Right to Kill

  “I’m on him.”

  “I’ll parallel you on this side of the street.” Although their exchange of gunfire wasn’t loud, the car crash had been. Dogs continued barking and porch lights snapped on. It wouldn’t be long before every cop within a ten-mile radius sped to this location. Even though this firefight was nearly two hundred yards west of Linda’s house, it would complicate things for Rebecca’s team. She’d wanted Harv and him to observe from a distance until her people arrived; well, that was off the table now.

  Harv fired four quick shots.

  The gunman tumbled.

  “He’s down,” Harv said.

  “I’ve got eyes on him. He’s crawling toward a hedge. He’s wearing body armor so assume he’s still in the fight. I’ll check the compact’s driver.”

  “Copy.”

  Nathan backtracked along the same route he’d taken while carrying LG. When he crossed the street, he sensed the presence of prying eyes from every window. Behind him, he heard the gunman and Harv exchange more fire. Keeping his head down, he approached the steaming vehicle. A glance through the passenger window confirmed Harv’s marksmanship was second to none. The gunman’s destroyed face was slumped against the deflated air bag. No need to check for a pulse. Even if by some miracle this poor sap lived, he’d never eat with a knife and fork again.

  Several more three-round bursts reverberated off the houses.

  “I’m okay, he’s firing blindly.”

  “Cover fire?”

  “No need. I’ve got this. Get LG into the car. I’ll be there in thirty seconds.”

  Just then, the owner of the house where Harv had the gunman pinned appeared at the front door with a pump shotgun. Nathan recognized its distinct shape.

  The man leveled the gun at Harv, and Nathan had no way to know if he intended to pull the trigger, or just make a macho show of force.

  Not chancing it, Nathan painted the wall above the homeowner’s head and sent three bullets.

  The surface exploded, showering the homeowner with pulverized chunks of stucco. The guy cursed and retreated back into his house.

  Harv’s handgun clapped twice more. “Thanks for the help; the rabbit’s toast.”

  Nathan clicked his radio and hustled back to Harv’s sedan. He picked up LG, but then saw all the broken glass on the rear seat. Figuring he had a few seconds before Harv arrived, he set her down and used a gloved hand to sweep the shards onto the carpet.

  When Harv arrived, he said, “Oh, man, my car . . .”

  “Yeah, it’s a shame all right.”

  “How’s LG?”

  “Down for the count. I’m afraid we skinned her knee on the stucco getting her over the wall, but it’s not too bad. It’ll be the least of her worries.”

  “No doubt. She just lost her husband. Like you said, she’s gonna want some payback.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Harv started the car. “Absolutely.”

  “There’s no telling how this is going to affect her.”

  “She’s tough, but we’ll see how she acts once she’s awake.”

  “I need to send Cantrell a text about being ambushed out here. I’ve got a strong signal. Let’s roll, but slowly.” He dictated a brief summary, indicating that the area two hundred yards west of LG’s house would become a major crime scene and that her team would need to use the canyon to get onto LG’s property.

  A few seconds later, he received a response.

  clear the area ASAP and lose all weapons associated with tonight’s action.

  He read Cantrell’s text to Harv and sent an acknowledgment, but he had no intention of discarding perfectly good Sig Sauers. They had plenty of extra barrels and firing pins. Besides, he liked this particular weapon; it had a proven history with him.

  Wind gushed through the shattered windows as Harv accelerated. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. Nathan knew they were both thinking the same thing.

  “So, are we all in?” Harv asked.

  “Need I repeat your NBA line?”

  “And if Cantrell’s not aboard?”

  “We do it without her.”

  “Nate, we need to think about this. It would be nice to know what we’re diving into. Getting Cantrell’s support may depend upon who’s behind this attack, assuming she either knows or can find out.”

  Nathan knew Harv would agree to help LG, even without Cantrell’s support. His friend was simply doing what he always did: being the voice of reason and calm. Nathan had already grabbed the proverbial pitchforks and lighted the torches, but he knew his temper was getting the best of him. There was no need to press the issue with Harv right now.

  His friend continued. “Whoever’s behind the assault on LG sent a small army. We did a dozen ops with LG. We might be in the crosshairs too.”

  “I’ve considered that. We made lots of enemies, but none of them should be able to find us, or her.”

  “Not without some inside help.”

  “We should get some of our security guards to watch our homes, just in case.”

  “I’m on it.”

  While Harv made the call, Nathan tried to recall the various ops they’d performed with, and for, LG. Although he remembered the general stuff, most of the specific details escaped him. It was scary how much memory got recycled with time. Nathan hadn’t even turned fifty yet; that milestone was still years distant. Still, he’d test his strength and stamina against kids one-third his age and win 98 percent of the contests. If he needed to review the debriefing reports from LG’s ops, the details would come back. He’d written the damned things—his least favorite part of the job.

  “Let’s divert down to the hairpin and get my car.” He looked at LG.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “You okay?”

  “Crap, Harv. I’m full of piss and vinegar right now. That assault team wanted her alive, and if they’d taken her alive . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t have to.

  “Yeah, it’s a bad visual all right. She’s tough, but they’d eventually peel her, which means they’d have a link to us and everyone else she worked with.”

