage because it hadn’t been deprived of oxygen.
He’d been adamant that he should be declared dead. ‘I’m a magnet for trouble and will not put anyone else at risk again,’ he’d said stubbornly. She urged, debated, threatened, and cajoled him, but he didn’t budge.
‘What about Cass?’ she asked, playing her final card. Cassandra, his sister, who was close to Clare.
‘I’m already dead. She’ll survive,’ he’d said harshly.
He was her best agent, and for all that he’d done for her and for the country, this was a small favor that she could grant, the deception not very difficult to maintain.
The doctors and medical staff were all sworn to secrecy – they never knew his real identity – and his medical records were altered to remove his existence.
Zebadiah Carter didn’t exist anymore.
They stumbled to the chairs before her, struggling to grasp the enormity of the revelation.
‘Where has he been all this time?’ Bwana asked, the faintest tremble in his voice.
‘You know I can’t answer that’ – she smiled to disarm the words of any offence – ‘but he has been on some assignments… in Pakistan, those areas.’
Zeb had been undercover in Pakistan for several months, identifying several key Al Qaeda commanders, who were then taken out by drones based on his intel.
Color returned to Chloe’s cheeks, anger tingeing her tone. ‘We were,’ she corrected herself, ‘are his unit. We deserved to know! This was such a massive deception for such a long time. We should’ve been in on it.’
‘It was his to tell,’ came the simple answer.
Clare could see what was coming, knowing them well, and fended off their growing anger, unable to hold back her laughter at one point when Roger threatened to make public all their projects. He looked embarrassed as soon as he finished. They just weren’t wired like that.
Three hours later the standoff continued, the anger turned sullen, and she saw the first signs of hurt.
‘You think he doesn’t want to work with us anymore?’ Bwana voiced their fears, not meeting her eyes, afraid of her response.
Clare sighed. For such an intelligent bunch, they sometimes didn’t see the woods for the trees.
‘You think he was shadowing you guys and saving your sorry asses because he didn’t have anything better to do? You’re his only family. He’s got no other ties, bonds. Sure, he has Cass, but that’s an entirely different relationship. Do you really think maintaining this lie was easy for him?’
Broker started to speak but stopped when she held her hand up. ‘I know what you’ll say. This is Zeb. He can control his emotions better than anyone and walk away without a second glance, without a second thought. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel, you idiots.
‘He made this decision, right or wrong, but ultimately it was his call. He was the one who nearly died.
‘Maybe you should get this through your thick heads; he disappeared not because he cared for you less. Maybe it was because he cared for you guys so much.’
She looked at them individually, saw it sinking in. ‘Before you ask, he’ll come when he’s ready. You know the Zeb style by now,’ she added drily.
Chloe brushed back her hair with fingers that trembled slightly. ‘Do you have a number for him?’
‘We have a number to leave messages for, and then there’s a number for him when things go nuclear.’ She gave them the messaging number. They’d been with the Agency long enough to know that the nuclear number was for just that.
Chloe looked at the number, back at Clare, a may I expression on her face. Clare nodded and watched as she dug out her satellite phone, looked at Bear and the others for assurance, took a deep breath, and dialed.
‘Umm, Zeb. We heard you can come back from the dead. How about showing us you can walk on water?’
It was a brilliant morning with the sun smiling down on them, the skies azure and not a cloud in sight, when they made their way to Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.
Broker had acted very secretive around the family, and Elaine Rocka got her only clue when Broker asked her what kind of headstone they would like for Shattner.
On the day, Broker told the kids they’d be visiting their dad’s final resting place, and when he drove into the cemetery, Elaine Rocka realized where they were heading and mouthed a silent, ‘Thank you,’ when she met his eyes in the mirror.
Broker had done his usual – negotiate, cajole, charm, convince – and secured a site at the renowned cemetery and had ensured that the grave and headstone was ready and in place. They’d decided, with Elaine Rocka’s consent, that the children didn’t need to be subjected to a burial service. It was far easier for them to visit the grave and mark closure.
The family got another surprise at the grave.
Commissioner Forzini, in dress uniform, was waiting for them at the grave, obscuring their view of the headstone, and after introductions, he smiled warmly at Lisa and Shawn, reached behind him, and presented them both with a folded flag.
On top of it was the New York City Police Department’s Medal for Valor.
He stepped aside, letting them view the marker for the first time. It was simple and elegant with just his name and dates and two other words.
They saw Lisa’s and Shawn’s eyes go over the inscription, their lips moving silently, their eyes falling on the first word and pausing there for a long while, their mouths shaping the word. Dad.
Their eyes fell on the last word.
Hero.
Slow smiles came across their faces, growing wider and broader, bathing them in warmth and eclipsing the sun.
The Marshals were with the Commissioner, and when they’d finished at the cemetery, the family left with them.
Elaine Rocka surprised them all by hugging them tightly before she left.
Roger winked at her – ‘Careful, ma’am, you’ve a reputation to maintain’ – and blushed when she kissed him.
