“Your daughter will never be tested. I’ve already taken care of the existing record, and taken measures to make sure that there will never be another. She’s safe. I gave you my word, Nick. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of your family.”
My family. He had a flash of that morning, months ago, whirling his children on the front lawn of their house. One of them clinging to each arm, the weight of trust and love tugging at him with a pull he never wanted to be free of. The green blur of the world beyond them.
What you’ve seen has changed you. Fine. But that doesn’t matter. You’re not doing this for the DAR.
You’re doing it for them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Back in action.
In his life, Cooper had killed thirteen—no, counting Gary on the freeway, fourteen—people. That made him neither uncomfortable nor proud. It was just a fact. He wasn’t a violent guy, didn’t get off on hurting people. He was a soldier. When he acted, it was for a reason, and it was to save lives.
And yet he had to admit it felt good to be back in action.
The last six months had seen plenty of excitement. Some of it he’d enjoyed, testing himself, building a reputation that would allow him a chance to get closer to John Smith. But at the same time, it had felt like a holding pattern, something he was doing while his real life was waiting. His real life as a father, and his real life as a government agent, as a man fighting for a better future.
As of tonight, the holding pattern was over. He’d have this one chance at Smith. Succeed or fail, this phase would be behind him. No more pretending, no more running.
Well, that’s not quite true. If you fail, there will likely be some running involved. He smiled and killed the engine.
The ridgeline the cabin sat on backed up to the Shoshone National Forest. After studying the maps and satellite imagery Epstein had provided, Cooper had settled on a narrow fire lane two miles from the house as a place to leave the truck. Earlier he’d stopped at a hunting goods store in Leibniz and bought supplies, and now he stripped down to his skivvies and put them on. A thermal base layer, camouflage pants and jacket, a pair of Vasque hiking boots, and light gloves. He’d splurged on good binoculars, Steiner Predators, which had set him back two grand. Worth every penny; the newtech lenses would not only let him see in the dark, the chipset analyzed the image and highlighted motion. The guy behind the counter had said, “You looking to do a little nighttime hunting?”
“Something like that.” Cooper had smiled.
“These are the ticket, then. Need ammo?”
“I’m good.”
He checked the Beretta now, then looked at the spare magazines, decided against them. If he needed to reload, he’d already lost. Besides, they could make noise if they knocked into something. Cooper locked the truck, tucked the keys under the bumper, and started walking.
The air was crisp and cool, sweet in the way that air was supposed to taste but rarely did. He savored it and the clean movement of his muscles, the warmth in his legs as he climbed. He moved steadily but without hurry, and by the time he’d hiked up the back of the ridgeline, the sky had faded from indigo to purple and finally a velvety black. The moon cast sleek, wet-looking shadows.
The ridgeline was rocky, the trees old and bent with wind. The towers of vertical stone looked even more like fingers, the hand of a giant pushing up from below. Cooper squatted and glassed the area. It took him a few minutes to pick the right tree: an enormous Ponderosa pine about two hundred yards from the cabin.