  “Which may have been their plan all along. LG might not be their endgame, it might be us—”

  “And they went after her because they couldn’t find us.”

  “All the more reason to end this threat before it goes any further. You’re a family man, Harv.”

  “Need I remind you that you are too?”

  “I’m not a parent. You and Candace have two sons in college.”

  “And you have a teenaged niece and half sister. Let’s not forget your mother, and a father who nearly made a bid for the presidency.”

  “I know. I just meant I don’t have a wife or kids.”

  “Lauren thinks of you as her adopted dad.”

  “I surrender. You win. I’m a bona fide family man.”

  “How did it feel saying that?”

  “I’ll live.”

  Harv dropped him at his car, and a few minutes later, they arrived at his La Jolla home’s electric security gate. Stretching beyond the reach of Harv’s headlights, his driveway snaked its way up to the residence. Harv radioed that their security guards would be arriving in twenty minutes. If anything happened before the extra manpower arrived, they’d deal with it.

  He told Harv to sit tight until Angelica, his live-in housekeeper, could let his dogs out to patrol the property. In the event tonight’s action wasn’t limited to LG’s house, his tactically trained giant schnauzers would detect anyone inside the fence line. Better to be safe than sorry. Of course, a sniper could be hidden anywhere beyond his property, but he gave that low odds. LG’s intruders wanted her alive, after all.

  Angelica’s “all clear” call came two minutes later. He watched Harv press his forefinger to the security pad at the bottom of the drive. The capacitance scanner identified him and asked for a six-digit code. It took both the fingerprint and the numeric code to
open the gate.

  Near the top, his earpiece came to life. “No matter how many times I come up here, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how beautiful your place is.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Harv, I feel the same way.”

  “When are you going to sell it to me?”

  “Never. You get it when I die.”

  Harv didn’t respond.

  “Don’t even think it.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

  Harv’s house in Rancho Santa Fe was equally striking and bigger. It just didn’t have this view. Looking north from Mount Soledad, the La Jolla coastline looked spectacular, even through the light rain. In the distance, dominating the northwestern sky, the orange glow from the Los Angeles basin lay on the horizon.

  Nathan’s house was humbling and he never took it for granted. It looked like a combination of a World War II pillbox, blended with Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater. Each section of the house was a pie-shaped piece that was literally carved into the hillside. Each cantilevered wedge created dark shade and shadow. Three chimneys, along with other vertical features, offered nice contrasts to the horizontal lines and curves. The uppermost wedges of the design were covered by earth. The native vegetation literally grew right to the edge of his roofline above the windows. He had to admit the place looked really cool, especially at night with its glowing windows. Several years ago, he’d even constructed a helipad. It wasn’t big, but it allowed a six- to eight-seat Bell to land without obstruction.

  The Civil War cannons flanking the front door sealed the deal. Nathan’s fascination with that conflict had started in childhood. He found that particular conflict to be as intriguing as it had been barbaric. Wholesale slaughter didn’t begin to describe the major battles of the War between the States. Every time he thought about his own physical trauma, it paled in comparison to what those soldiers went through.

  Silently, two black giant schnauzers bounded out of the darkness and hustled over to Harv’s sedan, their docked tails wagging. Because they knew Harv and the unique sound and smell of his Mercedes, he’d be able to get out. But anybody his dogs didn’t recognize wouldn’t be allowed to exit their vehicle. Although tactically trained, they were big sweethearts at their cores. To keep them sharp, he and Harv worked with them often.

  Nathan climbed out. “Hey, who feeds you guys?”

  They trotted over. He ran his hand over Sherman’s back, told him he was a good boy, then did the same for Grant. His dogs were an integral part of his life and he couldn’t imagine his world without them. They kept him grounded, reminded him of a simpler life, in which only basic needs had to be met. He’d once told Harv he could be just as happy living in a remote cabin with no electricity or plumbing. He had nothing against Kleenex, cell phones, and luxury cars, but he often longed for a simpler existence.

  Angelica stood near the front door with a concerned expression. Nathan offered a smile and a wave. He and Harv had known her since their early Nicaraguan missions. Before his botched mission, he’d arranged—demanded really—that her US citizenship application be expedited. Her entire family had been slaughtered by Sandinista holdouts. On their fourth Echo mission, they found her wandering the jungle. Hungry and homeless, she’d been near death. They gave her food and water, tended to her feet, and secured her a seat on their helicopter flight out to the Navy frigate. Leaving Angelica behind would’ve been a death sentence.

  In her mid-seventies, she displayed classic Central American genes. Barely five feet tall, she had kind brown eyes, matching skin, and shoulder-length, graying hair. Harv and he thought of her as their adopted mother. In many ways, he was closer to Angelica than his own mom. But that was purely a matter of how much time he spent with her.

  With the command word alert, Nathan put his dogs back into tactical mode. They disappeared into the darkness beyond the porch light’s reach. If they detected anyone, they’d pin them in place and begin ferociously barking. It took a different command to make them inflict damage.

