Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,131

Take these prisoners to extract. They might be the only witnesses to what’s happened here and if this goes public, we will need them to keep us off the noose.”

“Hey, boss,” Chavez said from the far end of the room. The change in his tone was chilling.

He was standing by a table that had been moved in front of the last cell, a cell that was now empty. A large glass jar almost the size of a water cooler jug was on top.

Reece walked toward it, a sense of dread building the closer he got. Knowing what it was even before he stopped, he knelt down and came face-to-face with Hanna Hastings.

“What are you going to do?” Chavez asked.

Reece felt the hate welling up from the deepest recesses of his soul. He looked from Hanna’s upturned eyes to those of his friend and teammate.

“I’m going hunting.”

CHAPTER 80

REECE RAN IN SNOWSHOES, finding his rhythm, the Echols Legend rifle cradled in his grasp. He had reloaded with four rounds in its magazine and a fifth in the chamber. Five additional rounds on its cheek pad gave Reece quick access to more ammunition and put his eye at the optimal height behind the scope.

He’d traded his battlefield pickup for his bolt-action Echols because he wanted a tool he was comfortable with if he had to make a long shot. According to the African prisoners in Zharkov’s dungeon, the Russian hunter and his accomplice had started tracking Raife when it was still dark, which meant he had at least a two-hour head start. In all likelihood, Reece would have to even up that distance with a bullet.

He’d thought the team might mutiny when he told them he was forging ahead without them. He’d convinced them that with his sniper rifle and with only two targets still in play, he was best equipped to handle them. Reece stressed that they needed to get back to Farkus and it would take the three of them to move him to extract. Two would carry the wounded SEAL and one would be on security while also accounting for the Africans. They’d have to rotate positions as they maneuvered overland to the Albatross and freedom. While all that was true, Reece also knew that anyone who stayed was probably not leaving the island. Going after Raife and Aleksandr meant they would surely miss the extract window. He couldn’t live with the deaths of more of his friends and teammates on his conscience. He would continue alone.

Reece had dropped most of his gear for added mobility. He needed to move. His Half Face Hunter-Skinner and Winkler Sayok RnD ’Hawk were on his belt. A SIG P320 Compact was in a Blackpoint Tactical wing holster at his side.

The path was easy to follow. The tracks were from a four-wheel drive built to crawl over the snow- and rock-strewn landscape. The snowshoes kept him from potholing into the deeper patches of snow as he gained elevation. His labored breathing and the howling wind all but eliminated his sense of hearing.

Dawn had broken to an overcast sky. It would be snowing soon. He had to catch up with Raife and Aleksandr before the weather closed in, concealing their tracks.

The jar containing Hanna’s head was seared into Reece’s memory. The man responsible was at the end of the trail. It was time for him to die.

Reece’s peripheral vision caught a blur of white to his right. On instinct born of a warrior’s DNA, he pivoted and threw up his left arm to block his face, the dog’s teeth sinking into the fabric of his jacket and piercing the skin beneath.

Dog!

Losing his balance on the snowshoes that had just turned from an asset into a liability, he dropped his rifle and spun the massive canine around into the snow. The primal growls of the beast so close to his face flipped a switch in the former commando; his “five-meter target” had just become this animal intent on killing him. Forcing the dog down in the powder, Reece took the mount position, and fired a palm strike against his own arm, slamming his radial bone deep into the dog’s mouth to take away the jaw’s mechanical advantage and prevent it from shredding his arm to pieces. Having been taught to defend against dogs bred and trained to kill, Reece shot a second palm strike into its sensitive nose before going for his pistol. With his arm blocking the dog’s face, Reece raised the SIG toward its