The Rising Son: Scorched Earth - A Climate Collapse series, #4

By Saul Tanpepper

AS INFRASTRUCTURES COLLAPSE, ANARCHY REIGNS.

ONE MAN REFUSES TO LET PAST WRONGS DEFINE HIM OR HIS FUTURE.

 

Zander Hollis is a wanted man - wanted for murders he didn't commit, wanted for murders he's witnessed, wanted for murders he's capable of committing on behalf of someone else. He just wants to go home and be left alone.

Chasing him are the feds and an extremist group known as the Defenders, two warring factions in this ever chaotic world. And a terrifying wildfire separates him from his family.

With society on the verge of collapse, Zander will have to decide what he values more: his country, his family, or his freedom.

Fire on the Mountain is the first book in the visionary climate fiction (cli-fi) series SCORCHED EARTH, a near-future, survival "what-if" that's both mystery and hard-hitting suspense thriller. In this first 4-book series of the CLIMATE COLLAPSE disaster survival sequence, best-selling post-apocalyptic author Saul Tanpepper focuses a story with global implications on a small set of characters struggling to survive as an increasingly devastating weather pattern batters the American Pacific Northwest. But as rapidly accelerating global warming destabilizes the climate, it will trigger a catastrophic cascade that will spread to the rest of the world and bring it to its knees.

This gripping, natural and manmade disaster survival thriller series is for fans of T.L. Payne, Kyla Stone, Ryan Schow, Grace Hamilton, Frank Horton, and A. American.

* * Rated 16+ for moderate situational language and violence. * *

Look for the following SCORCHED EARTH titles, available now :

• Fire on the Mountain
• Run Boy Run
• The Devil's House
• The Rising Son

Current and future series in the CLIMATE COLLAPSE disaster survival sequence include:

• Scorched Earth
• Drowned Earth
• Fractured Earth
• Shrouded Earth
• Frozen Earth

Saul Tanpepper is the author of the post-apocalyptic survival series BUNKER 12, and its companion series, THE FLENSE, which together tell the story of the run-up to, and the consequences of, a deadly global plague and the people behind it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saul Tanpepper
• Release date: May 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223042594

Saul Tanpepper

Subscribe for new releases & exclusive deals/giveaways: tinyletter.com/SWTanpepper Saul Tanpepper is the specfic pen name of author Ken J. Howe, a PhD molecular biologist and former Army medic and trauma specialist.  Titles include: The post-apocalyptic series GAMELAND (recommended reading order): - Golgotha (prequel, optional) - Episodes 1-4 - Velveteen (standalone novella, optional) - Episodes 5-8 - Infected: Hacked Files From the Gameland Archive (insights for the avid GAMELAND fan) - Jessie's Game #1: Signs of Life - A Dark and Sure Descent - Jessie's Game #2: Dead Reckoning Post-apocalyptic series BUNKER 12 - Contain - Books 2-4 (coming soon) International medical thriller serial THE FLENSE (a BUNKER 12 companion series) - CHINA: Books 1-3 - ICELAND: Book 1-3 - AFRICA: Books 1-3 - TBA Short story collections: Shorting the Undead & Other Horrors Insomnia: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror Visit him at tanpepperwrites.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE INTERVIEW

Friday

The harsh, insistent jangle of the phone pried itself into Jesper’s thoughts like a red-hot crowbar, and he groaned as he opened his eyes. Christ, so soon? he wondered. Where does the time go?

Do you want me to stop? asked the woman with him.

Stop? Jesus, no. Don’t stop.

He rolled his head to the side and was just able to make out the display on the clock past the blurry, misshapen heap of hotel pillows. It was 8:45AM.

Fuck, they’re early.

Well, maybe not that early. Fifteen minutes. But a lot could happen in that span of time, especially when you were having fun.

And up until now he had definitely been having fun.

Duty calls.

He sighed. Because if he was anything, he was a man of duty. And honor. A man of discipline.

A patriot.

Then again, his guests were earlier than they had promised; he still had fifteen minutes.

Fourteen now.

Not yet, he told her.

His phone chirped, notifying him that the caller had left a message. Almost immediately, it rang again.

He was starting to regret not scheduling the interview for a later hour. Or better yet, not waiting to begin his morning entertainments sooner.

Ah, well. The mood was ruined anyway.

Time to get the show on the road.

Actually, after yesterday’s rollercoaster ride of false starts and postponements, it was well past time. The waiting around had left him feeling anxious and slightly more paranoid than normal, which was the reason for the morning’s indulgences.