Bwana spotted the bottle first. It stood tall on the bonnet, glasses beside it.
They went closer, and Broker nodded approvingly when he saw the label, a Diamond Creek Gravelly Meadow Cabernet. He opened the bottle in silence, filled the six glasses, and they toasted in silence, taking turns to drink from the sixth.
They knew Zeb was watching them from somewhere.
The Warriors were complete.
Author’s Message
Thank you for taking time to read The Reluctant Warrior. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review, here.
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Books in the series:
The Warrior, Warriors series, Book one
The Reluctant Warrior, Warriors series, Book two
The Warrior Code, Warriors series, Book three
The Warrior's Debt, Warriors series, Book four
Coming soon: Flay, Warriors series, Book five
Author’s Message
Thank you for taking time to read The Reluctant Warrior. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends and posting a short review, here.
Sign up to Ty Patterson’s mailing list, http://eepurl.com/09nyf, and get The Warrior, free. If you tick the Launch Team check box, you will receive beta-read copies of all my new releases in advance, free.
The Warrior Code
by
Ty Patterson
Copyright © 2014 by Ty Patterson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Acknowledgements
No book is a single person’s product. I am privileged that The Warrior Code has benefited from the inputs of several great people.
Christine Terrell, Jean Coldwell and Donald Hoffman, who are my beta readers and who helped shape my book, my launch team for supporting me, Donna Rich for her proofreading, Pauline Nolet (http://www.paulinenolet.com) for her proofreading and editing.
Dedications
To my wife and son, who made room in their lives for my dreams; all my beta readers, my launch team and well-wishers.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Dedications
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
The sound of an approaching vehicle broke the silence. It grew louder and then faded away.
Zeb lay still in the deep shadow under the boughs of trees.
The night light had given up the battle to reach the ground and his camp ‘fire’, a few feet away, was bathed in darkness. He had made a cold camp and had a small stack of firewood, in case he needed to light them.
He had been stalking a grizzly all day, a large female, just under seven feet and easily over five hundred pounds.
He hadn’t seen a female bear this large, and when he’d spotted her snuffling for roots, he’d stopped and stared, forgetting momentarily that he was visible. Luckily, he was downwind from the bear and she didn’t notice him.
He’d followed her all day, her and her cubs, watching the cubs frolic as their mother searched for food. If he was honest with himself, he was following them to also test his stalking skills.
He was in Yellowstone National Park, a vastness of almost three thousand five hundred square miles spread across the three states of Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho, and home to Old Faithful Geyser. A vastness that put man in proper perspective.
He’d done the touristy double-loop attractions and had quickly tired of being around people and had broken out to the southeast corner of the park, one of the most remote areas in the United States.
He’d parked his ride in an isolated spot, covered it, and had set off hiking, breaking away from the usual trails.
He’d been there for over two weeks, making his way through the remotest parts of the park and hadn’t come across another human being – which suited him just fine.
Stalking the grizzly had brought him to where he was now.
Patches of shrub at chest level competed for air and sunlight, while taller foliage ruled the skyline. There was ample undergrowth, which provided the bears with green fodder. There was a stream a klick away with the purest water and best fish he’d had in a long while. The stream was half a mile away from a potted track road where the rare vehicle passed.
He’d felt the vehicle first before hearing it, its presence so unusual at that time of night that he’d stayed awake for some time trying to track its progress. The sound died about a mile away from him, and silence fell over the park.
He tried going back to sleep, but when that proved elusive, he gave up and decided to head to the stream for wildlife spotting.
He didn’t have much to pack, a bedroll, a backpack that contained all that he needed, which wasn’t a lot: water, rations, his guns, spare magazines, a Ka-Bar, binoculars, NVG – night vision glasses – and his sat phone. He checked his phone, didn’t expect to see any messages, and there were none. It was just past midnight when he set out, with a light backpack.
A shot rang out.
He paused, peered through the darkness and saw nothing. He let the silence of the park become natural and listened above it.
He thought he heard voices, but couldn’t be sure.
Another shot rang out.
He ran.
Dimly he thought, I should mind my own business.
But then life would be boring.
He became another shadow in the darkness of the park, moving from cover to cover, his feet rolling over the ground the way a panther’s did.
He hoped the bears hadn’t woken up and wouldn’t be as curious as he was. Luckily, they had been heading south and he was heading in the other direction.
The U.S. Army had stats for everything, and one of those stats was for various age groups running a mile. Six and a half minutes placed the runner in the top one percentile for that age group.
There didn’t seem to be stats for running the remotest part of the park at night while at the same time keeping an eye out for grizzlies.
Zeb ran the mile in five minutes.
He heard the thrashing in the brush ahead, about two hundred feet away, before he heard the voices.
‘Stop shooting, Steve. You want to get everyone’s attention?’ a male voice cursed.
‘I’m trying to slow her down and scare her. We should’ve killed the bitch when we had the chance,’ another male panted.