Matter of Honor (eBook)
270 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-2150-2 (ISBN)
Vice President Mark Connor plans a wilderness fishing trip while an anti-government conspiracy hires a sniper to assassinate the Vice President. His dream vacation quickly becomes a deadly game of escape, evasion, and relentless pursuit. His survival depends on fishing guide Bill Brandt's combat and leadership skills honed in the Vietnam War and the skills of strong female characters in the fishing party.
Chapter 2
Brandt walked back to the lodge with his client in the late afternoon, earlier than the usual day of guiding. “So, you’re leaving now?”
“Yes, I have to catch a red-eye flight.”
The client reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a crisp $100 bill, and handed it to Brandt. “Thank you for a great day of fishing. You improved my casting skills.”
“Thank you.”
“You earned it. I look forward to fishing with you again.” He climbed the steps and entered the lodge to pack and check out.
Brandt waved and walked to his cabin behind the lodge. He cleaned and stowed his gear and then tied flies to replenish his fly boxes.
Brandt sat in the lodge dining room at a corner table. Guests had finished their dinners and migrated into the lounge for after-dinner drinks, and he had the room to himself. He pulled a small spiral notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and recorded the customary summary of the day. He paused, reviewed the page, then added notes about the cool temperatures, low clouds, and gusty winds.
As he slipped the notebook into his pocket, a thought popped into his head. Troy’s mysterious client. A loner. His journal. Menacing.
Why would I think of that now? That was two weeks ago.
He shrugged, shook his head.
Workday finally finished, Brandt sipped on a Manhattan, savoring the drink and the solitude.
He reached into a leather satchel, withdrew a diary, opened the cover, flipped pages to a blank one, and rested his pen on the paper. He sat back and gazed out a window. His vision extended into the distance, and his thoughts drifted into the past. Images of jungle terrain bubbled up from the depths of memory, followed by sounds, smells, and finally faces. Brandt leaned forward and began to write.
M-16
Rifle
Deadly Beauty
Reaching out angrily
Lethal extension of myself
Partner
He sat back, placed his pen on the table, and his thoughts returned to the present. He rubbed his chin, evaluating his work. Motion at the dining room entrance drew his attention to an angelic face framed in curly black hair. The woman leaned against the door jam in a fetching pose.
“Hey, Bill Brandt. I hear you’re one hell of a fly fishing guide.”
A smile spread across Brandt’s lips. “You can’t always believe what you hear. You new in town?”
“New is a relative term. You looked lost—like you were in a faraway place.” She placed a hand on her hip. “And you look lonely.”
“Lonely is a relative term. Different than just being alone.”
She threw her head back and laughed, her curls bouncing.
Brandt gestured to an empty chair at his table. She strolled across the room and slid into the seat. He flipped the journal cover closed.
“You’re a writer?”
“Well, not a published one.”
“Can I see it?”
Brandt cast his eyes down and aside.
“I guess that’s a negative. What are you writing? Dirty stories?”
He opened the journal and pushed it toward her.
She picked up the journal, perused the page, then laid the journal on the table. She placed her hand on her chest and sighed. “Oh.”
After a long moment, she brushed back her hair. “So you’re a badass soldier on top of fishing guide and writer.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “I like that.”
She tapped the page. “What is this?”
“It’s a poem.”
“A poem is supposed to rhyme.”
“It’s a different kind of poem called free verse.”
“It looks funny.”
“Free verse doesn’t follow the traditional rules of poetry.”
“You don’t like to follow rules? Neither do I.” She reached across, plucked the glass from his hand, and took a sip of his drink.
He raised his eyebrows.
She returned the glass, lightly brushing his hand.
“Wow,” she exclaimed. “That drink has a high muzzle velocity. That the inspiration for your poem?”
Brandt glanced at the journal. “Maybe.”
“That drink got a name?”
“Manhattan. Bourbon with sweet vermouth, a touch of bitters, and a cherry at the bottom.”