Idle minds do the Devil’s work.

The woman was a welcome distraction from worrying what those damn technical glitches in the communications network might signify. He couldn’t help thinking that someone was working at cross-purposes with his goals, intentionally sabotaging him. Last night, the worries had grown, spreading like a dark weed, until he woke near midnight, certain the governor would begin to question the tentative arrangement they had just reached.

The people around Jesper worked hard to reassure him that the network problems were unconnected to anything and that he shouldn’t worry about them, but he hadn’t gotten to where he was by just sitting back and accepting that there were things not in his control. He was a man of action. With enough will and the right kind of leverage, such a man could seize any situation by the throat and throttle it into submission.

There was a silver lining to the delays that perhaps actually worked to his benefit. After all, as had been pointed out to him by Mr. Masters, now they could just tape the segment and edit it to his satisfaction, rather than rushing the raw interview and airing it in live format. There was something to be said for unscripted and unedited, of course, but when the message was as important as this, when the narrative needed to be so carefully crafted...

Anyway, he’d since learned that the issues really were unrelated and truly out of his control. Goddamn solar storms. It was that bitch Mother Nature who was to blame for wreaking havoc on communications over the past several days, not the damned FBI or government, as he’d believed. Which was a shame, actually, because blaming the government for secretly sabotaging telecommunications would certainly have fit right into his narrative.

Doesn’t mean they weren’t trying. Or taking advantage of the situation.

And it didn’t mean he couldn’t lay the blame at their doorstep, anyway. He just needed to shift the reasoning slightly to make it fit. There was nothing more powerful than suggestion, particularly when it confirmed people’s biases. That’s why conspiracy theories succeeded as well as they did. People didn’t want the truth; they wanted corroboration.

It was only after he’d learned that the storms would continue to impact communications sporadically over the next several days that he’d agreed to pre-record the segment and air it later, at the earliest and most optimal moment. Time continued to be of essence. If some media outlets remained affected, they’d just have to blast to those that weren’t. Throw in the internet, mobile streaming and any other service willing to pick up the interview, and they could still generate a massive amount of hype.

He’d scheduled the taping for eleven this morning, although the show’s producer had warned him the crew would start arriving sooner to begin preparations. But two hours early? Two hours and fifteen minutes early? The bastards were infringing on his down time, interrupting his morning diversions.

I said stop, he grunted irritably, and pushed her off of him.

Extracting himself from the tangled sheets, he rolled out of bed and crossed the spacious room to the dresser. He didn’t bother covering himself up. He’d long ago given up on modesty; a man such as he, a fine specimen of virility and life experience, had nothing to apologize for. Not the slight sag in his belly. And certainly not the scars. At 44, he was no longer a boy. He was a man in the prime of his life, and he’d never felt better. A 44-year-old body should exhibit some signs of wear-and-tear — war wounds — the absence of which signified a life of leisure and entitlement, of which he’d had neither.

Behind him, reflected in the mirror, the bedclothes tented up, then slid off the woman’s head and bare shoulders. Her raven black hair was a mess, and for just the briefest of moments, it troubled him that he couldn’t remember her name. He hadn’t bothered to ask her, usually didn’t, but she had told him anyway upon her arrival two hours earlier. And now it was gone. He thought it might be Sonja. Or Maritza. Maybe Maribel. He remembered thinking that it had sounded exotic, befitting her looks.

She reached up and wiped the slick off her chin with the back of her hand. As she lay back down, his eyes passed over her body, and passion stirred again within him. He caught her slyly checking the time on the clock, and the feeling faded again. He considered telling her to get dressed, then decided not to. He’d paid for the time already. Why free her up so she could find another paying client?

The phone was in his pants pocket, which he’d flung over the back of the chair the evening before. He dug it out, then swiped the corner of the screen, cutting off the last ring in mid jangle. Jacobs, he said, in lieu of greeting. He set the phone on speaker and set it down on the dresser.

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Jacobs. It’s Rayne. Hope I didn’t wake you."

No, not at all. I had a very restful sleep.

"I’m glad to hear that. The team has arrived. We’re in the lobby and are preparing to set up. We’re shooting for... Hold on."

He heard some murmuring in the background.

"We’d like to begin taping as close to eleven as possible, ideally before. How does that sound to you, Mr. Jacobs?"

That’s fine?

"Excellent. We need to do your makeup and perform sound and light checks. And you and I should do some prep work first, just some warm-up to loosen things before we get down to business."

