Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,146

military and intelligence watchdogs.

In the weeks since Reece’s return, prominent D.C. lobbyist Grant Larue had mysteriously gone missing at the same time the president’s chief of staff, Reginald Pyne, had resigned, citing personal reasons. Journalists and conspiracy theorists had yet to connect the two events.

True to his word, Ivan Zharkov had used his illicit network to deposit Reece on a dusty airstrip in the Central African Republic. The CIA chief of station in Bangui was more than a little surprised when an American who looked like a homeless mountain man appeared at the front gate. Calls were made, bona fides were confirmed, and Reece found himself on a secure video teleconference with Vic Rodriguez. To the director of Clandestine Services’ agitated and probing inquisition, Reece simply answered, “Just get me home, Vic.”

Police sirens stirred Reece from his reverie, the blue and red flashing lights screaming by on the way to yet another call. Reece turned on the lights and put his SUV in drive, approaching the front gate and waving to the guard who manned the facility from behind a horizontal sliding barrier.

The guard hit a button and the iron gate rolled out of the way, allowing Reece to inch forward.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for container 1855. I haven’t been here in years. Can you tell me where it is?”

“Name?”

“Thomas Reece.”

The guard scrolled through a database, confirming that Thomas Reece had a container in the storage facility and that he was fully paid up. Finding everything in order, he asked for Reece’s ID.

Reece pushed the ID through the open window of his vehicle, intentionally holding his finger over the first name.

The guard yawned, consulted a map, and drew a circle on it before handing it to Reece and pointing into the labyrinth. “Take your first right and then the next left. It’ll be about halfway down.”

“Thank you,” Reece said.

The lone guard nodded and went back to a night of monitoring security cameras, drinking lukewarm coffee, and eating stale donuts left over from the day shift.

Reece drove slowly past row upon row of storage units until he found himself parked outside number 1855.

When his mother had passed away, the last of his family’s belongings had been sent to Katie’s father. The Buraneks were listed as the next of kin after Reece. Because Reece was believed to be dead, three boxes had eventually been shipped from his mother’s nursing home closet to Dr. Buranek, who ultimately sent them to Katie to give to Reece.

Katie had been none too pleased when Reece turned up at the U.S. embassy in the Central African Republic six months after she had seen him off. When he had not returned, both Raife and Jonathan had paid her a visit. They had been smart enough to call ahead so Katie wouldn’t think they were arriving to give her the news that Reece was dead. She’d lived that nightmare once before.

Reece thought he would be welcomed back with open arms but found, much to his dismay, that Katie was pissed. Though the making up had been worth it, they decided that Reece should have his own place as he was debriefed at Langley and figured out his next move. Rodriguez wanted him full-time at the Agency, but Reece needed time. Time to figure out this next chapter in life; his next mission. Purpose.

Reece had waited until he was alone to unpack the boxes of memories from the nursing home. As he worked his way through old family photos and mementos from happier times, he’d come across a cigar box containing some military photographs from Vietnam, his dad’s DD214, the paperwork everyone who has served in uniform since 1950 has received upon discharge from active duty, and an envelope containing a key. An address was printed on the envelope, the address of the storage facility.

Reece stood in the pouring rain outside the storage container and rubbed the key in his hand. The journey that had started with the death of his father in a back alley of Buenos Aires was finally over. The miles logged and bodies stacked since that pivotal moment had chiseled Reece into the warrior he was today. Why, as he stood in the rain looking down at the key, did he not feel a sense of closure? The man behind his father’s death and the killing of Freddy Strain was now in the ground, just fertilizer for the Siberian tundra. The traitor’s death begot life.

Looking right and left for threats, Reece carefully inspected the corners