Jamie sat next to him. She was haggard with exhaustion, her green eyes dull, her brunette hair lusterless from tension, and yet she looked as beautiful as he'd ever seen her.
He was in a hospital bed. His side and back throbbed. Stitches and bandages squeezed him. His lips felt thick, his tongue swollen and dry.
Jamie put a straw in his mouth.
Grateful, he sipped. The water was tasteless for a moment. Then it became exquisite. But weakness made it difficult for him to swallow. He drooled. Jamie used a cloth to wipe it away.
“Afraid I'm not at my best,” he said.
“Nonsense. You're perfect.”
Weariness drifted over him.
When he wakened again, Jamie continued to sit next to him.
She squeezed his hand. “Asleep, you look like a little boy.”
Mustering his strength, Cavanaugh managed to ask, “Carl?”
“Dead.”
“How?”
She told him. He had to concentrate to take in all the details.
“The boulders and wood chips were wet from the rain,” she said. “When Carl lowered the boulder that hid him, wood chips stuck to it. They were under the boulder. He couldn't have seen them when he pulled the boulder back into place. He must have been so delirious with pain that he didn't realize.”
“The second person you've killed.”
“Don't talk about it.”
“I understand. I've been there.”
“No,” Jamie said. “You don't understand.”
Cavanaugh's lips felt numb. “Even justified, it's a terrible—”
“I'd do anything for you. That's not what I meant. I mean you can't talk about it. You can't let anybody know I'm the one who shot him.”
Jamie looked around. Her voice was so low that he could barely hear it.
“John lent me his gun,” Jamie whispered intensely. “He'd lose his job if anyone found out. After I shot Carl, he took the gun from me and fired it a second time, hitting a boulder next to the hole as if a first shot missed. That way, he had gunpowder residue on him. The investigators took his word. Nobody thought to test me.”
“John did that?” Trying to analyze the implications, Cavanaugh drifted again.
The next time he rose out of blackness, he heard hushed voices. Looking for Jamie, he saw Rutherford and her talking quietly in a corner.
Rutherford glanced over. “Sleeping beauty's awake. How are you feeling?”
“Ready to take up ballroom dancing.”
They smiled at the feeble joke.
“Want the first waltz?” he asked Rutherford.
“Thanks for the offer, but I'll sit this one out.”
“Reject me. See if I care.”
They smiled again.
“Carl wanted it,” Cavanaugh said.
“Wanted?” Rutherford asked, puzzled.
“To be shot.”
“He didn't act like it! He was trying to slit your throat!” Jamie insisted.
“To force John to shoot,” Cavanaugh said as a nurse went past the doorway.
Jamie looked at him with new appreciation. He was more alert than she thought.
Even so, Cavanaugh had to concentrate to form the words. “Carl knew he had nothing ahead of him except probably a death sentence. Sitting in a narrow cell waiting for the seconds to tick by and somebody to stick a needle in him. He hurried things along. John, you did him a favor,” Cavanaugh said, looking at Jamie.
“The bastard didn't deserve a favor,” she told him.
“When he and I were kids, we had wonderful times,” Cavanaugh said. Melancholy made him feel as if Carl's hands were again around his throat. He had difficulty getting his voice to work as he changed the subject. “So what happens now?”
“You lost a lot of blood. Your doctor says you'll need to stay here a few more days while you get more strength back.”
“And then we go back to New Orleans to prepare for the trial,” Cavanaugh said.
Rutherford and Jamie looked at one another.
“What aren't you telling me?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Mosely dropped the charges,” Rutherford answered.
Cavanaugh needed a moment to adjust to that
“What happened in the park attracted a lot of media attention,” Rutherford continued. “A lot of sympathy for you. God knows why, but many people think you're some kind of hero.” He half-smiled. “The hotels don't want to look like corporate bullies. They put pressure on Mosely. So did the officials for the World Trade Organization. It seems my boss isn't as unbendable as he maintains.”
“How's he treating you?” Cavanaugh asked.
“Apparently, I'm some kind of hero, also,” Rutherford said. “For now, we're best buddies.”
“Knock, knock,” a voice said.
