Primary Valor Page 19

  How could the United States provide automatic rifles and security fencing to Afghan militias using slave labor to harvest the opium crops? How could the United States airdrop guns and grenades to Al-Qaeda-aligned Islamic militias working to undermine the government in Syria? How could the United States provide technical assistance and support to the left-leaning Haitian government controlling Port-au-Prince during the daylight, while arming the right wing death squads terrorizing the countryside at night, at the same time?

  The easy answer was: they couldn’t.

  That was where Darwin King came in. He would do the dirty work. He would roll in the dirt, and get it all over himself.

  The smell, the stench of Darwin King, was unreal.

  And in the process of rolling in the dirt, he was allowed to become vastly wealthy. And he was allowed to make friends with the famous, and the infamous, and the powerful. And he was allowed to indulge his most deranged, most sinful proclivities. People were supposed to turn a blind eye to all this, but Bill Ryan could not.

  The man was an animal.

  An animal that was no longer taking Ryan’s calls.

  That was a problem.

  Bill Ryan needed Darwin King. But apparently, Darwin King felt he no longer needed Bill Ryan. He was wrong about that. Darwin had retreated to his island far away, but no man was an island. Darwin had overstepped this time, badly, and Ryan was going to take him to school. Darwin only existed, only thrived as he did, because people like Bill Ryan gave it the green light. There were other men just like Darwin in this world, who would be all too happy to take his place.

  Darwin needed to be reminded who he worked for.

  He would survive the coming shakeout, in all likelihood. He would keep his place, and his wealth, and his connections. But he would be chastened. He would…

  Suddenly, there was a man about fifty feet away to the left, who had fallen. He was writhing on the ground, having some sort of seizure. People turned to look, but stayed away. Now others moved toward him.

  From Ryan’s right, a jogger approached, moving fast. He wore dark blue shorts and a red hooded sweatshirt. You could not see his face.

  The jogger was a blur, coming straight toward him.

  A strong hand grabbed Ryan from behind, around his throat. Before he knew it, he was on the ground himself, on his back. The two men were on top of him, punching him, beating him in the face.

  Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed.

  “Help him! Help that man!”

  One of the men smacked Ryan’s head against the pavement.

  He was dazed by the impact. The man did it again. He had Ryan by the hair now, and was repeatedly banging his head on the ground.

  Ryan reached inside his overcoat. He could hear his own breathing, loud, harsh, fast. The attackers hardly made a sound. They didn’t say a word.

  A big fist connected with his face.

  A foot kicked him in the stomach.

  He was going to pass out.

  His hand found the holster, his fingers undid the snap, and now he had the gun. He rolled over onto his stomach. One of the men kicked him in the ribs, very hard. A man punched him in the back of the head.

  He rolled over, onto his back again, pointed the gun at the sky, and fired.

  BANG!

  It was loud this close to his ears.

  Another person screamed.

  The men jumped back. They reminded him of scuttling crabs. The second man wore jeans and a windbreaker jacket. He had a wool hat on his head, and he was wearing sunglasses. This was the first Bill had seen him.

  He was small, but his body was thick and muscular.

  Ryan aimed for his center mass.

  BANG!

  Missed. The man had darted quickly to his right. Like a crab.

  Ryan aimed again, but now the man was running away. Ryan turned to shoot the jogger, but that man was running too. He was already in the distance.

  The man who had the seizure was gone.

  Onlookers were milling around Bill Ryan, but keeping their distance. He aimed one more shot, straight up into the night sky, and fired.

  BANG!

  Another woman, poor over-alerted mouse, made a startled yip. The last shot was just to keep any more attackers at bay.

  Overhead, the stars gazed down at Bill Ryan, distant, impassive, and uninterested.

  He had been beaten like a dog in the street. It wasn’t a mugging. It also wasn’t an assassination, and thank God for that. They had come so fast, they would have easily killed him, had that been their intention. It was just an old-fashioned beatdown.

  Bill Ryan hadn’t gotten to where he was by not reading the signs. This was a message. Who would send him such a message at this moment?

