of Neversweat bourbon and poured two fingers for each of the men present. The Montana whiskey was named for the two-thousand-foot-deep Neversweat copper mine near Butte. The mine was called Neversweat due to its unusually cool temperatures, which made it a relatively comfortable work environment in an otherwise miserable profession. The men held their glasses out in a salute, each of them thinking of the fallen brothers they’d left behind in Vietnam, Rhodesia, Afghanistan, and Iraq. Warriors all four.
“To the lads!” Jonathan toasted.
“To the lads!” the others replied, before joining the women at the dinner table.
The meal had its intended effect of welcoming Reece into the fold. Each course had been prepared by either Jonathan or Caroline and was paired with a wine from the Franschhoek and Stellenbosch vineyards, in which the family maintained ownership interests. Reece feasted on duck, pronghorn, and elk but the main course was a grass-fed beef filet from the family’s main cattle operation near the Missouri River Breaks. The conversation was kept light with no mention of politics, battles fought, or departed loved ones, and for the first time in ages, Reece felt that he was part of a family.
While the groups were chatting noisily over a dessert of homemade apple tart with cinnamon, Raife rose to his feet and tapped his silver fork on the petite crystal glass of Groot Constantia Grand Constance on the table before him.
“We have a little announcement to make. A very little one, actually.” He turned and smiled at a blushing Annika. “Father, Mother, you are going to have another grandchild to spoil and, Senator, you will have your first.”
The room burst into joyful applause. Everyone rose to their feet and there was round after round of hugs, black slaps, and celebration. Jonathan rushed out of the dining room and returned with a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon champagne in each hand. Reece was overjoyed for his friend. A brief wave of sadness hit him as he thought of his own wife, pregnant at the time of her murder, but he pushed that darkness aside to share in the moment.
As the celebration wound down, Thorn motioned for Reece to join him on a corner of the deck.
“What are your plans, Reece?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I’m figuring that out now.”
“First of all, stop it with this sir bullshit. It’s Thorn. Second of all, I know you didn’t ask for it, but let me give you some unsolicited advice.”
Reece suspected the Hastings clan had asked Thorn to extend a bit of wisdom to the wayward frogman.
“When my wife died, I didn’t have anyone to hold responsible,” Thorn continued. “No list to work through. I know there is nothing anyone could have done. It was Kathy’s time. The Lord needed her and so he called her home. I think about her every day. I haven’t set foot inside our old home since the funeral.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My point, son, is don’t let the bastards who took your family take your future from you, too. Don’t let them win. It’s too late for an old warhorse like me. It’s not too late for you.”
Reece swallowed hard and nodded, hoping it was too dark for Thorn to see his eyes.
“Jonathan told me you are thinking about joining up with the Agency.”
“I’ve been giving it some thought,” Reece admitted.
“You be careful with them, Reece. They can be tricky bastards. I still have connections in Washington, even more so than I did as a politician. Being in energy has meant significant donations to both parties. If there is ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, sir, I mean, Thorn.”
“Think nothing of it, son.”
That night Reece slept in his bed, in the cabin, his chair by the lake unoccupied for the first night since his return to Montana.
CHAPTER 14
Saint Petersburg, Russia
DESPITE HIS BEST EFFORTS, Grey could find no trace of James Reece. He weighed his options.
It had not escaped Grey during his extensive research that investigative journalist Katie Buranek had been the sole voice to shed doubt on the prevailing story line that Reece was a SEAL-gone-rogue, right-wing nut job, and domestic terrorist after his family was murdered almost two year’s ago. Grey knew her as one of those impossibly beautiful cable news blondes who were also quite brilliant. He googled her to find she had risen to prominence with a series of stories on Benghazi that became the basis for a bestselling book. Her exposé on the Reece affair was initially ridiculed by the media elites