Dog Tags

CHAPTER 27

JEREMY IVERSON HAD NO IDEA THAT ONE OF HIS PARTNERS WAS DEAD. He and Donovan Chambers had dropped out of touch and gone their separate ways after returning home from the war. Chambers had never told him he was going to live in the Caribbean, and the truth was that Jeremy wouldn’t have cared anyway. They had done a job together; it wasn’t like they were best friends.

Jeremy was aware that Erskine was dead; he had seen that on television, when they were talking about that dog. The news didn’t come as a surprise to him. Pretty much everybody he knew hated Erskine, so it made sense that eventually somebody would take a shot at him. Jeremy just hoped it had nothing to do with the Iraq operation. If it did, it could have ominous consequences for himself, although he was well hidden from the world.

Jeremy basically hadn’t touched the money, other than to provide for some basics like a place to live, some decent civilian clothes, and three hunting rifles. He realized that he was in a state of emotional limbo, unable to decide in which direction he should go. He instinctively knew that whatever first steps he took, they would influence his life forever.

The only real decision Jeremy had made since returning was to make a clean break with his past. It wasn’t a great sacrifice; all that was left back home in Missoula was an alcoholic mother and an ex-wife whom he learned had filed for divorce while he was in Iraq. Mail call wasn’t much fun that day.

Jeremy had rented a cabin about thirty miles from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. He drove through the town on the way out there, and was struck by how the rich people had taken over the place. He found it pretty funny to realize that he could afford to live there if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

Except for occasional trips into town for food and other supplies, Jeremy pretty much stayed to himself at the cabin. He had some success at the bar with the local women; money even helped at that. But he had no interest in establishing any relationships, at least not until he felt more ready to face the world.

So like every other day, Jeremy woke up that morning with the choice of going hunting or hanging out in the cabin and watching television. The only sports on were baseball games, and Jeremy wasn’t that big a fan. He was more into football and basketball. So Jeremy made the decision he had been making almost every day, to go hunting.

He found it strange how much he enjoyed hunting, since he’d never particularly liked it growing up. But now it was something about the solitude; he could get lost in it and love doing so.

It was around eleven o’clock that Jeremy happened upon another hunter, a large but seemingly agreeable man, alone and dressed in orange hunting garb like Jeremy.

“Mornin’,” said Jeremy. “Any luck so far?”

The man grinned and held up a bag that was obviously empty. “Not a bit. But that’s okay; just being out here is enough for me.”

“I know what you mean.” He reached out his hand to shake. “Name’s Jeremy.”

“John. John Burney.”

Jeremy had no way of knowing, and no inclination to suspect, that the man was lying about his name. Even if the man had given his real name, Marvin Emerson, or his nickname, M, it would have meant nothing to Jeremy.

“You live around here, John?”

“Nope. Visiting friends, about ten miles outside Jackson Hole.”

“They don’t hunt?”

M laughed. “They’re from New York.”

M didn’t ask Jeremy where he lived, since he had already searched Jeremy’s cabin. In the process he found and took twenty-five thousand dollars in cash, which made it a rather profitable morning—almost worth coming out to the middle of nowhere.

Instead he asked gentle questions about Jeremy’s time in the army, claiming to have been a veteran himself. He wanted to assure himself that Jeremy was not the type to talk about his time in Iraq or what got him discharged.

Jeremy was tight-lipped about it, though he was willing to discuss his private life. After an hour, M felt reasonably certain that Jeremy had not revealed anything about the time in Iraq, and that there was no one he would have confided in.

It was just past noon, and M figured it was time to kill Jeremy. That would give him time to bury the body, get back to town, and get the last flight out.

He had decided to shoot Jeremy in the back. It wasn’t out of cowardice, though M was aware that as a former soldier Jeremy could be a worthy and dangerous adversary. It was basically unfair to Jeremy to do it from the front, and thereby have him experience the fear of knowing death was imminent. M didn’t want him to suffer; Jeremy had only been doing his job.

Just like M was now doing his.

He took out his handgun. He had equipped it with a silencer, more through force of habit and extra carefulness than anything else. Certainly the sound of a gunshot out here during hunting season would not attract attention.

But Jeremy turned around, possibly a result of instinct, possibly by happenstance. As soon as he saw the gun, he knew what was coming. And he knew why.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jeremy said.

“I’m afraid I do.”

M fired three times, though Jeremy was certainly dead from the first shot.

On the way to the airport he called Landon to report on the successful trip. “I’m on my way to Albuquerque now for number three.”

“Have you got somebody back here you can rely on?” Landon asked.

“Of course. What do you need?”

Landon had been disconcerted by the amount of press coverage Milo was getting, and that morning’s paper had carried the news that Andy Carpenter had signed on to represent Zimmerman. Publicity was not in any way desirable; before long the entire world would be looking for the dog, and maybe the envelope.

“I want the dog,” Landon said.

“Now?” M asked. “I thought you wanted to wait.”

“I’m finished waiting. Get me the dog now.”