by J. B. Turner
“Hey, buddy,” his handler said on the line, “you OK?”
“Yeah, nearly had a run-in with the wildlife around here. Goddamn nearly ran over a deer.”
“Take it easy. This is a slam dunk, buddy.”
Stone said nothing. He didn’t like to jinx operations with overconfident talk. He had gotten that from his mother. She was notoriously pessimistic and not willing to get excited about anything. Probably because she had been married to a crazy psychopath of a husband.
“You still there, Nathan?”
“Sure. Any updates?”
“Our intel indicates they’re en route to a remote place on the Knoydart Peninsula in northwest Scotland.”
“Are we sure?”
“One hundred percent. The details have been entered into their GPS. It was suggested by a British diplomat as a great spot for hiking.”
Stone smiled at the clever trick.
“You’re headed for a cove just outside a small town called Mallaig. Leave your car beside the road. A man with an RNLI badge on his Scotland hat will take you by boat to the peninsula.”
“What’s RNLI?”
“It’s a charity that saves lives at sea.”
“Tell me more about the area.”
“Very, very sparsely populated. Nothing there for miles. And I mean nothing. Mountains. Streams. Isolated little houses and farms. But by and large nothing. Hikers, climbers, walkers, outdoorsy people love it, but once you’re into the hills, you can go days in that part of the world and not see anyone. It’s perfect.”
“The method hasn’t changed?”
“Proceed as per instructions. We want him to die of a heart attack.”
“And her?”
“High mountains, very dangerous terrain.”
Stone caught the drift of what he was saying. “Got it.”
“Hang back when you get there. Observe. And track them carefully.”
“I noticed the rifle in the car. Straight out of the box by the look of it.”
“Absolutely. This is the exact same as the version you’ve been using at the facility. It’s a prototype long-range Taser, except without the wires. It can immobilize an individual from up to four hundred feet. Crichton had a heart scare eighteen months ago, so this is perfect.”
Stone nodded. He’d been shown earlier versions of this prototype way back at The Farm.
“Electromagnetic pulse gun. Tested extensively in Iraq. And it’s brutal. You want someone down without putting a bullet in them, this is your guy. Energy directed. Imagine a Taser, but without the needles and darts and all that shit. This is clean. No direct contact.”
Stone could see in his mind’s eye how it was going to go down.
“You getting the picture?”
“And the female?”
“After he’s down, he hasn’t got long. If he’s lucky, he’ll be dead in five minutes.”
“What about her?”
“After he goes down, she’ll instinctively go toward him. That’s when you step in.”
“A fall?”
“Yeah, a fall. Why not? One more thing . . .”
“Sure.”
A beat. “Take your time to get this right. There’s no immediate hurry. Got it?”
Stone instinctively put his foot on the gas. He hadn’t felt this crazy in years. “Whatever you say.”
Thirty-Eight
Jessica felt a mixture of emotions as she boarded the midmorning ferry from Mallaig with Brad. They were going to be based at the tiny lakeside hamlet of Inverie for the next twenty-four hours. She felt excited and happy to be with him. All to herself. But at the same time she sensed he wanted to keep his distance.
She wondered if she should have just gone home after delivering the flash drive.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized she was like a hopeless, lovestruck teenager. What a mess. She was sticking to her boss, a married man and her lover, like a clingy girlfriend.
When she was in college, Jessica and her girlfriends—including Amy—used to groan at trophy wives and mistresses. Now here she was, in the middle of nowhere with a man who seemed to be withdrawing further into himself by the hour.
Jessica and Crichton stood on the deck of the ferry as the cold air buffeted them. She linked arms with him.
“I think some time away from it all will do both of us a world of good,” she said.
Crichton smiled but said nothing.
Jessica felt a wide gap open up between them. She didn’t want that. It was the first time she’d felt that atmosphere with Brad, his manner distinctly chillier than usual. She wondered if this was a portent of things to come.
The journey lasted just over one and half hours. The mountains appeared to rise out of the cold waters of the lake as they approached the whitewashed cottages of Inverie on the shore.
As they disembarked, the silence was deafening.
After stopping at the luxury lakeside accommodation Brad had booked online a month earlier, Jessica made him a coffee and served up a platter of smoked salmon sandwiches. He looked in the huge refrigerator and saw it was stuffed with milk, cheese, bottled water, champagne, numerous savory snacks. It felt good to have a base, away from everyone else.
Crichton ate in silence as he studied a walking guide. It indicated a path behind the cottages that led out onto the mountain trail. When they finished their sandwiches, they put on their walking gear and backpacks and began the hike.
The sun glinted off the craggy rocks as they started the steep climb. Crichton felt his breathing becoming more labored. This wasn’t going to be a gentle workout at an air-conditioned gym in DC. They walked higher and higher, the trail getting narrower. They were walking in single file. About a mile along the trail, he stopped for a swig from the bottle of chilled water. He handed it to Jessica, who was squinting against the glare.
She took a sip and handed it back.