Glancing over, Cavanaugh saw William in the doorway. With his coiffed hair, his gleaming teeth, his brilliant white shirt, his authoritative pinstripe suit, and his powerful-looking chest, he looked more the celebrity attorney than ever. “Do you feel strong enough for more company?”
“You're always welcome,” Cavanaugh said.
“I considered bringing flowers, but I decided on this instead.” He gave Cavanaugh an envelope.
“What's this about?”
“A letter of credit from a dozen of your wealthiest clients. It seems they quaked in their billionaire boots when they realized that Global Protective Services and in particular you weren't going to be available to keep them alive.”
“From the Cheshire-cat look on your face,” Jamie said, “I have a feeling you took pains to remind them.”
“Quite a few phone calls, yes. You'll receive an itemized bill now that you can afford my services again. Of course, you'll need to downsize Global Protective Services considerably, but I suspect you prefer it that way.”
“As long as it allows me to protect people who deserve it but can't afford me.” Cavanaugh felt Jamie squeeze his hand.
“Whatever you want. It's your company,” William said.
“And Jamie's.”
“Yes,” Rutherford said. “I've seen first-hand that she's an excellent protector.”
Cavanaugh studied him. “So are you, John. You helped save my life. Thank you.”
Rutherford thought about it and shrugged. “That's what friends do.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'm indebted to many operators who have first-hand experience in the high-risk activities depicted here and who were kind enough to teach me. To the best of my knowledge, much of their tradecraft (the bug-out bag and the use of twist ties for searching vehicles, for example) has not appeared in fiction before. My thanks to the following:
Linton Jordahl, former U.S. marshal. The U.S. Marshals Service ranks with the Secret Service and the Diplomatic Security Service as one of the premier protective units of the United States government.
Don Rosche and Bruce Reichel of the Bill Scott Raceway's Executive Training course. Various U.S. government agencies, including the Diplomatic Security Service, send their personnel to BSR to learn defensive and offensive driving techniques.
Lt. Dave Spaulding of Ohio's Montgomery County Sheriff's Department. His unit contributed to the high-level of security for the 1995 Dayton (Bosnian) Peace Accords. He is one of America's foremost firearms instructors. In addition to giving me invaluable lessons, he arranged for me to attend sessions of the International Association of Law Enforcement Firearms Instructors. See his Handgun Combatives and Defensive Living, the latter co-written with retired CIA operations officer Ed Lovette.
Marcus Wynne, former paratrooper with the Eighty-Second Airborne, former federal air marshal, and one of the few thriller novelists who knows what he's writing about. See his No Other Option, Warrior in the Shadows, and Brothers in Arms. Marcus was one of my literature students when I was a professor at the University of Iowa. Years later, he returned the favor and taught me many aspects of the world of high-risk operators.
Dan “Rock” Myers, former
member of U.S. Special Operations/military intelligence and former contract officer for the Diplomatic Security Service.
Dennis Martin of CQB Services. He teaches VIP protection in some of the most dangerous places in the world and introduced me to the close-quarter-combat theories of W. E. Fairbairn.
Scott Reitz, primary firearms instructor for the Los Angeles police department's elite Metropolitan Division. Visit www.internationaltactical.com.
Tom Evans of Sotheby's International Realty in Jackson, Wyoming. Only four percent of the Teton valley is available for private ownership. I needed an expert to help me find Cavanaugh a home, finally locating it in the northeast corner of Jackson Hole, near Turpin Meadow.
Barbara and Richard Montross for refreshing my fond memories of Iowa City and Willow Creek Park.
Jake Eagle, practitioner trainer in neuro-linguistic programming. The “visualization” theory dramatized in The Naked Edge and practiced by some elite military units is a good example of NLP, as is my main character's habit of manipulating verb tenses in order to reduce stress. Years ago, when I learned that the CIA and other intelligence services require NLP as part of their training, I took certification classes in it.
Steve Shackleford, editor of Blade magazine.
Knife makers Gil Hibben, Joe Keeslar, Jimmy Lile, Al Mar, Chris Reeve, and Michael Vagnino.
