Page 104 of The 9th Man

“Are you Talley?” the deputy asked.

He nodded.

“We were told to expect you.”

“What about the information I requested?”

“The rangers report that Luke Daniels and Jillian Stein registered yesterday, then headed off into the wilderness.”

The cover story included that Daniels was a fugitive, on the run with another fugitive who’d helped him escape from a Mississippi prison. They’d come to bring them both in. Rowland had used his FBI connections to give credence to the story, which the local sheriff had accepted. And which had been fine by the sheriff, as he did not possess the manpower to spare for a bounty hunt.

The wind whipped over him with a fury, swirling a light snowfall, and chapping his ears and lips. Not the kind of weather to be out in the wild. But Daniels was no ordinary tourist. Not by a long shot. At least he had him within his sights, along with a measure of privacy.

Talley had studied the topography and knew that Eckstein’s land lay about twenty miles away, ultra-remote, with no access roads. Horseback was the only way in or out, unless you dropped from the sky—which he planned to do.

“What do you know about anyone living up there?” he asked.

“There are a few cabins, some of the land is privately owned. A lot of it is government-controlled. We rarely go up there. Those folks look after themselves.”

Good to hear.

“I would recommend waiting,” the deputy said. “This is not chopper weather.”

No, it was not. The wind whipped in strong gusts and snow filled the air. Daniels and the woman were probably socked in too, and he was anxious to know what had spooked Thomas Rowland.

He could not recall when he transitioned from a respected special forces soldier to a hired mercenary.

But that was precisely what he was.

Sure, he’d been bitter at the military for blaming him for something it did and forcing him out. And that resentment had factored into his decision in first accepting Rowland’s job offer. But the longer he stayed, the deeper he dug the hole, until finally conscience and morality were swept away by simple greed.

But there was also something else.

Appreciation.

Rowland had always been complimentary of what he’d done, praising his efforts, relying on him, just as the U.S. Army once had. Everybody needed attaboys. No. He’d actually craved them and Rowland had surely sensed that weakness and exploited it, transforming him into a glorified lapdog. Docile. Trained. Obedient.

But that was all over.

He’d had enough.

Today was liberation day.

52

LUKE KEPT TO THE TRAIL, FOLLOWING ECKSTEIN AS HE AND JILLIANwere led through a gap in the cliff face barely wider than the horses. His senses stayed on high alert, mindful for booby traps. He had to wonder. Were they walking into trouble?

As a rule booby traps were planted in places that people were naturally attracted to, or forced to use. In Afghanistan that had been abandoned houses left standing in a village, which offered shelter. A locked door or drawer, which suggested something of value hidden inside. Roadside vehicles. Anything people would naturally want to see inside like a crate or rucksack or bag. And, like here, natural choke points, which people had to use whether they wanted to or not. They were literally out in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest person, a point Eckstein had hammered home.

When they emerged on the opposite side of the trees they found themselves in yet another meadow, this one barely an acre and ringed by tall old-growth trees. In the center of the clearing rose a large, two-story cabin, the first floor constructed of stripped notch-logs and large arched windows. The second floor more a huge gable with a steep-pitched roof.

A small barn stood off to the side, its doors closed.

“This couldn’t have been easy to build,” Jillian said.

“Three years of hard work and dozens of helicopter airlifts. But worth every penny. There’s a sheltered area by the barn the horses can have. Feed and water are there too.”

They dealt with the horses and headed for the house, both armed with their pistols. The cabin’s first-floor interior was all light wood paneling and matching floors. Southwestern-style rugs lay down the open halls and across a seating area before a massive stone hearth fireplace, whose flagstone chimney disappeared up through the ceiling. Off to one side was a kitchenette, dining nook, and sliding glass doors that led out to a wooden deck.

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