Crichton headed up the dirt track with Jessica now by his side. It felt good to be out and about and away from the hectic back-to-back meetings. His head needed clearing after days of six- and seven-hour briefings on security in the Middle East, and why foreign intervention with boots on the ground was inevitable. He saw the logic. But he also saw the hell that had engulfed Iraq with direct US intervention. The withdrawal had only made it worse. There was no easy choice. It was the least bad option they were talking about. But he had steadfastly refused to countenance the US becoming involved in more wars. He could see that it was just a cover for Western nations to access the immense natural resources of Iraq while also providing America with a launchpad into and around Iran, a country the neocons were desperate to get embroiled in.
He breathed in the crystal-clear air and felt himself relax.
The more he thought of his day away from the business agenda and remembered the unsettling death of the blogger and Jessica turning up unexpectedly, the more he realized he needed to look at how he was leading his life.
He didn’t love Jessica. He never had. She was nice. A kind heart who just was there. With a listening ear.
So why was he now with this young woman on his day off in the glorious, isolated Scottish Highlands? This didn’t sit well. He felt bad. He was cheating. No way around it. He began to wonder if he shouldn’t have just told her to head back to the States. He had been looking forward to this day away from everything and everybody. But her presence was a constant reminder of how he needed to change the way he was behaving.
“You OK?” Jessica asked, smiling at Crichton.
“Yeah, just a bit distracted. But the fresh air’ll do me good. Haven’t been hiking in weeks.”
Jessica nodded as she hitched up her backpack. “What’s wrong, Brad? You don’t seem yourself.”
“What do you mean? I’m fine.”
“Brad, I can look into your eyes and see something’s bothering you. Eating away at you. You don’t want me here, do you?”
Crichton strode on and blew out his cheeks as he and Jessica
began to ascend a narrow, winding path up the side of the mountain. “Jessica, let’s not rehash whether you should or shouldn’t have come here. Let’s enjoy the day, the scenery, and our time together.”
They walked in silence for the next hour. Crichton felt tightness in the back of his calves as they headed higher into the mountains. He was feeling his age. By contrast, Jessica was bounding ahead, lithe and fit.
The craggy cliff faces loomed over them as they negotiated the narrowing mountain paths. His heart was pumping faster as the hike wore on. Slowly he felt the endorphins begin to kick in. Washing through his body. He felt lighter. Happier. Sharper.
Crichton turned and looked down over the magnificent landscape all the way below. He drank some water, sat down, and Jessica joined him. They opened packets of fresh smoked salmon sandwiches. “One heck of a view. I never seem to find the time to enjoy this sort of thing anymore.”
Jessica smiled. “Me neither.”
When they’d finished eating, they continued their ascent along the winding, precarious path for another hour until they reached an overhanging ledge. They sat down and contemplated the view.
This time they said nothing.
Jessica offered her hand.
Crichton reluctantly took it. It felt soft.
Jessica squeezed his hand.
Crichton stared out over the rugged landscape and sighed. Soon the clouds began to roll in. The wind started to pick up, whipping his face.
It was then, in a terrible split second, that Crichton had a terrible sense of foreboding like he’d never felt before.
Thirty-Nine
A little after 2:00 p.m. Nathan Stone stepped onto dry land. He saw the cove outside the town. He walked over and found an unmarked trail, just as he’d been told. He pulled on his huge backpack and headed up through a gorge. Then through a wooded area. Higher and higher, till he was shrouded by the deep summer foliage.
Stone found a rocky outcrop and switched on the tracking device. His handler would have cyberexperts remotely accessing the senator’s cell phone, pinpointing the GPS location. Then the position would be sent to Stone’s device. It showed that Crichton was more than two miles away. Stone checked the Ordnance Survey map, located the coordinates, and set off due east into the mountains.
They had a head start. But that was fine.
Stone checked his watch. It was time to phone in. He pressed his earpiece into his right ear. Three minutes later, it buzzed to life.
“OK, Nathan, good to see you’re up and running. Once you’re through this stretch of woods, you’ll be on a high trail. The same one the target and his lady are on.”
“I’m not far from them. But I need to be a bit closer.”
“Your current range is twenty-four-hundred yards, but you’re right, get in closer. A mile will be perfect, but with line of sight. You should be able to hear them within the next fifteen minutes with a feed we’re working on.”
Stone nodded.
“One last thing.”
“What?”
“Once this is done, get off the island.”
“Got it.”
“Good luck.”
Stone began to climb. He could see this was going to be a tough workout. But he was prepared for anything. He pushed through the undergrowth and branches and saw a minor trail developing. He checked the map and the compass. He was on course. He followed the trail for a half mile until he reached another outcrop of rock, with views of the surrounding mountains and rocky summits.
Away in the far distance, an imposing peak rose ominously out of the moorland.
Stone was in awe of his surroundings. He felt at one with the terrifying wilderness he was now part of. A land of ever-changing colors, weather, skies altering by the second, clouds rolling in low, the sun flooding the area with a heavenly glow.
He pressed on, up the rockier mountain trail, one eye on the cell phone GPS tracking Crichton and Friel. He was getting closer. A mile. Within range, certainly. But he still couldn’t see them.
Stone crunched through the scree and loose rocks as he ascended. He felt the wind whip up off the water down below, buffeting him high up on the steep crags.