Ernest Emerson. In addition to being one of the best manufacturers of tactical knives (several of his blades are featured in this novel), Ernest is also a top-level knife instructor who works with various elite military and law-enforcement units. My ineptitude was entirely to blame when I took one of his courses (trying to play with the big boys) and broke my collarbone.
Larry Haight and Paul Dwyer of Sierra Aviation flight school in Santa Fe. My research into flying finally motivated me to get a pilot's license.
If I presented the details correctly, my teachers deserve the credit, but if there are mistakes, I'm solely to blame.
David Morrell
Santa Fe, New Mexico
THE KNIVES OF THE NAKED EDGE
As Carl Duran indicates in this novel, many contemporary knife makers were inspired by The Iron Mistress, a 1952 film in which Alan Ladd portrays legendary frontiersman, Jim Bowie. No one knows exactly what Bowie's knife looked like, but blades in the so-called Bowie style survive from the eighteen hundreds, and one of those was used as a model for the knife used in the film. Imposing yet elegant with a silver guard and a brass back, collar, and cap, it's so photogenic that it was chosen for other Hollywood projects: The Last Command, the Alamo scenes of Walt Disney's Davy Crockett, The Adventures of Jim Bowie TV series, and John Wayne's The Alamo. Film-production illustrator Joseph Musso owns every prop knife used in The Iron Mistress and makes them available to knife makers, some of whom copied the design, adding their own refinements. Photographs of the original and an interpretation can be seen after this section.
The Naked Edge also refers to the celebrated period of knife creation that occurred in San Francisco from the 1850s to the 1880s. Knives by Hugh McConnell and Will & Finck have been described as “the most exotic, the most costly, and the most beautiful ever produced in the United States.” But those by Michael Price are considered the best. In 2003, one of his knives sold at auction for almost $100,000. To see photographs of Price's work, read Bernard R. Levine's fascinating Knifemakers of Old San Francisco. For contemporary copies, go to www.sanfranciscoknives.com. My favorites are by Steven Rapp, Buster Warenski, and Gil Hibben (the latter designed the knives for the films Rambo III and Rambo). There, you will also find the most expensive of all contemporary blades, valued at over a half million dollars, Warenski's solid-gold replica of King Tut's dagger, photographs of which are included after this section.
The names of William Scagel, “Bo” Randall, Bill Moran, Bob Loveless, Jimmy Lile, and other famous blade makers have been sprinkled throughout this novel. Photographs of their work are available in Gérard Pacella's 100 Legendary Knives. Lile designed the knives for the films First Blood and Rambo (First Blood Part II), causing such a widespread interest in knives that a near-bankrupt blade industry was revitalized. Pacella's book also contains photographs of the Fairbairn-Sykes combat knife, the secret knife, and the Gurkhas’ khukri.
Numerous examples of the khukri design and the enigmatic notch at the base of its blade can be viewed at www.nepalesekhukuri.com. Fine-art versions of the khukri can be viewed at www.jayfisher.com.
Cavanaugh's La Griffe and CQC-7 tactical folder are featured at www.emersonknives.com.
Thanks to Nanci Kalanta, Phil Lobred, Bernard R. Levine, Linda Hibben, Jay Fisher, Mike Carter (cartercrafts.com), and Eric and Beth Eggly for helping me assemble the fascinating photographs you are about to see.
The most expensive knife in the world. Buster Warenski's solid-gold replica of King Tut's dagger (Courtesy of Phil Lobred)
Closer view of Buster Warenski's 32-ounce gold replica of King Tut's dagger with both sides of the sheath. The project took five years. (Courtesy of Phil Lobred)
Michael Price knife, Old San Francisco, 1850. Walrus ivory handle and silver sheath. (Courtesy of Phil Lobred sanfranciscoknives.com)
Michael Price gold and silver knife, 1865. (Photo (c) Bernard Levine, from Knifemakers of Old San Francisco)
Gil Hibben's interpretation of an 1865 Michael Price knife. This is the knife used on the cover of The Naked Edge.
