War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel Read Free Page A

a week.”
    “Good to know.” Duncan used a razor blade to free his bound wrists. “How do you want to play this from here?”
    “I’ve got a small Mauser hidden in a crotch holster.” Geist stood up and rubbed his wrists, then unwound his scarf and folded it into a thick square. He reached into the front of his pants and withdrew the Mauser.
    Geist glanced behind him. “Where’s the back door?”
    Duncan pointed. “By those old horse stalls. Nobody’ll be back behind the barn to see you escape . But you’ll have to make it look convincing, you know. Really smack me good. Remember, we Americans are tough.”
    “Duncan, I’m not keen on this idea.”
    “Necessities of war, buddy. You can buy me a case of scotch when we get back to the States.”
    Geist shook the colonel’s hand.
    Duncan dropped his .45 to the ground and smiled. “Oh look, you’ve disarmed me.”
    “We Germans are crafty that way.”
    Next Duncan ripped open the front of his fatigue blouse, popping buttons off onto the straw-covered floor. “And there’s been a struggle.”
    “Okay, Duncan, enough. Turn your head. I’ll rap you behind the ear. When you wake up, you’ll have a knot the size of a golf ball and a raging headache, but you asked for it.”
    “Right.” He clasped Geist by the forearm. “Watch yourself out there. It’s a long way back to DC.”
    As Duncan turned his head away, a flicker of guilt passed through Geist. Still, he knew what needed to be done.
    Geist pressed the wadded scarf to the Mauser’s barrel and jammed it against Duncan’s ear.
    The colonel shifted slightly. “Hey, what are you—”
    He pulled the trigger. With the sound of a sharp slap, the bullet tore through Duncan’s skull, snapping his friend’s head back as the body toppled forward to the ground.
    Geist stared down. “So sorry, my friend. As you said before, necessities of war . If it makes you feel any better, you’ve just changed the world.”
    He pocketed the pistol, walked to the barn’s back door, and disappeared into the misty night, becoming at last . . . a true ghost.

1
    October 10, 6:39 P . M . MDT
    Bitterroot Mountains, Montana
    All this trouble from a single damned nail . . .
    Tucker Wayne tossed the flat tire into the back of his rental. The Jeep Grand Cherokee sat parked on the shoulder of a lonely stretch of road in the forested mountains of southwest Montana. These millions of acres of pines, glacier-cut canyons, and rugged peaks formed the largest expanse of pristine wilderness in the Lower 48.
    He stretched a kink out of his back and searched down the winding stretch of blacktop, bracketed on both sides by sloping hills and dense stands of lodgepole pines.
    Just my luck. Here in the middle of nowhere, I pick up a nail .
    It seemed impossible that this great beast of an SUV could be brought low by a simple sliver of iron shorter than his pinkie. It was a reminder of how modern technological progress could still be ground to a halt by a single bit of antiquated hardware like a roofing nail.
    He slammed the rear cargo hatch and whistled sharply. His companion on this cross-country journey pulled his long furry nose out of a huckleberry bush at the edge of the forest and glanced back at Tucker. Eyes the color of dark caramel looked plainly disappointed that this roadside pit stop had come to an end.
    “Sorry, buddy. But we’ve got a long way to go if we hope to reach Yellowstone.”
    Kane shook his heavy coat of black and tan fur, his thick tail flagging as he turned, readily accepting this reality. The two of them had been partners going back to his years with the U.S. Army Rangers, surviving multiple deployments across Afghanistan together. Upon leaving the service, Tucker took Kane with him—not exactly with the army’s permission, but that matter had been settled in the recent past.
    The two were now an inseparable team, on their own, seeking new roads, new paths. Together.
    Tucker opened the front passenger door and