Then he saw something in the far distance. Spectral figures.
Stone lay down flat on the ground and took out his binoculars. He trained the range finder on the highest ridges. And there on an impossibly craggy peak, he saw two figures. Senator Brad Crichton and Jessica Friel. They were sitting on a cliff edge, talking. He watched them, transfixed.
Suddenly, his earpiece crackled to life with their conversation. He listened to them talk about their secret affair.
“I’m sensing a coldness I haven’t felt from you before, Brad.”
“This isn’t easy. My wife is a good person. And I’m concerned that when . . . if . . . this comes out, what it would do to her. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Brad, you started this affair. Isn’t it a bit late to start thinking about what might hurt your wife?”
“I need space to think things through. You coming over here, this kill list, Patterson’s death, my mind is swimming with it all.”
“I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have children with you.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m worried this is happening too quickly. I think we need to slow it down.”
Stone couldn’t abide such talk. They were wrapped up in themselves and their own disgraceful behavior. It reminded him of his own crazed father, leering at barmaids, drunk, psychotic, grabbing these innocent women as he, just a boy, watched from a corner booth. He remembered the embarrassed expressions of the young women trying to fend off his father’s unwanted attention.
Then his father would drag him home . . . and punishment from a broken loser was meted out on him and his sister.
Stone refocused the binoculars. He saw Friel now had her arm around the senator’s shoulder. But he wasn’t reciprocating. The senator talked of feeling trapped and needing more space.
Something inside Stone lit up. It was like a light had been switched on. He was now in the zone. He put down the binoculars and looked around. No one for miles. Not a soul. Apart from him and the senator and his mistress.
Stone took off his huge backpack and carefully removed the specially calibrated hunting rifle and assorted military devices: knives, compass, map, and his specially encrypted cell phone.
He drank in the surroundings for a few moments.
He picked up the rifle and stared through the crosshairs. He had Friel in his sights, partially concealing the senator. He waited for a few moments. He had to be sure. But there wasn’t a clear shot. Yet.
He waited and held his breath, finger on the trigger.
Forty
Brigadier Jack Sands paced the command room within the facility, a Bluetooth headset on. He stared up at the screens showing the real-time video footage from the pinhole camera disguised as a North Face logo on the collar of the fleece Nathan Stone was wearing. He watched as the couple disappeared up a further rocky incline. He clenched his fists as the slim chance of a long-range shot disappeared.
Get it right.
Sands knew Stone would be frustrated. He felt the same. But he also knew Nathan Stone was a man of infinite patience.
He slumped in his seat and stared at the screens. Watching and waiting. He heard the deeper breathing as Stone headed up the mountain. He checked the Ordnance Survey map showing tight contours, illustrating the steepness of the hills and mountains all around Stone’s location.
“OK, Nathan, coordinates are perfect and you’re right on the timescale we anticipated,” Sands said. “Don’t sweat it. Plenty of time.”
“Copy that.”
Sands was transfixed, watching the bird’s-eye view of the mountains as Stone headed higher up the trail after the couple. “I estimate you’re fifteen minutes behind them. And we believe they’re heading for the highest peak. Ordinarily, they’d get there by around 1700 hours
. But there’s a huge plateau farther down from the summit. They should be there by 1730 or thereabouts. Concealed throughout at that point. So that would be a natural opening for you.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Sands ended the conversation and began to pace the room again, arms folded. He took off the headset and switched it off-line for a few moments. He took a deep breath. Then he put on the red Bluetooth headset for the two shadows and switched them online. “How far now?”
A voice said, “We’re in the cottage you designated.”
“Excellent. No radio contact from now. Are we clear?”
“Got it, over.”
Sands took off the headset and sat down. He put on the white headset for Nathan and switched it back online. He stared at the footage of Nathan Stone ascending the path around the mountainous terrain. He wondered, knowing how devoted Stone was to his sister’s welfare, why he had risked contacting her. He must have known that was a no-no. She believed he was dead, after all.
Sands had pushed aside his personal feelings for Nathan. This was business. He could see where Clayton Wilson was coming from. It couldn’t be allowed. The whole mission would be inadvertently jeopardized. Fuck. Why hadn’t he seen it coming? He was the one who’d put Stone’s name forward. But he also knew Stone was dispensable. That was the long and short of it.
Deep down in the darkest recesses of his soul, he did feel some compassion, even love, for Stone. Sure, he was a machine. He was ferocious. Smart. And ruthless. But he did have some semblance of humanity: he cared about his sister.
Sands had lost count of the times that Stone had asked him over the years, How’s my sister? A small part of Sands cared for Stone. It had taken multiple operations on Stone’s face to create a new person. He remembered watching Stone’s reaction through a one-way mirror when he was shown his new face. The way he touched the new skin. Felt around the folds at the eyes. The way he touched his new nose.
It was eerie.
Stone had been reborn. A new man. A man who everyone thought was dead.
From the corner of his eye, Sands saw movement on a facility surveillance monitor. Security guards were escorting former CIA psychologist Dr. Mark Berenger to a waiting chopper.