  He could not speak. He was breathing too heavily. But his lips moved.

  “Darwin,” he would have said.

  He rolled over onto all fours again, and vomited his late dinner onto the ground.

  “Sir, are you okay?” someone behind him said.

  He shook his head. He didn’t feel okay. His ears were ringing from the gunshots. His head was floating, unmoored. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The hand came away with blood on it.

  He found his voice. It was somewhere between a croak and a gasp.

  “Please call nine-one-one,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  8:35 p.m. Central Standard Time (9:35 p.m. Eastern Standard Time)

  The skies approaching Isla de los Jabalies

  Near St. Simon’s Saw

  The Caribbean Sea

  “Gentlemen,” a female voice said from the cockpit. “We are ten minutes to the target area. Prepare to disembark.”

  Here comes the bad news.

  They had been flying all afternoon and evening. They had switched planes at a remote airfield in Jamaica. From there, they had taken this junker of a jump plane, an old Beechcraft. They had been under radio silence ever since.

  The plane was small. On the outside, it was so weather-beaten it looked like it had taken ground fire in a war. Not a recent war. World War Two.

  On the inside? Well…

  They sat on heavy crates in the lurid darkness of the cargo hold—ten feet high, maybe twenty feet across. The plane itself bounced and bucked. The plane was not fully sealed, wind was coming in from somewhere, and you practically had to shout to be heard over the engine noise.

  Ed Newsam had dozed for a while curled up on the floor. While he was asleep, Luke had made an executive decision. He had been on the fence about it all day. If he really thought about it, he’d been on the fence since Ed rushed into the house in Fort Lauderdale and killed Felix Cienfuegos. Or maybe since they had found the dead child in the box truck.

  But Luke wasn’t on the fence any longer. He’d made up his mind, and he knew it was right. Ed wasn’t coming on this mission. He wasn’t coming on the jump. He wasn’t coming to Darwin King’s house.

  Luke was the ranking officer. Luke and Ed played it like they were partners, and they were. But Luke was also Ed’s supervisor.

  The timing was bad. Luke knew that. He’d made Ed come all this way. But events had moved quickly, and Luke hadn’t been entirely sure before. He needed to let it all sink in. Also, if he had made the decision earlier, Ed would have appealed to Don. Luke would have had to tell Don, in no uncertain terms, that Ed was not on point. Luke didn’t want to go there.

  No. This was for the best.

  Ed and Henry Bowles rested on the long bench along one wall of the plane. Ed still seemed asleep, but Luke knew he was awake. In a moment, he was going to start checking his gear. Luke wanted to talk to him before then.

  Luke was cold. He was always cold before a jump. He checked the altimeter on his wrist. They were flying at about 11,000 feet. This was a good altitude. Outside the jump door’s window, it was full-on dark. Away on the western horizon, there was a glow of light. That could be the last of the sunlight far away, or maybe some ground lights in Honduras.


  He stood and stepped over in front of Ed. Ed’s face, like those of both Luke and Bowles, was painted with black and dark green camouflage.

  Ed leaned back on the bench, resting against the wall. His eyes were closed.

  “Ed.”

  He gave Ed’s leg a light kick.

  Ed’s eyes opened.

  Ed had an MP5 submachine gun belted to one side of him. He had a stack of loaded magazines for the gun, stuffed in various pockets of his jumpsuit. There were handguns mounted to his waist, and tiny .25 caliber pocket pistols taped to each one of his calves. Ed was strapped with guns, just how he liked it.

  Luke sat down, a few feet away and just across from Ed. In a moment, he would have to go and strap his own jump pack on. For now, he made a triangle with Ed and Bowles, in a spot where both of them could hear him.

  He hated to do this. But it was too late. There was no turning back.

  Luke looked at Bowles, then looked at Ed. He paused for a moment. Not bringing Ed gave him second thoughts about this whole mission. Going with Bowles gave him second thoughts.

  Ed was watching him. It was almost as if he was waiting for this.

  “I got bad news.”

