and Guides Association, and the Selous Scouts Regimental Association. On the second page, Grey found an engagement announcement, dated June 2014, in the Montana Standard.
“The Honorable Timothy and Katherine Thornton of Butte are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter, Annika Grace, to Raife J. Hastings, son of Jonathan and Caroline Hastings of Whitefish. Raife is a 1999 graduate of the University of Montana and is a rancher, having recently retired from the United States Navy, where he served as a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy. A September wedding is planned.” There was a photo above the announcement: two young, beautiful people, posing candidly and looking very much in love. The woman looked like she could be a model with her perfect jaw, long, graceful neck, flawless skin, and delicate shoulders. Her suitor looked like a thirty-something version of the Marlboro Man: hard, gritty, and masculine yet undoubtedly attractive. Grey could just make out a scar that ran down the man’s face, making him look even more intriguing.
Grey looked at the whiteboard; James Reece had attended the University of Montana and was the same age. They were both in the Navy and the Hastingses’ family ranch, located in some of the most remote country in the lower forty-eight, would be an ideal place to hide from the world.
Had Raife Hastings been a SEAL?
Grey felt the rush of victory. He might not have the intimidating physical power of the men he hunted, but he had the intellectual advantage. He still needed on-the-ground confirmation, but if he had located his target, Reece would soon be reunited with his dead family.
CHAPTER 17
Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, New York
KOYCHEV LOOKED AT THE package delivered by courier the previous evening. Though there were various electronic means of communication thought to be secure from the prying eyes of the American law enforcement and intelligence agencies, an old-fashioned hard copy, hand-carried on a Moscow to New York flight, was still the best way to stay off their radar.
He used his pocketknife to unseal the padded manila envelope and dumped the contents onto his desk. There was a small stack of papers, a thumb drive, and what Koychev recognized as an Iridium GPS tracking device. There was a cover letter of sorts, typed in Russian and signed by a fellow Avtoriet, a brigadier in the organization. The letter was indirect, making references to events and people that only the reader would understand. It was an effective, if informal code; no computer or word sleuth could decipher it. The message was simple: locate the target, identify his vehicles, and develop a pattern of life. This was to be acted upon with the highest urgency as the request was coming from the Big Boss himself. It didn’t take a man of Koychev’s experience to determine that someone’s days were numbered.
He pulled an inexpensive laptop from his desk, one that he never connected to the internet, and slid the thumb drive into the USB port. The first file was a series of photos of a man, both in and out of uniform. Koychev recognized him from the media coverage: a former SEAL who had gone on a rampage after the deaths of his wife and daughter, becoming the most wanted man in America. Other files contained satellite imagery, maps, bank account records, and other fragments of data that would help find and eliminate the target.
Koychev closed his eyes and thought about the problem at hand. His people were accustomed to operating in cities where they could hide among the masses of humanity. Putting men, particularly foreigners, into such a remote part of the United States would attract immediate attention. He had an idea. He typed “Whitefish Montana bartender jobs” into Google and found two current openings. One of those jobs would work perfectly.
He called his most reliable female employee into his back office, taking a moment to admire her before giving her his instructions.
“Tanya, you are moving to Montana.”
CHAPTER 18
Whitefish, Montana
TANYA WAS NOT PLEASED when Sergey sent her on this assignment, but she’d quickly fallen for the natural beauty and easy pace of the small resort town. Ski towns across the American West were often staffed by Eastern Europeans during the summer months and Tanya befriended a group from Bulgaria and Serbia. Within two weeks of her arrival, she had moved into a crowded house where she shared a bedroom with Elitza from the city of Sofia in the Balkans. She mostly worked nights, pouring drinks at a local bar and flirting