Very well.

"Excellent. Okay, I’ll send my girl right up to do your makeup."

Right now? he said, glancing over at the bed. He still had ten minutes.

"Is that not good?"

Um, yeah, I guess. No, that’s fine.

"If you’re in the middle of something..."

No no. Go ahead and send her up.

"Very good."

At precisely nine o’clock, there came a knock at his hotel room door, which annoyed Jesper all the more, as he’d expected her sooner. He could have put those ten minutes to better use than waiting. Feeling petulant, he answered the door wearing only the silk robe the hotel had provided.

The woman standing in the hallway was young, slim, and alluring in an understated sort of way. Actually, a bit mousy, if he was being honest with himself, but there was something to be said for that over flashy. She had a nice body, anyway.

She introduced herself as Hannah and said the show’s host would arrive shortly.

He welcomed her inside and asked if she’d like anything from the bar. She shook her head.

So, she asked, warily eying the open double doors to the bedroom, through which Jesper’s guest could be seen, still lounging in bed. She had covered herself with the bed sheet. Where would you like to do this?

In here is fine, he said, sitting down on the couch and turning the television on. At the moment, it appeared to be working just fine— clear picture, no static. He muted the program, a morning talk show with a bunch of chatty women drinking fruity drinks and probably gushing over the latest beach read.

This should take about forty-five minutes, Hannah explained. If you need to... She tilted her head toward the bedroom.

Oh, no, he told her. It’s okay. Just pretend we’re alone.

She blinked warily at him. It’s just that once you’re all made up, you can’t— I mean, you shouldn’t—

He laughed. We’re finished.

Her face turned bright red. He could tell she was trying to hide it by turning away to unpack her gear. He made no attempt to ease her discomfort. And if his robe gapped a little too much when he crossed one of his legs over the other and revealed a bit more than was considered polite, well, that wasn’t his problem. This was his room, after all, not the public square.

Okay, she said haltingly. We’ll start with a little foundation. It’ll look light to you, but that’s just to even things up a bit. Then we’ll layer the makeup on in stages, and that’ll look darker than you’re used to, but that’s because the lights they’ll be setting up downstairs will be very bright.

Downstairs? Oh no, he objected. He’d be too exposed downstairs, even with his people standing sentry. We’re doing the interview here.

She glanced around the apartment. It’s a bit cramped.

He grunted at her assessment of the spacious suite. It was the largest one that had been available in the hotel when he’d arrived. But he didn’t bother correcting her. She was just a lowly worker, and it’d be a waste of time to take up his objections with anyone but Rayne Masters. He’d just have to convince his interviewer that it was here or nothing.

I can call down if you—

No, no, he said impatiently. Just do your job.

She hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out an extra smock and draped it over his lap.

So, I’ll be able to mask that a bit, she said, indicating the wound on his temple. At least make it so it’s not so bruised and angry looking, but I won’t be able to completely—

Nope, he said, cutting her off. I don’t want you to cover it at all. In fact, I want you to make it stand out. Your viewers need to see just what FBI incompetence and brutality look like.

Her eyes widened, and he could sense her wanting to know more, but he was keeping any surprises for the actual taping. Genuine reactions were much better than canned ones.

She proceeded mostly in silence, saying little else until more of the crew arrived several minutes later to help prep him. And when Rayne Masters, host of the highly popular and nationally syndicated show, Right as Rayne, entered, Jesper could sense the girl’s immense relief, especially when Rayne went over and shut the bedroom doors.

The show’s star wasn’t happy to learn that they were going to be taping the interview in the suite, but like the consummate professional, he said nothing.

For the next hour, the crew went diligently about their business. Dismantling the lights, they’d already positioned downstairs, bringing them up and resetting them, situating cameras for the various angles, taking a few candid shots. Rayne orbited the activity, talking to himself. Hannah continued to work on Jesper’s appearance.

So, for a half-hour segment, Rayne explained, we’ll need about two hours of material.

Two hours? Jesper said.

You’d be surprised at how little time that actually is and how quickly it passes, or how easily it gets whittled down. Typical conversations have a lot of dead air and garbage that needs to be excised. We’ll do all that back at the studio. Then, once we have a rough cut, we’ll send it to our editing department to do the polishing, marking appropriate spots for breaks, etcetera. We’ve tentatively got the show slotted to go out at eight tonight on the network, but that’s contingent on everything running as expected. If the over-the-air channels go down, we’ll still blast it out every other way possible.

