The Target

Chapter 28

The dawn was breaking cool and clear when they landed at a private airstrip outside of Avignon in France. Clearing customs was not a problem; they simply bypassed it. When you arrived on clandestine wings on soil governed by an ally, conveniences like that tended to occur.

Robie and Reel carried duffels off the jet and dumped them in a truck waiting for them on the tarmac. Reel took the wheel while Robie rode shotgun.

After their meeting with Evan Tucker they had geared up and game-planned, as much as was possible in the few hours they had to do so. They had spent the flight time going over various scenarios.

As they drove along Reel rolled down her window and let the breeze wash over her face. Neither had slept the entire trip except for a forty-five-minute catnap right before landing.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence.

Robie turned on the radio on the off chance that there was a bug somewhere in their vehicle.

“General Pak,” said Robie.

“Tucker screwed up big-time somewhere. I could see it in his sweat, the chickenshit.”

“North Korean general goes down in France. I wonder who the original target was?”

She glanced at him. “We both know that, don’t we?”

Robie looked out the window. The countryside in the south of France was beautiful much of the year. While the lavender wasn’t as vibrant right now as it was in the summer, it was still something to look at. But for Robie, it might as well have been dead cacti.

He said, “Blue Man thought it was a head of state, and Blue Man is almost always right.”

“So for North Korea that means the Supreme Leader, Kim Jong Un.”

“But he’s no longer the target.”

“And General Pak is,” she noted. “So what changed?”

“General Pak is the second in command over there. You think he was behind a coup orchestrated by us?”

She nodded, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as she did so. “It certainly happens. Military wants to take over. We work with them and turn an enemy into an ally.”

“Coups work when they’re a surprise. My take is something happened to blow the surprise.”

Reel said, “You think the president signed off on the hit on Pak?”

Robie nodded. “Not even Evan Tucker has the balls to authorize this alone.”

She said, “Mission got screwed, blowback could be a tsunami, and all thanks to Evan Tucker and his megalomaniac plans. And we get called in to clean up his mess. And he walks in to meet us with a smile on his face like he didn’t try to drown a confession out of us and we’re suddenly best friends. I knew the guy was an asshole. This just confirms it.”

Robie slipped the gun from his holster and examined it. The pistol was his old reliable. He’d used it in dozens of missions. It was lightweight, compact, had perfectly aligned iron sights, and fit his hand precisely. It was a beautiful piece of customized engineering.

With a ton of blood symbolically coated on its metal-and-polymer skin.

Reel glanced at him again. “Having second thoughts?”

He looked at her. “And you’re not?”

Reel didn’t respond to this. She just stared down the road and kept driving.

Robie and Reel spent the day preparing for the targeted hit, including a reconnaissance visit to the cottage Pak was renting. They ate a late lunch in their hotel room overlooking a valley steeped in the colors of fall. Reel went to the window with her cup of coffee and looked out. Robie remained at the table going over the details one more time.

He said, “You got it down?”

“Every millimeter and microsecond,” she replied. Reel added, “You ever think of living in a place like this when all is said and done?”

He rose and joined her at the window, following her gaze.

She turned to him. “Have you?”

“I told you once before, I don’t look that far down the road.”

“And I told you once before, you should start.”

He glanced over her shoulder. “Peaceful. Pretty.”

“Go to the market with your basket and get your food fresh for that day. Take walks. Ride bicycles. Sit outside at a café and just…do…nothing.”

“You sound like an ad for a travel magazine,” he said, smiling.

“Why shouldn’t I have something like that?”

“No reason in the world,” he said, turning serious at her response. “You can have it.”

She looked wistfully out the window for a few seconds more and then turned to him with a resigned smile. “The hell I can. Let’s get back to work.”

Night came. And then the deepest dark of night arrived hours later.

They set out from their hotel and made a circuitous journey to their final destination.

It was a cottage on the outskirts of a cliff-hugging village about twenty miles south of Avignon. The property was wooded and isolated. There was no car in front when Robie and Reel reached the edge of the tree line and peered at the structure through their night optics.

“You think this is a setup?” he said.

“I’ve been thinking that ever since we went wheels up stateside.”

“Me too.”

He went to the rear. She started toward the front. During their earlier recon of the target site they had left behind motion-triggered cameras on all sides of the property and also pointed at the front and rear of the house.

They had checked all these images on their tablet on the drive over. The cameras had captured nothing other than the occasional squirrel and bird. No humans. No movement from anyone into or out of the cottage.

Robie cleared the back door at the same time Reel cleared the front window. He wasn’t guessing about this. They were commed and kept each other informed of their movements and locations. The last thing they wanted was to kill each other by mistake.

They cleared the few rooms of the cottage and met in the back hall. There was only one room left to go. Probably a bedroom.

They both could hear movement, slight movement, in that room.

They raised their guns, fingers slipped to triggers.

Reel touched Robie. “I’ll do the kill shot,” she whispered.

“Why?” he whispered back.

“Because I’m the only reason you’re in this mess,” she replied.

They silently made their way to the door. Robie covered her while Reel nudged it open with her foot.

The light inside the room came on. They were ready for this. Their optics automatically adjusted to the increased level of illumination.

The old man sat in his undershorts and white T-shirt on the edge of the bed. His feet were in slippers with white socks on them. His hair was perfectly combed and his manner calm.

His uniform with the stars was neatly draped over the arm of a chair next to the bed. His cap was on the seat of the chair.

These observations were quickly forgotten.

Both Robie’s and Reel’s attention was drawn to the gun in his hand.

They both took aim.

But firing became unnecessary.

He said in clearly articulated English, “Don’t let them hurt my family. And tell your president to go to hell.”

Then the old man stuffed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.