Zander squinted into the bright, late-morning sunlight of the remote parking lot, scanning the half-dozen cars. He checked his GPS coordinates again. This is where he was supposed to be, a training and equipment demonstration at a state forest that he should have reached in about forty minutes, if he’d actually been going the speed limit. As it was, he was early, but it still felt like the team had moved on without him.
He’d driven down the marked roads and passed the Closed signs at the park entrance, just as he’d been instructed, amused but not all that surprised. He figured Jackson had something interesting to show off, to drag him all the way out here. He’d gotten the text that morning and figured what the hell. The post-funeral bleakness had settled over the house in the early dawn, and he didn’t need much of a reason to bail. All the wheels he’d set in motion over Erin’s little bombshell would still be churning for a while, so he had time.
Now he scanned the nondescript collection of cars and trucks, resting his gaze again on the only vehicle that gave him pause, a military truck positioned nose out, apparently so that its contents could be unloaded under the cover of the overhanging trees. It wasn’t an excessively large vehicle, but it looked like it meant business. What did Jackson have going here?
Stowing his phone, Zander walked up to the trailhead, the path the entire group had taken, if the tracks and broken brush were any indication. Clearly no one was worried about being followed, so he didn’t hesitate, either. Jackson was expecting him, and Zander wasn’t in the mood for bullshit.
He was up to his ears in that already.
His calls out to buddies—and more to the point, the buddies of buddies—had already yielded some information about Erin’s little planned clusterfuck. Slow day, he figured, and guys were itching for something to do. But every scrap of intel that had come in simply strengthened Zander’s resolve to keep Erin the hell away from Nuevo Laredo. The border town was nice enough in the nice-enough sections, but it got ugly real fast. She’d said her parents had been abducted there, but even that didn’t make a lot of sense. The place just wasn’t a touristy hangout. Or a hop-over-the-border-for-fun kind of hangout, either. It wasn’t really a hangout for anyone, unless you were looking for sex or drugs or some very sketchy combination of the two.
And yet, that’s where her parents had waltzed in unawares, pissing off the locals so much that they got themselves taken? Even for a bunch of bored Mexicans, that was lot of effort to go to over two dumb-ass Americans, no matter how much money their daughter supposedly had. What was he missing here?
It got worse, too. The border crossing was pretty tightly controlled within the city, with just a few bridges linking Laredo, Texas, with Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. But Erin looked like the quintessential American girl. She could get into Mexico pretty easily, even with her cushions stuffed full of cash. If anything went wrong, though, she was looking at a world of hurt. And getting back into the good ol’ U.S. of A was always harder than getting out.
A strange commotion ahead of Zander brought his head up, all of his senses on full alert. He was at the edge of a sort of clearing now, the grass beat to shit, a roil of wheel tracks and footprints baked into the hard earth beneath the dry grass, past the shadows of the forest. He stood and watched as the noise built, not really hidden by the trees, but not out in the open, either. It sounded sort of like someone was running toward him through the forest, from the other side of the clearing, but there were no trailheads there, just trees and thick bushes that were now thrashing around even as Zander realized whatever was heading toward him had four feet, not two.
Then it cleared the trees, advancing into the open field and whipping its head around once, twice, before pinning its metallic eyes on Zander in the half cover of trees, and emitting a sharp, high-frequency chatter. It was just a matter of training that Zander didn’t jump completely out of his skin, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d just been busted.
By an honest-to-God robot dog.
He’d heard about these things, knew they were in production, but he hadn’t been on the kind of missions that put these babies to use—or his command hadn’t had the kind of budget. Small, four-legged units that could scout for mines, or carry weapons and provisions over desert terrain and never tire. Nothing too crazy yet, nothing like Terminator.
But this damn dog in front of him sure looked impressive enough. It was maybe four feet tall and just as long, with bizarre multi-jointed legs that were now planted wide while its head—Clearly some sort of transmitter, maybe equipped with a camera. That’d be smart—remained fixed on Zander’s position. The chatter had to be some sort of secondary alert system, he figured. The main alert could be transmitted electronically, silently. And transmitted to…
He didn’t have long to wait.
A small knot of guys poured out of the trees behind the robot, their heads covered in tight helmets that curved just a touch into their line of vision, grins on their faces like they were just out for a morning of paintball. They carried no weapons, but Zander stayed put anyway, appreciating the exercise for what it was. He was the target, and the oversize metal dog in the center of the clearing had been programmed to let them know he’d arrived. Well, mission accomplished.
Glenn Jackson stepped out from behind another knot of trees about twenty feet from Zander. He was grinning, too, and he waved Zander out.
“You like our latest toy?” he asked, as Zander approached the robot and watched it maneuver to keep him in view.
“It have weapons on it?”
“Not this one. It couldn’t even pee on you if it wanted to,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “Go ahead, you can inspect it.” He continued as Zander stepped up to the machine, the thing cocking an “eye” at him. “Strictly for recon, low-level mule capabilities. We’re testing it as a scout, but it’s not exactly quiet. Still, for tracking purposes, say for an escaped prisoner or scattered tactical unit, or one of our own guys who needs to be found when we don’t care so much about secrecy, it could be useful.” He turned to the team, and one of them stepped up next to Zander, punching keys on the small keyboard attached to the robot’s back as it stood patiently. “Run it the other way for round two, then we’re done here,” Jackson said. “We need to be out of the area by eleven hundred.”
The men nodded, stood at attention, then the first man smacked the robot on a rear panel. The thing took off at a sharp angle into the forest, the men falling in behind.
Jackson gestured to Zander to precede him back down the trail. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here today. I know it’s a long way to go for just a little show-and-tell.”
Zander shrugged. “I figured you’d make it worth my while.”
