As Jamie gave Cavanaugh another look of concern, he sat straighter, his back hardening.
"The problem is, nobody at GPS ever heard of a man with that name. Duncan didn't have any surviving family, so it wasn't possible to seek that avenue of help."
"You could have asked me," Cavanaugh said.
"You made clear you didn't want to be contacted. But what would you have answered if I had come to you and asked if you knew Aaron Stoddard? Would you have told me, or would you have remained determined to separate yourself from your former life?"
Cavanaugh didn't reply.
"In the end, the Pentagon complied with another of my requests. Aaron Stoddard, it turns out, once belonged to Delta Force also. In fact, he was one of Duncan's students. Then Duncan hired him for Global Protective Services, but by then, for security reasons, Aaron Stoddard was using another name. Your name."
Conscious of his heartbeat, Cavanaugh leaned back. He needed a few moments before he could respond.
"Back then, my mother was still alive. My stepfather. My half-sister. My friends. When I joined GPS, I realized that one of the weaknesses in the system was that predators might target a protective agent as much as a client. They could grab a protector's family and friends and try to use them as leverage to get the protector to betray the client. I decided that I couldn't put my family and friends at risk. I needed to look out for their safety just as I did a client's, and the easiest way to do that was to assume a false name and identity that would keep predators from discovering my background."
"Well, you certainly succeeded. I believed 'Cavanaugh' was your true name. I've never heard you supply a first one, so I was surprised that in GPS's personnel files, you list a first name of 'James.'"
"Which I never use when I'm working."
"Establishing a mystique as a protective agent with only one name. Do you agree?"
"That I'm Aaron Stoddard? Yes." He looked over at Jamie, to whom he'd long ago confided the truth about his identity. "Now that I'm no longer a protector, it doesn't matter if anybody knows who I really am. My mother's dead now. My stepfather has a heart condition. He'll probably be gone soon, also. My half-sister is the only relative I need to worry about. And you, of course," he told Jamie. "I'll never stop protecting you."
"What I meant was," William said, "do you agree to abide by Duncan's wishes and accept ownership of Global Protective Services?"
"William, did anybody ever tell you you've got a pushy manner?"
"My second and third wives. But I tried not to take it personally."
"Really, I'm sorry you came all this way."
"You won't accept?"
"I made a promise, and I'm keeping it. From now on, Jamie's all I care about."
"Duncan didn't indicate a second choice. GPS isn't a publicly traded company. There's no board of directors. No one except Duncan's heir can make decisions. If your refusal is absolute, ultimately the company will need to be dissolved."
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that," Cavanaugh said.
"Perhaps you should take a couple of days to consider the implications."
"No," Cavanaugh insisted.
"Can we speak privately?" Jamie interrupted.
Cavanaugh looked at her.
"Outside," she told him.
11
Behind boulders on the ridge, the spotter studied the lodge through binoculars that were shielded to keep the sun from reflecting off their lenses.
"They could be inside for hours," the sniper said.
"The backup team's in position now. The moment you're sure you've got the target in your sights, I'll tell them to cut the telephone line. The timing has to be right. If we do it sooner than we need to, he might try to use the phone, wonder why it doesn't work, and realize he's being set up."
"In that case, tell them to get ready." The sniper peered through his scope. "The target's on the back porch."
12
Jamie closed the screen door after she and Cavanaugh stepped outside. "I want you to own Global Protective Services."
"But I promised you I was out of the business."
"I'm freeing you from that promise."
13
"Beta, get ready to cut the phone line," the spotter said into the radio.
"On your signal," a voice replied.
"Stand by." The spotter turned toward his partner. "Can you get the shot?
The man lay on his stomach, his left hand gripping the rifle's stock, his left forearm resting on his knapsack. His right hand clutched the rifle's grip, his finger at the trigger. The bolt-action Remington 700 was one of the most accurate sniper rifles. A favorite of the U.S. military as well as law-enforcement SWAT teams, it accurately delivered a.308 bullet up to 900 yards. The sights had one-minute-of-angle accuracy. The trigger was adjusted to a gentle two-pound pull. The powerful scope had a holographic sight with a red dot that indicated exactly where the bullet would strike the target. The state-of-the-art sound suppressor prevented the sniper from disclosing his position and drawing return fire.
But precise equipment was only one element of accurate long-distance shooting. Training, experience, steadiness, the ability to craft handmade ammunition and adjust sights based on conclusions about distance, temperature, altitude, and wind, the Zen control of breathing, temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate, the focus of a lifetime into one steady confident pull on the trigger-the accumulation of all these and more were what made a great shooter.
"I said, Can you make the shot?" Receiving no answer, the spotter peered through his binoculars and inhaled with annoyance when he saw the problem. "Damn it, the woman's in the way."
14
"Sometimes, you don't listen to yourself," Jamie said.
"That's because I don't enjoy one-sided conversations."
"Angelo was talking about his llamas and his ostriches, and he made you laugh so hard, you said you missed him."
"Just a figure of speech. Hey, we aren't going to start shopping for furniture or anything."
"You do miss him. You miss all the agents you used to work with. You miss Global Protective Services and-"
"How can you be sure? I've never said anything about that."
"Sometimes, I see a far-away look in your eyes, as if your mind's somewhere else, doing things in places a lot more exciting than here."
"No."
"You do have that look." Jamie's hands were on her hips, her back to the sun-bright pasture and the aspen-covered eastern slope of the canyon. "It reminds me of tigers and lions in cages in zoos. The look in their eyes. The controlled frustration. It's like they know there has to be a better way, but they also know there's nothing they can do about it. Well, this is your chance to do something about it."
"There's no place else I'd rather be, and no other person I'd rather be with."
"You gave up a huge portion of your life for me," Jamie said.
"But look at what I got in return." Cavanaugh gestured toward the stream flowing through the pasture, sunlight glinting off it, the horses leaning down to drink.
"You still wear a gun and a knife."
"The world's a dangerous neighborhood."
"You still drive an armored Taurus."
"A sturdy, dependable car. The far-away look you see in my eyes isn't longing. It's nervous relief that I don't live that way anymore. It's amazement that I ever did."
"I don't understand."
"Risking my life for people I didn't know and often didn't like. I used to say I had my professional standards. I wouldn't protect child molesters or drug traffickers, anyone who's an obvious monster. But what about the monsters who aren't as obvious? That stock analyst Angelo and I protected. He was in bed with the companies he was supposed to be making judgments about. He let greed mean more to him than the trust investors put in him. A lot of people counted on him for the security of their pensions, and all he had was contempt for them. I hated that man. Part of me was delighted when a ruined investor tried to attack him. Oh, Angelo and I made sure the analyst wasn't injured, but he sure was scared, and I was glad to see him scared. But that was wrong. A protector needs to be absolutely committed to his client. He needs to be willing, if necessary, to die for that client."