Jesper nodded. I’d like to see the finished product before it goes out. I want final say.

He could tell by the host’s reaction that this wasn’t the usual procedure. But then again, these weren’t the usual circumstances. Nor was he the usual guest. He was about to change California and, quite possibly, the country to boot. He was about to remind everyone exactly what the Founding Fathers had originally meant by a government of the people, by the people, and for the people.

We’ll have someone hand-deliver the rough cut to you here by four, Rayne said. If you have any changes, I’ll need them back by five so we can get it to our legal department by six. That’s the best I can do.

Jesper nodded. Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. Masters. I appreciate it.

Rayne. Please.

As promised, Hannah finished by a quarter to ten. After she retrieved her smock from his lap, surreptitiously drawing his robe closed as she went, Jesper stood up and announced he would need a few minutes to get dressed. He excused himself and exited to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Only then did he release his personal guest.

He watched her gather up her clothes and head for the bathroom. After she started the shower, he retrieved a second phone from his duffle, inserted the battery and SIM, and dialed the only number it held in the contacts list.

The recipient answered after the third ring.

Talk to me, Jesper said without announcing himself. There was only one person who would be calling the number he’d dialed, and the other party already knew who that would be. For this call, he did not put the phone on speaker.

There was a pause, and for a moment Jesper thought the connection had dropped, and he feared that the communications problems of the past few days had returned to plague him.

You there? he asked.

"I’m here."

Report.

"It’s all finished, sir, just like you asked. We done everything y’all told us to do."

And...?

Silence.

Jesper chuckled inwardly. He’d trained his men too well to never say anything incriminating over the phone or in public places where they might be recorded. It was something he pounded into their heads from the moment they stepped onto his land and took the oath. No one was more paranoid about his conversations being overheard than Jesper Jacobs himself, which was why he devoted so much time and care into making sure they weren’t, from the jamming equipment he deployed to the strict no-phones policy he enforced.

But this was different. He’d taken all the necessary precautions, and he needed to be absolutely sure about a few specific details before he felt comfortable making certain declarative statements to his interviewer. It wouldn’t do to have those claims turn out to be inaccurate. There was going to be only one narrative, and that was the one he intended to push.

It’s okay, he said reassuringly. Go ahead. I need full confirmation.

"But, sir, I don’t think that’s—"

Jesper heard the shower shut off, and he knew his time was short. Listen, Vince, he quietly urged. Just like we discussed.

"It’s all done, sir, just as you asked."

He hissed in frustration. And our guests?

Another pause.

Vincent?

"All taken care of, sir."

Taken care... Jesper growled impatiently. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Goddamn, but if he hadn’t trained his men too well. Now it was like pulling teeth.

Might just be what Vince needs, Jesper thought. A few teeth pulled. Meyer would just love that, wouldn’t he?

Thinking of the man only irritated him all the more.

Okay, Vince, he said, letting out a deep breath. The feebs? he quietly asked, just as the toilet flushed in the bathroom.

"Sir?"

The feds. Are they...?

He heard the audible click as Vincent Soames swallowed dryly, and for a moment Jesper didn’t think he would actually say it.

"They’re all dead, sir."

You’re sure about that? Just as we said?

"Yes, sir. All of them."

Witnesses?

"None, sir."

Good. And...? The Halstons?

"Them too, sir. Peter Halston. All of them, them and the feebs. Shot each other to death, just like you predicted they would."

Okay... Who else? Just go down the list.

"Morgan Sams."

Is...? he asked expectantly.

"Dead, sir. And that Hollis character is—"

Hold on, he interrupted, just as the door to the bathroom opened up. He pressed the phone against his chest and gestured to the neat stack of bills on the corner of the dresser, just a little extra something for her. He was generous that way. The woman swept them up as she passed and they disappeared into her pocket. For a moment, he thought she might come over to kiss him, a last token of her appreciation before leaving, but she nodded once and slipped out of the suite without a word.

Jesper lifted the phone again to his ear. Sorry, Vince. Please continue. You were saying?

"It’s all done."

He sighed and glanced around him. He was now totally alone in the room, but he still didn’t dare put the phone on speaker. A low buzz of conversation came through the closed bedroom doors from the suite outside. It was too loud for anyone to hear his conversation in here, but he couldn’t take the chance that someone had their ear pressed against the door. And while he was reasonably sure the room wasn’t tapped, there was always going to be that bit of doubt.

Better safe than sorry, he figured.