“No ice. I thought a neat Manhattan is supposed to be in a fancy glass with a long stem.”
“I just like the feel of a tumbler.”
“Oooh. Very masculine. But I don’t see a cherry.”
“Yeah, I modify it. I ask the bartender to crush two cherries at the bottom of the cocktail shaker.”
“Crush? Ah, you like it rough.”
“It infuses the drink with the sweetness of the ripe fruit, the essence of the cherry.”
“Oh, then you like gentle essence.”
A rap on the door jam interrupted them.
Brandt looked up; she turned.
“Have you met,” Brandt said, “our esteemed lodge manager?”
She raised her chin. “I’ve met everyone here.”
The lodge manager said, “You two have been married long enough not to be playing those games. I hate to break up your fun, but I booked a float trip I need to discuss with you.”
Brandt sighed. “Now, Booth?”
Booth ambled to the table and eased into an empty chair.
“Okay.” Brandt sat back. “Tell me about the client.”
“I didn’t talk with the client on the phone.”
“What?”
“Last week, I met with a Secret Service agent in person. He described himself as the ‘advance party for his protectee.’”
Brandt’s head snapped back. He recovered and glanced at Kelly. Her jaw had dropped.
Brandt looked back at Booth. “Secret Service agent? Who’s the client?”
Booth took a deep breath. “The Vice President of the United States.”
“Mark Connor? He doesn’t need a guide. He’s an accomplished fly fisherman,” Brandt said. “He even won a few fly-casting tournaments as a young man.”
“That’s immaterial.” Booth sighed. “Bill, you know that every river has a learning curve.” Then Booth raised his hands palm up and chuckled. “What’s he going to do, row the boat himself?”
Brandt crossed his arms on his chest.
Booth redirected the conversation. “I asked the agent how he decided on our lodge. You know, market research. But he didn’t answer right away.” Booth chuckled. “I waited him out. The Vice President’s wife and chief of staff laid five brochures in front of him. Told him to pick one. Said he needed to get away from the stress of his job. So it’s a three-day float.”
Brandt looked at his wife, saw the sour look on her face, then looked back at Booth.
“Shit. Why me?”
“Not just you, Bill. Both of you. Kelly is going, too.”
Kelly sat back and frowned. “Me? Why?”
“Kelly, you’re a nurse, which is why I hired you. Riverstone Hunting and Fishing Lodge sits in remote wilderness, and you provide the first level of medical care for our guests. To my knowledge, no other so-called exclusive lodge has that.” He leaned forward, his voice emphatic. “He’s the Vice President. It just seems prudent on this trip.”
Booth sat back, lowered his voice, and gestured to Brandt. “And him?” A smile escaped through his faux frown. “Well, he does know how to catch fish.”
Booth looked back and forth between them. “Look, I know he’s not one of your favorite people. Be professional.” He waited. A long moment passed.
Brandt drew in a breath and released it. “Why don’t you give it to one of the other guides? They’re all good.”
Booth smiled. “Because you were requested.”
Brandt and Kelly looked at each other, chins dropping.
A moment later, Brandt leaned forward. “And what else haven’t you told us?”
Booth hesitated. “Well, they seem to know a lot about you two. More than I know. Or did.” He cleared his throat. “Kelly, I knew you were an Army nurse, of course, but he said you tended this hard-headed guy” pointing to Brandt, “in a MASH unit on a forward operating base in Vietnam.”
He focused on Brandt. “And you. You were dumb enough to jump out of perfectly good aircraft behind enemy lines. An Army Ranger.” Booth shook his head. “Damn, Bill.” Booth took a breath. “And then, the agent told me you stopped an AK-47...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 2.11.2023 |
|---|---|
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen |
| ISBN-13 | 979-8-3509-2150-2 / 9798350921502 |
| Informationen gemäß Produktsicherheitsverordnung (GPSR) | |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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