Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,115

a modern weapon and rest assured, he will not miss if you force him to take a shot. Some have chosen this option, but I know that you will not. You want to kill me. I had to ensure you would come and that you would play. It’s a pity that your friend James Reece isn’t here with you. How I would have loved to hunt you both.”

“If I don’t kill you tomorrow, he’ll finish the job.”

“Unfortunately for us both, that will not be the case. Your friend Reece is on his way here now with a makeshift band of misfits. In all likelihood they will be slaughtered by my security forces as they make landfall. You look surprised, S. Rainsford. Do you think our intelligence apparatus died at the end of the Cold War? I can assure you, it is still very much in place, stronger now than it ever was.”

“And, if I don’t play?”

“Ah, you will play, S. Rainsford. You will play because that is your only chance to kill me. I hunted your sister out of this very cage,” Aleksandr said, looking around as if recounting a fond memory. “Don’t worry, she was treated well. She was not violated. I needed her in top condition. She was strong, that one. Strong and smart.”

Raife and Aleksandr’s attention was drawn to a scraping sound as Sergei pushed a table across the cold cement floor, positioning it in front of Raife’s cage.

“I want you motivated tomorrow, S. Rainsford. I know you will be, but just in case, this should help.”

Sergei handed his master the leather satchel, which Aleksandr placed on the table, unclasping the two brass buckles that held it closed. With great respect and ceremony, Aleksandr reached inside and pulled out a large glass container. Looking admiringly at its contents, he placed it on the table in front of Raife’s cell.

“Good luck tomorrow, Rainsford,” he said, before walking to the stairs that led to the main level. Already thinking of the thick moose steaks Sergei would grill for their supper.

He left Raife alone in his cell, staring into the lifeless upturned eyes of his dead sister.

CHAPTER 68

Glacier Park International Airport, Kalispell, Montana

A GULFSTREAM G550, ALSO known as a GV-SP, is one of the most versatile and luxurious business jets that money can buy. With a $45 million price tag, it was built for comfort and speed over extended distances. Despite its spacious interior, which can accommodate up to nineteen passengers, it was not designed to accommodate five HAHO jumpers, a dog, and all the weapons and gear necessary to perform a clandestine night insertion into a foreign nation via parachute.

The aircraft’s interior was divided into three main sections: a forward club section with four leather seats facing one another over a small table, a four-place divan configured sideways with two seats across the aisle, and an aft sleeping compartment. This arrangement allowed every member of the rescue team a seat, leaving their gear distributed around the cabin and in the aft baggage area. For operators accustomed to making transcontinental flights on the nylon-strapped seats of military transport aircraft, it was a crowded but welcome change.

The team inspected, checked, and double-checked their gear before loading it into the plane. As jumpmaster, Farkus carefully inspected each parachute rig before they were loaded, since conditions before the jump would not be as ideal for doing so. If one didn’t know any better, it looked like a professional soccer or rugby team was boarding the aircraft for an away match.

“Farkus, can you rig this up for me?” Reece asked, extending the Echols Legend his father had given him.

“I knew you were going to grab a sniper rifle.” Farkus smiled. “Yeah, I’ll rig it up.”

“Just in case,” Reece said.

“Just in case,” Farkus acknowledged.

In the absence of a flight attendant, Liz performed the FAA-mandated safety briefing and indicated the location of the emergency exits. “The forward cabin door is the primary means of exiting the aircraft but additional exits over the wing can be accessed in an emergency,” she said, doing her best flight attendant hand sweep toward the window exits. “In the event of a high-altitude jump over a hostile nation, the aft baggage door is the preferred method of egress,” she said, evoking a laugh from the team.

The plane accelerated down the runway and surged skyward thanks to its powerful Rolls-Royce engines. Within minutes, they were at their cruising altitude of 40,000 feet, moving at a steady speed of Mach 0.83. What always