When properly harnessed, paranoia could be a useful weapon, rather than a yoke. He’d booked the room at the last possible moment, and had occupied it immediately, giving no one any chance of planting devices, but it was always better to assume the worst.

Nevertheless, he needed to be absolutely certain his plan had gone off without a hitch. Finish the report, Mr. Soames, he prompted once again. Mr. Hollis is...?

"He’s dead, sir. I shot him in the head, just like you said. Used the agent’s gun."

Jesper grunted. It really was a terrible shame, to be honest. Such a waste of good talent and potential, both of which he’d seen in spades in the prison fugitive. The Defenders really could’ve used a man like him to lead them, and not just because of his skills and temperament. Zander Hollis, being who he was and the connections he had, could have made an important contribution to the organization. His hostile relationship with the law would have made him easy for Jesper to handle.

Easy to manipulate.

Unfortunately, Hollis had declined his invitations, which had galled Jesper. How could a man like that consider himself better than the Defenders? Here had been a man who murdered a family member suddenly deciding he had morals? What did he know of morals? Or honor and patriotism, for that matter? Jacobs and his men were ready to give up their own lives to defend those principles. What would Hollis have given up his life for?

Nothing. He was a coward.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Hollis really had been a coward after all, nothing but a common criminal, unable to aspire to such lofty goals as the Defenders held.

Problem was, Jesper didn’t really believe that.

Anyway, it was now a moot point. Hollis was irretrievably out of the picture, a fatal victim of his own poor choices.

I absolutely need you to make goddamn sure it looks just like we discussed, he told Vince. Now finish mopping up and get the hell out of there.

"Yes, si—"

Jesper didn’t wait to hear the rest. He’d heard all he needed to feel good about today’s interview. He flipped the battery out of the phone, then extracted the SIM card and snapped it in half with his fingers. After wrapping it in a small wad of toilet paper and setting it into the bathroom sink, he lit it on fire and shut the door so the smoke wouldn’t spread. The flame lasted only a few seconds, not enough to set off any alarms, leaving only a tiny puddle of melted plastic and metal in a heap of blackened ash on the otherwise pristine porcelain.

He finished dressing at his leisure, then went out to tell his side of the story.

Chapter 2

HOW IT ALL HAPPENED

Defenders’ camp training grounds

Wednesday, 11AM

46 hours earlier

That bitch was always gonna die, Meyer Wolfsheim stressed. You know that.

Jesper Jacobs didn’t respond right away. He kept his eyes on the next squad of men as they ran through their drills, and weighed his options. No thanks to Meyer, those options were now considerably fewer than they had been just a few hours before. The premature murder of Agent Beltran put a huge crimp in his plans and forced him to consider speeding up the timeline for executing them.

I should never have let Meyer get involved with the new people, he thought. I knew it would just cause trouble. He sighed. But... family is family.

Better sooner than later, Meyer reasoned, as he continued defending his truly indefensible actions. At least now we know she ain’t gonna escape.

Her escaping was not something Jesper had been particularly concerned about. They were miles from the closest road, separated from civilization by rugged wilderness that even the most well-trained among them would find challenging to survive. Plus, even if she had run, he had an entire company of men he could deploy to go after her. They’d be able to track her down and bring her back long before she had any hope of getting away.

He was angry because Meyer had undermined his authority. Meyer had taken control of the situation out of his hands. Which meant that he had lost control over the man himself, and that was the last thing a commander needed. Word was already spreading around the camp about what his second-in-charge had done. If his soldiers thought for a moment their leader was no longer in complete control, there’d be chaos. He had to act fast, before that could happen. He had to prove to them he was still in charge.

An act of disobedience like this cannot be tolerated. It must be punished. Severely.

But how?

He sighed heavily a second time. I’m moving everything up a few days, he declared. We can’t wait any longer. We go public tomorrow. I’m sending a message to the governor tonight.

Meyer’s eyes widened with excitement, and he grinned. Whenever he did that, the carpet of hair on his face rippled in a way that reminded Jesper of a crawling wooly caterpillar, which gave him the creeps. It was worse when the man really smiled, when he was truly enjoying himself and not just faking it. The creases in the corners of his eyes would deepen, creating lines radiating outward like beams of sunlight. But there was never any warmth in those eyes. They were as hard and cold as obsidian.

Jesper had once considered those traits as assets, but he’d grown unsure of late.

Have the men start packing everything up before dinner, he instructed. And get the women cleaned up. We’ll relocate all the hardware first thing in the morning. Leave the rest— bedding, clothes, etcetera. The cabins should appear lived in. When our guests arrive tomorrow, I want them believing we’re still here, still operating at capacity. I want them on high alert so that all we’ll need is a spark to set them off.