“And have I?”
He grinned. “You’ve caught my attention. But I think your offer may be misplaced. If that’s your team, I’m not sure what I can do for the few days I’m home that will help all that much. They looked competent enough.”
Jackson nodded. They were walking slowly, heading back toward the cars. “They are competent, yes. But they’re also not a team. The problem with hiring a bunch of highly self-reliant men fresh off of units they know, trust, and care about is re-creating that trust in a new unit. Not such an easy prospect.”
Zander glanced at him. “And also not something doable in a few weeks.”
“This was never about a few weeks, Zander.” Jackson paused for a long moment, then sighed, seeming to make up his mind. His next words were quiet and measured. “Your dad had a heart attack once before, son. Before the one that killed him.”
“What?” Zander stopped, turning to Jackson. He could tell from the man’s face that this revelation was costing Jackson—it had been his secret to keep, and it rang true. Zander’s gut tightened up and a surge of adrenaline shot through his system, but there was no one to fight here but ghosts. Ghosts he’d never be able to catch. “When?”
“About a year ago. It was a small event. He was with me, actually. He didn’t tell your mother, he didn’t tell anyone who wasn’t ‘need to know.’ We got him to his doctor, had him checked out. He took better care of himself for a while, but not for long.” Jackson’s lips tightened. “It changed him, but not enough. He’d spent too many years being a soldier for a little thing like a faulty heart to slow him down.”
“Sounds about right.” Zander looked forward again and forced his feet to move. Why was Jackson telling him this? Unbidden, thoughts of his father that night four years ago in the police station flashed through his head. The colonel had been white-faced with fury, betrayal, indignation. Had his heart already been a problem then? Zander could feel his pulse jumping in his neck, and tried to tamp his impatience down.
“Zander, I watched your father jeopardize his health for no good reason. He gave everything to the army. His career, his youth, his family. And eventually, his life. Even after he’d left active duty, he volunteered for every exercise, put his body to the test against every new recruit. He accepted nothing less than the rigid discipline his position had required, the constant sacrifices. And he would have done it all over again, given the chance. Because that was his choice.”
“It was a good choice,” Zander said. He could see where this was going. “A choice he freely made, sir. A choice I made as well.”
“But it’s not your only choice,” Jackson continued. “I’ve reviewed your file, as I mentioned. I liked what I saw. I want you to seriously consider leaving the army and working for us. Or, potentially, returning to college—”
“College!” Zander barked out a laugh. “That’s not for me.”
“Maybe not four years ago, but a lot can change in four years. And it could still be an education that’s fully paid for, with the proviso that you choose a course of study that will benefit your work with us, and commit to spending two years after graduation in our employ.” Jackson’s smile was wry. “All about return on investment for us both, you could say. Or, if you choose to pursue your schooling on your own and just need a summer job…we’re also here for that.”
“Wrong carrot, Mr. Jackson,” Zander said, shaking his head. They were at the cars now, and Zander deliberately stopped in front of his vehicle. “College was going to be a trick for me even when I was eighteen. It sure as hell isn’t something I’d be interested in now. I’ve got my job already, sir, and I like that job. A lot.”
“Fair enough.” Jackson held out a hand, but there was something in his eyes that showed he was not yet done with the conversation. “I will continue to watch your career with interest, then.”
Zander shook his hand. “Sir. Although I’m not sure my career will be eliciting much in the way of press releases any time soon.” He thought about his CO, and the next assignment he’d hinted at. If it was anything like Zander was expecting, there wouldn’t be any news at all about where he’d be going—or what he’d be doing.
“Oh, you never know, son,” Jackson said. “There’s information to be had on just about every op out there. You just need to know what trees to shake.”
Zander smiled, but more thinly now, a curious thread of unease snaking through him. “Sir.”
As he went through the rest of the motions of his day, however, his tension only mounted, his brain churning with Jackson’s revelation about his father, stupid, stubborn bastard that he was. He could totally see William Frank James ignoring doctors’ warnings, wanting to remain in the action, any action, for as long as he could, even at the risk of his own health. He could also see the colonel not confiding in his own wife. His father had always held himself aloof from anyone but the men in his former unit and his fellow officers. They were his family.
They were what mattered.
Zander spent the remaining hours of the day at home, even though he quickly figured out that he was an unneeded cog in that wheel, what with his brothers and sisters already on hand. Even his mom was holding up better than he would have expected. She was happy he was there, he knew, and that counted for something. But Karen’s kids were into everything, full of life and gusto, and that was probably the best therapy for Sarah James. Circle of Life, doing its thing. And his oldest brother had also just proposed to his girlfriend of ten years, so that helped, too. Zander hadn’t had much patience for all of it, so his afternoon was spent gathering more information, brooding, and watching the clock. None of which were his strong suit.
Now he turned down the familiar streets to reach Erin’s brownstone, parking a quarter mile away because he actually found on-street parking. One thing was for sure, though: he wasn’t about to knock on Erin’s front door like some stranger. She probably wouldn’t hear him if he did, anyway. Especially if she was upstairs. Erin’s studio windows were in the back of the house, and they were always open. Zander grinned despite himself. The first night he’d climbed up to her studio had been an excellent experience all the way around. Just turning into the alley behind her place brought back those very good memories in vivid detail.
Now, though, as he ambled toward the familiar redbrick brownstone, his nose twitched. Someone was burning the shit out of a backyard barbecue somewhere, only the smell wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t charcoal, he decided. It was—
Zander’s gaze snapped to Erin’s brownstone, the open windows of the room he was pretty damned sure was her kitchen.
Smoke was billowing out of that window, as thick and black as tar. Shit!
“Erin!” Zander shouted, and took off at a run.