  Ed raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  Now Bowles’s eyes opened. With his face painted, his eyes opening were like two albino frogs appearing out of the mud.

  “It’s just me and Bowles this trip, man. I’m sorry.”

  Ed shook his head and smiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re not coming. You’ve been off your feed. You have a baby on the way, you’re distracted, you’ve been taking chances I don’t agree with. I don’t want to get hurt out there, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. You’re on the bench.”

  Ed’s eyes flashed anger. “Stone.”

  “It’s my decision to make, man. You know that. I’ve been thinking about this all day. You’re a game time scratch. That’s the deal.”

  Ed shook his head. “I’m overruling. I’m coming anyway. You’re going to need me, you’ll be sorry you decided this, and it’ll be too late to change it by then. So I’m just going to come, and we’ll forget we had this conversation.”

  “Sorry,” Luke said. “You can’t do that.”

  Now Ed really looked at him. Ed’s big right hand curled into a gloved fist.

  “What are you going to do? Forbid me from jumping? How will you stop me?”

  “I anticipated this,” Luke said. “I already stopped you.”

  “What?”

  Bowles was staring at Luke intently now. He hadn’t said a word since he opened his eyes.

  “I cut your chutes while you were sleeping. Primary and secondary, so you wouldn’t be tempted to…”

  Without warning, Ed was up and across the space at him. His right came fast and hard. Luke’s arm was up, blocking it and knocking it away. But Ed’s left came around in a hook. Luke tried to slip it, but there was nowhere to move.

  Ed’s big left hand caught Luke across the jaw.

  Luke’s head turned hard with the impact. He let his entire body go with the momentum of the punch, then spun around and away. It rung his bell, but an instant later, he knew he was still in the fight. He looked and Ed was right there, following him. Luke bounced back, out of reach. Ed was immensely strong, but Luke was faster.

  Except there was nowhere to move in this plane. It was too cramped. And Ed was too big. He could cut off any escape routes.

  “Guys!” Bowles shouted. “Guys!”

  Luke didn’t even look at him. Neither did Ed.

  Ed moved in.

  Luke took another step back, his hands up.

  “You better watch it, big man. I promise you’re gonna lose.”

  Luke had no idea how to back up that statement.

  Ed shook his head. “No.”

  “I’ll fire your ass.”

  Ed stopped. His shoulders slumped. “Is that really how you think you’re going to play this? You’re going to sideline me for no reason, and take this punk with you instead?”

  He gestured backwards at Bowles.

  “Then you’re gonna fire me because of a decision YOU made? That’s how it’s going to work?”

  Luke thought about it, but only for a second. “No. You’re right. I’m not going to fire you. Take your best shot.” He supposed he owed Ed that much. And you never knew. Luke might surprise him. He’d surprised a few guys Ed’s size before.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Ed nodded. “Good. Because I’ll tell you, if I’m fired I have no reason not to kill you.”

  Ed circled in. It was close. There was no room.

  Luke watched those hands.

  “Hey! Dummies!”

  It was Bowles. Luke ignored him. Ed did the same.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  This time Luke did look at him. Bowles was in a two-handed shooter crouch, gun in hand. Now Ed turned to look.

  “We’re supposed to jump in a few minutes,” Bowles said.

  “What are you going to do?” Ed said. “Shoot us?”

  Bowles didn’t waver. He held the gun pointed at Ed’s body mass. “No. I’m going to put you both on report, and get you suspended from your jobs. We work for the same agency, you idiots. I’m above you. Technically, this isn’t even your mission. It’s mine. And you’re both jeopardizing it with your schoolyard behavior.”

  Ed turned to look at Luke. His eyes were on fire. “This won’t stand. It’s wrong. I need redress.”

  Luke shrugged. “We can do it another time. I need to get ready.”

  Ed looked at Bowles again. He hadn’t put the gun away yet.

  “Satisfied?”

  Bowles shook his head. “They told me you were both crazy,” he said. “But they didn’t tell me you were this crazy.”

