(Diamond B Ranch, Avalon Co, TX Feb '91)
His clear sharp eyes stare out from the heavy lids of his skull-like face. The dark blue orbs take in everything, giving nothing back. His sons argue across the glossy table while their sons stand to the side. Members by blood but with no place in this debate.
"You young'uns get."
Sparse words, whip-crack voice. His sons fall silent as the rest flinch but obey.
"What goes on in that head," he grates, his gaze spearing his eldest. "Lettin' that cowboy catch you with your pants down, then lettin' the sum bitch live."
"What should I do?"
"He needs killin'."
"I'll take care of it."
"No, you leave it alone. Now, all but you, get outta my sight." His eyes fall on his middle son, who had been enjoying his brother's trouble, now carefully hiding his own surprise. The other two leave without looking back.
"You do it. You got the trainin' and that fancy shooter you keep braggin' about."
Chapter 1
Ravine Race
( Camelot Ranch, Avalon Co, TX )
Sneaky by nature, experienced by decades of hunts and months of warfare. With skills driven to instinct by the Special Forces trainers, the best camouflage on the market and the most accurate hand crafted rifle in the world, how could he not be the perfect assassin. His father was right to chose him for this job. His pampered older brother would have just botched it, like he does everything. And as usual, he has to do the "spit-and-polish" so the "Golden Boy" can shine.
"Kill 'im and wipe your feet 'fore you come home." That's Pa. Simple, to the point and with no regard for how it needs to be done or what has to be involved. Just do it.
Fine. Setting up the investors meeting in Kansas to coincide with Jack and Rosa's "date rides" was simple when you can flash the green. But having the plane ready, with gun and gear snuck on board by family then arranging to be excused while seconds keep the "grass heads" jabbering away about their latest baby, get the pilot to fly without registering a flight plan, land on an oil field road and wait until the job is done? Now that took brains that Golden Boy couldn't pull out of his hat at gun point. That and hoofing it down here packing a ten pound rifle? Well that's just the kind of grit Pa sees in me and praises Golden Boy for.
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He grimaces, spits and checks the house through his scope again. A couple, both tan skinned and black haired. He riding a sorrel mare, she a black. Out for a pleasure ride.
Here they come, just like Brent's boys said they would. Now where are you two love birds off to? Yeah, the spring. Nice place for a nooner, huh Jack? Got to head past the creek, don't you. Be careful, Jack, a horse could take a bad spill down that steep spot, heh. Down the hill, into the gully, round the bend . . . ok, right here. Cross hairs look good on you, Jack.
Suddenly the black flashes into the cross hairs and quickly out. He looks up, both eyes open to see what the woman is doing.
Oh, a race is it? Playing hard to get on him too, huh, Roseygirl? Well, don't you worry, just a bit more and he's gonna have a real hard time catching you.
The cross hairs once more find his target. The sorrel's whithers. A single shot, just creasing the mane in front of the saddle, the horse will fall taking her rider with her. Simple, clean with no bullet wound for foul play to be suspected.
The woman on the black reaches the ravine edge, where only one can pass, with a huge smile on her face. Glancing back, it becomes an amused pout as her amour has not taken the bait, but is already turning to cut across the creek. She leans out and urges more speed from her mount.
You make this too easy Jack.
The sorrel screams as she tumbles head over heels. Her rider has no chance. Gravity and a thousand pounds of screaming thrashing meat as as effective as any bullet.
The woman's head whips around at the crack of the rifle. The black spooks away from the sounds, throwing the startled woman to the ground. She hits and rolls to the edge of the ravine.
Damn it, Rosa! Leave to you to screw up my plans. Nooo, no nice and easy fall into a ditch with Jacky for you! Now I gotta go over there and get messy.
After collecting his brass, he scuttles along the creek bed, keeping to the rocks, around the bend to where the sorrel is huffing and wheezing her last. The black haired man lays under her, staring at the sky.
Serves you right, you nosey bastard. Now your pretty Spanish rose . . . oops, slick rock . . . damn boot sucking mud . . . . get off!!
He is wiping the dark mud off his boot on the grass when she moans and stirs. For a moment he is torn between two desires. To please his father and tie up this loose end? To please himself and leave open the opportunity to have this woman for himself?
Screw him! Golden Boy is going to come out smelling like a rose, no reason why I shouldn't have mine too.
He hurries off, back down the creek bed. Well out of sight, he reveals a head of flaming red hair as he removes his hat, moping his brow and checks his watch. He smiles at a new sound. The women has woken up.
"JACK JACK JACK JACK JACK," she screams as the ravine echoes back "ACK ACK ACk Ack ack".
Chapter 2
Night attack
(Nomad camp Anbar provence, Iraq )
"ack acK aCK ACK ACK"
Mac startles awake in a sweat, whispers "Mother?"