Page 19 of The Fourth Option
“Time was, you wouldn’t have had to cheat.”
Staub laughed. “So, let’s just say I owe you one.”
“You do.”
Staub surveyed the Afghan countryside, took a deep breath, and turned back to his partner.
“I’m not feeling good about this either. Let’s get a Zero Unit surveillance team to keep an eye on Naji’s family.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Great minds,” Staub replied.
“Fisk might not go for it. If they get burned, it might compromise the mission.”
“He’ll never know.”
CHAPTER SIX
American West
Present Day
GLAD I GAVEmyself a week, Walker thought as he pushed the van across the fat bottom of Idaho, Paladin curled up on the front passenger seat.
Worried that he might pop a fan belt or burst a hose, he felt obligated to avoid interstate traffic and instead nursed the vehicle along U.S. Highway 20, also known as the Medal of Honor Highway. Walker hadn’t planned for this to be a tribute ride, but seeing the signs every ten miles, he couldn’t help but think of the men he knew who had received the nation’s highest award for valor. His mind shifted through the variables that resulted in some missions ending in glory and others in shame.
Snap out of it.
He reached over to pet Paladin and distract himself from the signs.
At fifty-seven miles an hour, Walker managed about four hundred miles a day.
When he hit Boise, he navigated to Scheels, where he stocked up on ammo.
What are you doing? You are not going to war, are you?
That night found him under the stars of the Morley Nelson Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area. The next, in the desolate expanse of Craters of the Moon National Monument, northwest of Pocatello, the juniper wood burning in the campfire hissing and popping, filling the air with the sweet, resinous scent of the West. The high desert sage and distant red hills reminded Walker of Afghanistan, and he was relieved when the sky finally surrendered its colors and turned to black.
With clear skies, he slept outside on the ground rather than in the rooftop tent, Paladin next to him on two wool blankets by the fire.
His morning started with cowboy coffee for him and whistle drills forPaladin. Whistle commands were not something they used in the Teams, but Paladin had gone from the military to a former SEAL’s dog rehab center in Southern California that provided Hollywood with dogs trained to act on set responding to whistle command and hand signals from a distance. Before packing up, he went for a run to clear his head, Paladin at his side.
The following night, near Jackson, Wyoming, they camped in the shadow of the Tetons. Crickets chirped, owls called, and bats darted beneath a sky so thick with stars it looked like glowing smoke. The air was colder at elevation, but Walker couldn’t resist the view. After a dinner of trout fried over the fire, he leaned back and let his mind drift to time, space, and eternity. As always, the old philosophers came whispering, asking the fundamental questions that have plagued mankind since the inception of human cognition:Who are you? Why are you here? What is the nature of your soul?
Walker stared into the flames as man had done from time immemorial.
Maybe he would only have answers when he pressed the trigger for the last time.
You are struggling. Make it stop.
Sensing his unease, Paladin thrust a nose into Walker’s armpit, bringing him back, grounding him.
“Okay, boy,” Walker said, looking around at the landscape, gray in the starlight. “If you really want me to. There’s no one around.”
He stood up and unstrapped his Martin six-string acoustic from the ceiling of the Volkswagen and returned to his camp chair, tuning the guitar in the pale moonlight. Paladin sat beside him, wagging his tail, his eyes glowing with the reflection of the embers.
“What’ll it be?” Walker asked, strumming a few simple chords to warm up. Paladin lay directly on top of Walker’s feet, as though intentionally keeping him in place.