  Ed shook his head. “Said the man who pulled a gun on his co-workers, while inside an airplane.”

  He looked at Luke again. “It’s a bad move. I’m telling you. Rethink it.”

  “What’s done is done,” Luke said. “I want you alive, happy, and healthy for your many descendants.”

  “Even if you’re dead,” Ed said.

  Now Luke nodded. “Even if I’m dead.”

  Ed turned his and gave Luke his broad back. “It’s dumb,” he said over his shoulder. “Bush league. You’ll never live it down.”

  “It’s crazy,” Bowles said again, holstering his gun.

  Luke stopped and looked at them both. “Call it whatever you want. As long as everyone realizes it’s my decision to make.”

  “If that was true, you wouldn’t have sabotaged my chute,” Ed said.

  Luke didn’t have an answer for that. But there was no time to argue. Now Luke and Bowles moved quickly, checking and gathering gear.

  Luke looked at Bowles. “You know this already, but once we’re out, no lights, no sound. Keep your eyes open. It’s going to be dark out there. Got it?”

  Bowles nodded. “Got it.”

  “Isla de Jabalies should be directly below us, so it’s a straight shot. Buzz Mac will be sheltering in the southwest corner of the island, away from any prying eyes on St. Simon’s. He said there’s a small strip of pebbly beach there. If we lose each other, make for that southwest corner.”

  Bowles nodded again. His helmet was on. His pack was on. He was strapping guns to his jumpsuit. “Got it, Dad.”

  “We’re at about eleven thousand feet,” Luke said. He eyed Bowles closely, a new suspicion darting through his mind like a furtive rabbit. “You’ve done this before, right, Bowles? Night jump, rendezvous, clandestine extraction? Possible hostile encounter?”

  Bowles raised an eyebrow. “1st Special Forces, Stone. Remember?”

  “Does that answer my question?” Luke said. “You were ROTC at Yale before that. For all I know, they had you inventorying cans of chow.”

  “Knitting sweaters for grieving widows,” Ed said.

  “You’re out of it, Newsam,” Bowles sai
d.

  Ed shook his head. “I got my eye on your chute, man. Could be you’ve never done a night jump before. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if you were a desk jock, or some kind of towel boy.”

  Bowles looked at Luke, seriously this time.

  “I’ve done it. I’ve done everything, more than you will ever know. I have no hesitancy about this mission at all.”

  He went to the jump door and pulled it open.

  At that moment, a buzzer sounded and a green light came on above the closed door to the cockpit.

  “Gentlemen,” the pilot said over the intercom. “It’s go time.”

  Luke watched as Bowles stood at the open door. He seemed about to jump, then turned and looked back. He stared at Ed.

  “Hey, Newsam!” he shouted. “Who’s the towel boy tonight?”

  Then he dove out and was gone.

  Luke shook his head as he went to the door. He looked at Ed.

  “Sorry about that. The guy’s an idiot. I’ll make it up to you.”

  Ed said nothing. The look in his eyes had changed. There was less anger than a minute ago, and more pain. Luke had hurt the man’s feelings. That was somehow worse than the anger.

  Now Luke was near the edge. The wind was in his face. Below him, there was nothing but darkness. Above him, he could see stars and wisps of cloud. He could see a last sliver of sunlight fading far to the west.

  Not for the first time, he realized how amazing this moment was. If only it could last a little bit longer.

  The plane hit a stretch of turbulence. It bucked and shuddered around him.

  Luke dove out into the void.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  8:45 p.m. Central Standard Time (9:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time)

  La Sierra de San Simon (St. Simon’s Saw)

  Near Honduras

  The Caribbean Sea

  “You are my beautiful girl.”

  Darwin soaked in the sight of her. They had washed her hair, curled it, and woven flowers into it. The effect was understated, these small yellow and white flowers that grew wild here on the grounds, against her clean blonde hair.

  She was wearing makeup, and a long, sheer nightgown that came almost down to her bare feet. Her fingernails and toenails were done in a French manicure. Elaine had outdone herself preparing the girl. She was an angel, a vision.