  Harv carried Linda through the front door as if she weighed next to nothing. His friend was deceptively strong. At six foot one, Harv was the tallest Latino he knew . . . granted, these days he didn’t know all that many.

  He confirmed Angelica had a pot of coffee brewing when he entered the house. She obviously suspected they were going to have a long night. One of many in my life. The pangs of fatigue had already set in. Sometime within the next twelve hours, he’d need serious shut-eye.

  He followed Harv into the ground-floor study that connected to the library and opened the sofa bed. Linda showed no signs of awareness as Harv placed her on top of the blanket. If only I could sleep so soundly. He estimated she’d been out for ten minutes or so. If Cantrell’s estimate was right, she ought to be showing signs of awareness within the next twenty minutes, and a full recovery in two hours or so.

  He asked Angelica to clean up her face and use hydrogen peroxide on her skinned knee.

  After Angelica left the study, Nathan said, “We need to call Cantrell and make arrangements to get Linda’s dogs, but let’s give her a little time. No doubt she’s multitasking at the moment.”

  “Did LG say much before she lost consciousness?”

  “Not really,” he said. “She was in a twilight state when I found her. The drugs bypassed her filters. It was weird seeing the softer side of her.” Nathan doubted she’d retain anything of their discussion just prior to her losing consciousness. He didn’t know much about Ketamine, only that it had an amnesia effect.

  “The softer side of her?” Harv asked.

  “She was . . . unguarded. You know, nice to me. I’ve always suspected she had it in her, I’d just never seen it before.”

  “What did she say?”

  Nathan’s radar went up; he’d seen this before when he’d first started dating Holly. There was little Harv got away with.

  “Come on, Harv, out with it.”

  “Remember when I said I knew for a fact she didn’t hate you? After Nicaragua, she told me she didn’t. The reason she acted so cold all the time is because she thought you hated her. Look, she was an interrogator, not like Montez, but she got kinda rough on occasion. Think about what we did to Ernie Bridgestone.”

  He did, all too vividly. It hadn’t been something he’d enjoyed.

  “Put yourself in her position. She knew what you went through. How do you think she felt every time you looked at her?”

  “I was pretty messed up after Montez. It’s hard to think about.”

  “She didn’t know how to approach you.”

  “I was . . . unapproachable.”

  “Not to me. I didn’t let you shut me out.”

  “You saved my life, Harv. If you hadn’t stayed by my side, I would’ve killed myself.”

  They’d talked about this a lot over the years, so there was no need to dive into it again. His friend had spent countless hours at his hospital bed, talking him through the emotional turmoil. Nathan’s case of PTSD had been as severe as it got.

  At times, he felt like Harv was the only person in the world who truly understood him, knew the anger that constantly chewed on his soul. Nathan didn’t live one day at a time; he lived one hour at a time. The long grooves marring his face were constant, visible reminders of his ordeal. Thankfully, the crisscrossing network of deep scars on his torso was hidden by clothes. Nathan never took his shirt off in public. Ever. People didn’t intentionally stare; it just couldn’t be helped. Children were the worst. Some pointed, others hid behind their parents.

  A dark entity inside of him fought a near-constant battle to break free of its cage. He called it The Other, for lack of a better name, and it was made of pure rage. Nathan believed it to be a leftover survival mechanism—likely the only thing that had saved him during those endless days of Montez’s torture. It no longer ruled him. In fact, he’d learned to tap its energy and use it for constructive purposes. But he had to be careful. As feral as this alternate personality was,
it could also be intelligent and cunning. Thinking about what Linda would’ve gone through at the hands of her abductors, Nathan felt as though a tin cup were banging on the bars of The Other’s cage.

  Even now, he sensed its eyes snap open and stare straight ahead, unblinking.

  No. Not without my permission.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Harv’s voice startled him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just cutting it off.”

  “How far did it get?”

  “Eyes only, it didn’t test the bars. How long was I zoned?”

  Harv smiled. “Only a few seconds.”

  Just like that. No judgment. No calling him a freak. No condemnation. It was scary how well Harv understood him. Nathan couldn’t begin to imagine the hole in his life should anything ever happen to his friend. “I owe you a lot.”

  “You’re underestimating your own resolve. Look, I’m not trying to make you relive the past. Just know that Linda never hated you. She kept her distance to protect you.”

  “Protect me? From what?”

  Harv didn’t respond right away. “She was an interrogator, you were a victim. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Okay, okay,” Nathan said. “I get it. End of conversation. I won’t bring it up again.”

  “I think that’s best.”

  “So . . . she’ll need a familiar face when she wakes up. In fifteen minutes, I’ll take the first watch. She may not remember the fight in the kitchen. If she doesn’t, I’ll tell her about Glen.”

  “As I recall,” Harv said, “he stayed in investment consulting after we rescued him. He must’ve been doing pretty well to own that house.”

  “No doubt.”

  “We need to call Cantrell. She hinted she knows what’s going on.”

  “I’m curious too, but let’s give her a few more minutes.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence for a good minute, as they often did. Neither of them filled the quiet with mindless small talk.

  Angelica knocked softly and entered the study with a washcloth for LG’s dried blood, a bottle of peroxide, and two giant schnauzers.