“Get on the bikes,” Ray ordered.
Before anyone could move, a pair of headlights flared to life at the far end of the road.
A black SUV, heavy and armored, pulled aggressively onto the asphalt, blocking the highway.
Then, a second SUV pulled up behind them, boxing the motorcycles in.
The doors opened. Six men stepped out, carrying suppressed tactical rifles.
Captain John Sterling stepped out of the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle. He was wearing a tailored suit over body armor, looking entirely out of place on a dirty Appalachian highway.
He smiled, a cold, empty expression.
“Dawson,” Sterling called out, his voice echoing in the quiet valley. “You look terrible, son.”
Ray stepped forward, away from his friends. He stood in the center of the road, the mud drying on his leather vest.
“Sterling.”
“I’m deeply sorry about your friend,” Sterling said smoothly. “A tragic accident with a space heater. Very sad. But Thomas always was careless.”
Ray didn’t blink. “You’re a dead man, John.”
Sterling chuckled. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re unarmed, outnumbered, and holding stolen, classified property. Hand over the envelope, Ray. I don't want to shoot civilians. Give me the files, and you and your biker club can ride away. I’ll even let you keep the dog's collar as a souvenir.”
Ray reached slowly into his vest.
The mercenaries raised their rifles.
“Easy,” Sterling warned.
Ray didn't pull out the envelope.
He pulled out the heavy silver pocket watch. The one Thomas had given him.
He looked at the symbol engraved on the back.
Three lines. One star.
*We hold the line.* That’s what it meant.
Ray looked up at Sterling. The cold, mechanical calmness of a trained killer settled over him, settling his breathing, slowing his heart rate to a steady rhythm.
“You made one mistake, Captain.”
Sterling raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“You assumed Thomas was hiding because he was afraid of you.”
Sterling scoffed. “He ran for twenty years.”
“He ran to protect me,” Ray said, his voice carrying down the asphalt. “He knew that if I found out what you did, I wouldn't run. I wouldn't hide. I would have killed you in your sleep twenty years ago.”
Ray dropped the pocket watch into his pocket.
“And now, I know.”
From the dark woods behind Sterling’s SUV, a low, guttural, terrifying growl echoed.
Sterling turned his head sharply.
A massive, bloody shape lunged from the brush.
Ranger. The dog hadn't died. He was bleeding from a graze on his shoulder, but he hit the mercenary closest to Sterling like a freight train, his jaws locking onto the man’s forearm. The mercenary screamed, dropping his rifle.
In the fraction of a second that Sterling’s men turned toward the dog, chaos erupted.
Marcus, ignoring his ruined ankle, pulled his heavy knife and drove it into the tire of the rear SUV, dropping it to the rim.
Sarah, who carried a legally registered .357 Magnum in her saddlebag for highway creeps, didn't hesitate. She drew it and fired a deafening shot directly into the engine block of Sterling’s vehicle, blowing a massive hole in the radiator. Steam hissed violently into the air.