Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“Nice landing,” Mansfield said. “Not bad for someone without a rating. Let’s go find your friend.”

With General Mansfield following, Harvey thrashed his way through the brush at the creek’s northern bank and approached the fallen oak, but Nathan wasn’t here. Panicked, he looked around. Nothing. But this had to be the place. Then he saw something, something out of place. Nathan’s Predator knife, sticking straight up with its blade driven into a large branch attached to the fallen tree trunk. Harvey approached the knife and saw Nathan’s Sig Sauer handgun tied to the top of the same branch. He frowned. A fishing line was attached to the trigger and looped around the butt of the knife. On the ground next to the branch lay Nathan’s ghillie suit with a crude wooden cross inside. A broken pair of field glasses was attached to the crosspiece. A second fishing line, also attached to the crosspiece, was cleverly looped through a V-shaped area of one of the fallen oak’s branches. Harvey now knew that Nathan had set up a dummy decoy, and from the look of the shattered binoculars, Leonard had taken the bait.

From over Harvey’s shoulder, General Mansfield looked at the setup and whispered, “I’ll be damned.”

The two fishing lines were running out to the southeast, following the trunk of the fallen tree. Harvey worked his way along its length, maneuvering himself over and under dead branches until he saw a prone leg and combat boot screened by a boulder. He also saw blood, lots of it.

No. Dear God, no!

Harvey ran the remaining distance, thrashing through the underbrush.

His lifelong friend was lying at the base of a huge root ball. Not moving. Two bloody spikes of bone were protruding through the material of his MARPAT just below his right knee. The fabric was soaked with blood, so was his right shirtsleeve and the upper half of his shirt.

“Aw shit, Nathan.” He crouched down and held Nathan’s head with his hands. “You can’t be dead. You can’t be.”

Nathan spoke without opening his eyes. “Harv, what the hell are you doing? You’re gonna give General Mansfield the wrong idea.”

“Damn you, Nate, you scared the shit outta me.”

“I feel terrible.”

“You look terrible.”

“Grangeland okay?”

“Yeah, she’s gonna make it. You were right about her. She’s tough as nails.”

Nathan slowly brought his left arm up and looked at his watch, then let it fall. “You’re early.”

“So sue me.”

“Did I get Leonard?”

“Yeah, you got him.”

Nathan managed a smile. “It’s over, then?”

“Yeah, it’s over.”

Sharing a hospital room in Great Falls, Montana, Nathan McBride and Special Agent Grangeland were tired of watching the TV coverage.

FBI Director Ethan Lansing got his headline as promised. The two men at the top of his most-wanted list were dead, thanks to the highly trained professionals of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In particular, to Special Agent Mary F. Grangeland, who was recovering from a gunshot wound received in the line of duty during the engagement against the Bridgestones in a remote area of western Montana. Every network covered the story. As a bonus, three million dollars in cash had been recovered from the scene, along with the balance of the missing Semtex.

Grangeland had insisted she be roomed with Nathan, even though hospital policy stated such male-female room assignments were against hospital policy. She didn’t care and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

After being stabilized in the emergency room, Grangeland had undergone emergency surgery to remove a ruptured gallbladder and repair a torn liver. Even though much of its kinetic energy had been absorbed by the ballistic vest, Leonard’s bullet had still passed through, missing her heart and lungs by less than two inches. Connected to machines monitoring every aspect of her bodily functions, Grangeland was outwardly in good spirits, but Nathan knew otherwise. This Ortega business had claimed another victim-alive, but another victim just the same.

Although Nathan’s upper bicep injury wasn’t serious enough to keep him in the hospital more than one night, the compound fractures of both his tibia and fibula were. Besides, he wasn’t going anywhere until Grangeland got back on her feet.

“It’s funny,” Nathan said to her. “I never knew your first name until now.”

“You never asked. I just thought of something horrible,” she said.

“What?” asked Nathan.

“Did James Ortega know the truth going in, or did he find out under torture?”

Nathan looked at Harv. “I hope he knew going in. Try to imagine what learning the truth under those circumstances would’ve been like.”

“It’s hard to think about,” she said.

Nathan spoke quietly. “I don’t hate Frank Ortega for what he and Lansing did. And technically speaking, they didn’t do anything illegal. Let’s all keep that in mind.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment.

“You know,” Grangeland said, “you guys don’t have to stay here and babysit me.” She looked at Nathan. “The doctor gave you your walking papers yesterday.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Good, ’cause I’m not going anywhere until Harv gets us that pizza he promised.” Nathan felt a little better now. At least he had Grangeland and Harv smiling again.

“Then will you leave?” She gave him an innocent look.

“You know, Grangeland, making comments like that is what keeps our relationship healthy.”

Nathan stayed with Grangeland for another day, grateful for the time off his feet. After Grangeland’s near-constant reassurances she was okay, he and Harv left Great Falls. Because Nathan’s right leg was in a fiberglass cast from knee to ankle without a rubber walker on the bottom, Harv did all of the flying back to Sacramento. In another week, Nathan’s cast would be replaced with a walking version. But for now, he had to avoid putting weight on it. On the flight south, he had to admit Harv seemed quite comfortable in the right seat, amazed what a few solo flights had done to boost his friend’s confidence. After landing at Sacramento Executive Airport, they rented a Taurus and Harv drove Nathan to Sutter Hospital under a deepening twilight sky. Harv dropped him off at the main entrance and said he’d be back in half an hour. Nathan used his aluminum crutches to maneuver himself through the automatic doors. Once inside, he diverted over to the gift shop for a quick purchase. It didn’t feel right visiting Holly empty-handed.

As he hobbled his way toward Holly’s room, his cell rang.

“Hello?”

“Nathan, it’s your father.”

“Hi Dad, is everything okay?”

“I’m just leaving for a meeting with the president on this Bridgestone business.”

“You’re working late again.”

“Damage control. I’ve only got a minute, but I wanted to talk with you first.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m hoping to close the book on it.”

“Fine by me,” Nathan said. “Harv and I aren’t planning to do anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“Not everyone would take that position. You were nearly killed.”

“Because of my own mistakes on the ground. Believe me, Dad, we’re willing to let it go.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re far more forgiving than I’d be in your shoes. But I’m glad that’s your decision. I don’t want to see Director Lansing or former Director Ortega dragged through the dirt over this.”

“I don’t either.”

“I’m going to let Lansing and the president know your position on this. It’s not fair to let them twist in the wind.”