THIRTY-TWO

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The plane touched down on the runway of the Dare County Regional Airport just as the sun peeked over the horizon. They’d called in a new one to transport Jed and Karen from Kansas City to Manteo, North Carolina. Four new armed escorts had accompanied them. Murphy assured Jed they had all been checked and verified and there would be no more excitement. But Jed didn’t sleep even a minute on the plane.

At the airport, Murphy was waiting with a car to take Jed and Karen to a house in Nags Head that overlooked the sand dunes and ocean. Upon entering the house, Jed stood in the living room, looked out the large sliding-glass door, and watched the waves crash on the beach. He could imagine Karen and Lilly and himself vacationing in a place like this, walking on the beach, splashing in the waves, building sand castles, and hunting for shells. If they were a normal family. But they weren’t. They would never be able to vacation like other families because he would always be hunted; he would always be someone’s target.

Karen stood beside him and put her arm around his waist. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“You think Lilly’s okay?” he said.

“Yes. She’s strong. Stronger than me.”

Jed put his arm around Karen’s shoulders. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”

“I’m not strong.”

“Your faith is strong.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Faith isn’t about your feelings or even your senses; it’s about the actions you take in light of what you know to be true. Putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward.”

Karen squeezed Jed’s waist. “You sound pretty profound.”

“Lilly once modeled that for me. I mimic the profundity of an eight-year-old.”

“Impressive.”

“Aren’t I?”

They both stood quietly for several long minutes, watching the ebb and flow of the Atlantic. A family walked by, mother, father, two girls. The girls couldn’t have been more than six and two. The little one toddled along, waddling through the sand, stopping for every seashell she spotted. Her father finally lifted her up and set her on his shoulders. He trotted toward the water while she threw her head back in laughter.

Jed had few memories of Lilly’s toddler years. They were spotty at best. In time, he hoped they’d return, but there was no guarantee. He still wrestled with the void that resided in his mind, that great empty chasm that had been left when his memories were stolen by the Centralia Project.

“I have one recurring memory of Lilly as a toddler,” he said to Karen. “We’re in bed; it’s dark outside. It’s bedtime, I guess. She snuggles in close to me while I read her a book. Peter Rabbit. Her head is on my shoulder, her little hand on my chest. About three-quarters of the way through the book, she looks at me and whispers, ‘I love you, Daddy.’ Then as I finish reading, she slowly drifts off to sleep.” He paused to fight off the tears that pressed behind his eyes. Then, in a tight voice, he said, “Is that memory real?”

Karen didn’t hesitate. “Yes. She’s always loved her daddy.”

The door of the room opened and Murphy walked in. He wore different clothes, khakis and a blue polo, and appeared refreshed. He’d no doubt caught a few hours of sleep and had a nice shower and breakfast before paying them a visit. The same two guards that had accompanied him in Kansas City flanked him again.

“Good morning, Jed, Karen.” He motioned to the dining room table and chairs. “Please have a seat.”

As they sat, Murphy wandered to the glass door and studied the beach, hands clasped behind his back. “Beautiful, isn’t it? We picked this house because we knew you’d enjoy the view. It’s not often you see such tranquility.”

“Are we safe here?” Jed asked.

Murphy turned and faced them. “Absolutely. Our own people don’t even know where you are. The only ones who know are myself and —” he nodded toward the two guards by the door —“a small army of guards positioned around the house and occupying the neighboring homes.”

Murphy walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat. “When I leave here, I want you to get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, and you’ll need to be refreshed and at your best.”

“Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”

“Connelly.”

“I know that part.”

“He’s coming to Kill Devil Hills tomorrow, the Wright Brothers Memorial, to give an address.”

“And?”

“And you’re going to assassinate him.”

Jed stared at Murphy. The man had made his declaration so casually Jed thought he’d misunderstood him at first. But he knew he hadn’t. His chest tightened. He’d known the end result of all this would be him taking a shot at Connelly, but every time the thought surfaced, he’d pushed it back down. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to consider it. It was absurd and ridiculous and impossible and so wrong.

Wasn’t it?

Murphy remained quiet as if letting his pronouncement hang there for effect. Jed’s immediate reaction to the statement was to reject it outright, to declare it insanity and refuse to have anything to do with it. But the longer the silence went on, the less repulsed by the idea he became.

Finally Murphy said, “This is the right thing to do, Patrick. Connelly will go through with his plans. He has all the pieces in place. There’s no changing his mind now. He has set his course and paved his own path. If he’s a target now, it’s only because he’s chosen to be at the center of a treasonous conspiracy.”

In some strange and twisted way, what Murphy said made sense. Connelly needed to be stopped, and he alone had put himself in that position. Like a lone gunman drawing his weapon on a unit of armed police officers. The outcome was obvious, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Jed glanced at Karen, hoping for some assurance or a way out. She caught his eye and nodded. She knew he had to do it too.

Murphy leaned forward over the tabletop. “You have no idea how many lives will be saved by this one shot. Millions. In the US and around the world. This man says he wants a strong America, but what he’s planning will shatter this nation. Do you realize the chain reaction this will have worldwide? The world is unstable enough as it is. If we fall, much of the world goes with us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Think of it. World markets crash. Despots who had previously been held in check are free to wreak whatever havoc they like. Rogue nations will form. Any support and stability our country has fostered will no longer be there.”