Steve Rapp's Interpretation of a Michael Price knife. Gold quartz inlays, silver sheath with gold throat. (Courtesy of Phil Lobred)
Prop for the 1952 Alan Ladd film, The Iron Mistress, based on Paul Wellman's novel. Designed for Warner Bros. by John Beckman, the knife inspired later blade makers, such as Gil Hibben, to pursue their craft. (Courtesy of Joe Musso)
Four production versions of the Iron Mistress, including the wooden prototype and a retractable blade used for stunts. The top version has a silver guard as well as a brass back, collar and butt cap. (Courtesy of Joe Musso)
The Iron Mistress, interpreted by Gil Hibben. (Hibbenknives.com)
Secret Knife (or Puzzle Knife), Spain, 1699. The sun and clock dials control a lock on the folded blade. (Drawing by Asha Hossain Design)
First Blood Rambo knife by Jimmy Lile. It features a saw, a guard with straight and Philips screwdriver heads, holes in the guard for a wrist lanyard, twine wrapped around the handle, a waterproof compartment within the handle for storing essentials such as matches, and a cap with a compass on its underside.
Rambo (First Blood Part II) knife, by Jimmy Lile. Larger than the First Blood knife, it has a non-reflective black surface. The sheath has a compartment for a brass-handled sharpener.
Gil Hibben's knives for Rambo III and Rambo IV
Cavanaugh's knife, Ernest Emerson's CQC-7W. The hook at the top opens the blade as the knife is drawn from a pocket. (Emersonknives.com)
La Griffe, “The Claw.” Simple and small. The index finger goes through the hole near the blade. Favored by climbers and boaters. Designed by Fredric Perrin, manufactured by Ernest Emerson. (Emersonknoves.com)
Fine-art blades by Bob Loveless, one of the most influential knife makers of the 20th century. (Courtesy of Phil Lobred)
Fine-art Gurkha knife, the Khukri, by Jay Fisher. Note the traditional enigmatic notch at the bottom of the curved blade. (Jayfisher.com)
“Master of the Forge” Bill Moran (1925 – 2006) ivory handle and silver hilt. Intricate pattern embedded in the Damascus-steel blade. (Courtesy of Phil Lobred)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Morrell is the award-winning author of First Blood, the novel in which Rambo was created. He was born in 1943 in Kitchener, Ontario, Canada. In 1960, at the age of seventeen, he became a fan of the classic television series, Route 66, about two young men in a Corvette convertible traveling the United States in search of America and themselves. The scripts by Stirling Silliphant so impressed Morrell that he decided to become a writer.
In 1966, the work of another writer (Hem
ingway scholar Philip Young) prompted Morrell to move to the United States, where he studied with Young at the Pennsylvania State University and received his M.A. and Ph. D. in American literature. There, he also met the esteemed science-fiction writer William Tenn (real name Philip Klass), who taught Morrell the basics of fiction writing. The result was First Blood, a ground-breaking novel about a returned Vietnam veteran suffering from post-trauma stress disorder who comes into conflict with a small-town police chief and fights his own version of the Vietnam War.
That “father” of modern action novels was published in 1972 while Morrell was a professor in the English department at the University of Iowa. He taught there from 1970 to 1986, simultaneously writing other novels, many of them international bestsellers, including the classic spy trilogy, The Brotherhood of the Rose (the basis for a top-rated NBC miniseries broadcast after the Super Bowl), The Fraternity of the Stone, and The League of Night and Fog.
Eventually wearying of two professions, Morrell gave up his academic tenure in order to write full time. Shortly afterward, his fifteen-year-old son Matthew was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer and died in 1987, a loss that haunts not only Morrell's life but his work, as in his memoir about Matthew, Fireflies, and his novel Desperate Measures, whose main character lost a son.
“The mild-mannered professor with the bloody-minded visions,” as one reviewer called him, Morrell is the author of thirty-two books, including such high-action thrillers as Creepers, Scavenger, and The Spy Who Came for Christmas (set in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he lives). Always interested in different ways to tell a story, he wrote the six-part comic-book series, Captain America: The Chosen. His writing book, The Successful Novelist, analyzes what he has learned during his almost four decades as an author.