Meyer’s grin widened. Have you decided what to do with him? he asked, gesturing to the training grounds.

Jesper’s gaze swept past the dozens of men running the course and stopped on one in particular. Morgan Sams stood out from the others because he was the only one out there in street clothes rather than in uniform. His unexpected arrival last night, along with the two others, had thrown the camp into a bit tizzy. But, as Jesper had always believed, sometimes the unexpected was an opportunity in the guise of an obstacle.

Morgan was covered in sweat. Pain twisted his face, but Jesper sensed the satisfaction and determination underneath it. Morgan had always wanted to be out there with the Defenders, and it was easy to see by the look on his face that he believed he’d finally been given his shot. But it didn’t take a keen military mind to know he didn’t fit. He was completely out of his depth. The man was too old and too soft. It was a shame, but Jesper knew he was going to have to cut him loose.

Answer me this, he said, turning to Meyer. Why do you think he’s really come?

Meyer shrugged. Could be like he says: passing along a message from Ben Halston for you two to sit down together and talk.

Jesper snorted in derision. Please tell me you don’t believe that.

Of course not. I know them both well enough to know that Morgan’s telling the truth. That’s what Ben Halston told him he wants, but it ain’t nothing but a lie. Halston’s slicker’n an eel in an oil drum. He’s got something up his sleeve, and it ain’t for you two to parlay.

Is that why they brought the gun? You think one of them is meant to kill me?

Meyer shrugged. Not Morgan. That ain’t his way. You know that perfectly well, Jesper. You seen it yourself. He’s been that way all his life: too chickenshit when it comes to doing what needs doing. He was that way back when y’all were in DC and he was that way when he signed up for the Marines. He ain’t got the instinct. Ain’t never had the stomach for killing or violence, and I don’t expect him to find it now. Especially not when it’s you being the target. He worships you.

Jesper snorted. And he fears you.

Ain’t a bad thing.

Jesper turned to stare at his lieutenant. The truth of the matter was, he also feared the man standing beside him. What about the girl?

Meyer’s body stiffened, and he was quiet for some time, as if the thought had never occurred to him but now deserved some serious consideration. But Jesper knew Meyer. He knew the man’s thoughts just as well as he knew his own. Meyer had been thinking a lot about the girl since meeting her this morning.

The question was, if Willa Sams’s intention was indeed to come here and kill him, who might have put her up to it? The naive assumption might be that it had been Ben Halston. But what if her mission was separate from Morgan’s? Her parents, Gene and Kathryn, could very well have groomed her to take him out, the very person they blamed for tearing their family apart. For years, their covert acts of aggression against him and the Defenders threatened to undermine him. Did they know it would only bring war to the valley?

They never cared about the valley.

That much was true. The Sams had already proven themselves betrayers of the people by aligning themselves with the government.

Meyer’s face continued to twist, along with the beard, as he chewed on the idea as if it were a piece of gum. Finally, he said, I believe she’s got it in her to do a thing like that.

Jesper nodded. He had also seen the potential within her, back there in the shack where they were holding them. He had seen the cold, steely determination in her eyes. He knew that look. It was the look of a cold-blooded killer. It might be a bit raw in her case, undeveloped and unrealized yet. But Jesper knew it well because he’d seen that same look in Meyer’s eyes when Morgan had brought him fifteen years ago. The only difference was, Meyer had already proven himself up to the task.

Meyer’s efforts since then may have refined that look over the years, sharpening it, making it more cunning. It was more polished now, more steely, ice cold, yet also burning with the fire of purpose. But there was that same elemental deadness that all killers possessed. That never changed. That would never go away. It was that look that Jesper sought among his recruits and rarely found. Those few who possessed it did so to a much lesser degree than Meyer.

But it was there in the girl.

Do you think Morgan knows? he asked Meyer. Think he might suspect that about her?

I doubt it. He wouldn’t’ve brung her if he did, the younger man reasoned.

And what about the other guy, this Zander Hollis? What’s he got to do with all this?

Here, Meyer hesitated. I don’t know, he said, and that was the truth of it.

The man who had accompanied the Samses was as much a stranger to Jesper as he was to Meyer. He recalled Ray Nichols mentioning an individual days before who might be recruited into the group, and if he was remembering correctly, this was that man. But he had been too focused on the opportunity presented by the hostage situation at