Karen reached over and put her hand on Jed’s. Her touch was cool and soft. “He’s right, Jedidiah.” There was fear in her eyes, a shadow that lingered in the corners and darkened the light that was once there.

Jed nodded. “I know.” He hated that he’d said the words aloud, that he’d agreed with Murphy. But Murphy was right. If Connelly succeeded, the shock around the world would be devastating. Millions of lives would be lost; countless more would suffer.

And he, Jed Patrick, could stop it all with one shot.

He looked at Murphy. “Okay.” The word, that one solitary word, came out of his mouth like a blacksnake and felt like it took part of his soul with it. For the briefest of moments he was sorry he’d said it. He wanted to reach out and snatch the word out of the air before it reached Murphy’s ears and stuff it back into whatever dark hole it had slithered out of.

Murphy smiled like a hormonal sixteen-year-old behind the wheel of a hot rod. “Good.”

“Where is it?” Jed said. Every word felt forced now and sounded to his ears like they were spoken by someone else entirely.

“Where is what?”

“The nest.”

Murphy turned to the guards, who had remained by the door, and nodded. “We’ll send you there tomorrow. We’ve had the location occupied for a couple weeks now. A man and woman, two of our own who look much like the two of you, have been staying there, coming and going.”

“So no one will be suspicious when I suddenly show up the day before Connelly’s speech.”

“Exactly.”

“How far?”

“Eighteen hundred yards, give or take.”

“A mile.”

“Just over.”

Jed closed his eyes. He knew any location near the sea was going to be windy. A mile shot through shifting winds was nearly impossible.

“You’ve done that distance before,” Nichols said. “Or close to it.”

He had. In Afghanistan . . .

The town is a Podunk village of just over a thousand people. Pabid. The buildings are low and brown. Everything brown, the color of the earth. No variation for the eyes. Always brown on brown. The only thing that breaks the monotony is the people. And shadows. There isn’t a tree within a mile of Pabid, not a major population hub within a hundred miles, but it sits on a crossroad, and for that reason the HQ wants it. Insurgents use those roads to move ammunition and men. Pabid is a popular location to rest and strategize.

For the moment, the town is quiet. Jed’s been watching it for days, the foot traffic in and out, the vehicles that come and go. The last group of insurgents vacated yesterday, leaving the town vulnerable to a team of Rangers with orders to infiltrate and secure the village from within. Infantry will move in then and secure the borders and set up vehicle checks along the road.

Jed’s job is to provide protection. Though the insurgents have moved on, some townsfolk are armed, and not all are friendly to Americans.

The order comes in to begin the raid, and for the most part, it goes smoothly and as planned. The team moves methodically through the town, covering the streets in short time. Some men greet them, older men with graying beards and dark skin. The town leaders. They smile, laugh, shake hands.

Not a single shot has been fired.

Jed runs the scope mounted on his rifle over the rough terrain surrounding the town. He’s been monitoring the entire area and hasn’t seen even a goat herder outside the town’s borders today.

The sun is large and intense. Heat devils dance and writhe and hover over the barren landscape.

“And the terrain?” Jed asked.

“I won’t lie to you; it’s not an easy shot. Partially over open water with variable winds. We’ll monitor the conditions as best we can and relay the information to you in real time.”

“And what about my equipment?”

Murphy clasped his hands on the table. “When you get to the location, you’ll have everything you need waiting for you. The weapon, ammunition, scopes, maps. Everything. And Karen will never leave your side.” He put on that sinister grin again. “We want you comfortable and ready to go tomorrow.”

He’s hidden himself well in a crevice on the other side of the town. An insurgent sniper.

“You see him?” Jed says to Habit, his spotter.

“I got him.”

“How far?”

Habit holds the scope to his eye for a long time. “Sixteen hundred meters.”

Just under a mile.

“Wind?” Jed can feel a gentle breeze against his cheek.

“Quarter from your nine.”

Jed dials in the distance and wind on his scope and puts the crosshairs on the dark form of the sniper. All that is visible are his head and shoulders, an area of no more than two hundred square inches.

He’ll get only one shot. In the open, from this distance, a target would never hear the concussion of the shot and would never notice a round whizzing by. But the way the sniper was tucked into the crevice, surrounded by rock, any missed shot would surely be detected as the round impacted the rock. This had to be perfect. Shoot and kill.

“What’s the weapon?”

Murphy’s grin widened. “Your weapon. The one you used in Afghanistan. We saved it.”

Jed watches the sniper for a minute, studying his movements, the direction, the speed, the intent behind them. Finally the man lifts his rifle and rests it on a rocky formation in front of him. He peers into his scope.

Jed has to take the shot now.

“Wind.”

Habit answers, “Unchanged. Take it.”

Jed exhaled. It was an incredibly long shot. Fortunately the conditions were almost perfect or it would be impossible.

“Take it now,” Habit says.

Jed pauses his breathing. Adrenaline surges through his veins, but he subdues the effect on his muscles. He squeezes the trigger. The rifle pops and kicks, and seconds later the sniper’s head snaps back and he disappears behind the rock.

Simple.

Jed’s mind churned with possibilities, scenarios, calculations . . . memories. He was surprised by the spark of excitement he felt. Whether it was nervousness or adrenaline or a combination of the two, with other unknown ingredients tossed in, he didn’t know. But it was the same feeling he’d get right before a mission in the Afghan desert. He remembered that.