Shadows Reel (Joe Pickett #22)(24)

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—

    Marybeth told April that Sheridan and her dad were on their way to the house, when April sat down at the kitchen table and twisted off the top of another beer.

“Cool,” she said. “I can’t wait to see them. I’m sure I can still take Sheridan.”

“Take” meaning wrestle her to the ground. Marybeth smiled at that.

April casually flipped over the spare apron on the table to reveal Marybeth’s laptop and the leather-bound photo album.

“What’s this?” April asked, sliding the album across to her and opening it.

Marybeth felt a pang of guilt she couldn’t explain.

April furrowed her brow as she turned the pages. “Fucking Nazis,” she said.

“April . . .”





CHAPTER NINE


    Geronimo Jones


Geronimo Jones led Nate on foot through passages and alleyways in the direction of the capitol building. Geronimo knew the nuances of the neighborhood and they ducked through gaps in fences and under wire ostensibly protecting commercial parking lots.

Nate was on high alert and he could feel the power of yarak envelop him as he walked. Despite the layer of city sounds that provided a distracting soundtrack, his eyesight improved in the dark, his ears perked up at every sound, and his nostrils flared at strange odors. He kept his vest unzipped so he could reach up and draw his weapon smoothly without snagging the hammer on the nylon material.

Although Geronimo Jones seemed to be who he said he was, Nate was still cautious. Antifa was out there on the streets and Geronimo displayed his BLM allegiance literally on his coat. Weren’t most of the urban riots across the nation described as “BLM/antifa protests”?

Nate had never encountered Axel Soledad in person, but knew through Sheridan Pickett’s research that Soledad was a leader in the antifa movement, even though the group claimed not to have leaders. Soledad had spoken at rallies, written incendiary posts on the dark web, and traveled to Europe to liaise with well-established antifa chapters. His role in the movement was a mystery, though. And so was how he came to embrace the ideology.

Soledad, like Nate fifteen years before him, had been a member of the Five, an elite special operator unit associated with the U.S. Air Force. Few people knew the group existed, and they deliberately kept it that way. “The Five” was a derivation of their official designation, which was Mark V. The unit deployed to international locations in secret, accomplished its covert mission, and returned without fanfare. They were informally known within the unit as the Peregrines, after the fastest species known to man.

Being a member of the Five affected different operators in different ways. The intensity of the missions led some to crack up, others to drink or take drugs, and some, like Nate, to become thoroughly disillusioned with their commander.

Something had happened to Soledad to turn him. Nate didn’t know what it was, and Soledad, at least publicly, had never explained it. But he’d gone from being the tip of the covert spear for American interests to a man who wanted to burn the country down. And steal falcons from fellow falconers along the way.

Soledad’s current allies and associates were murky, but they were no doubt international. There were no clear lines between Soledad, antifa chapters across the nation, other anarchists, and offshoots of BLM. For all Nate knew, Geronimo Jones was a pal of Soledad’s.

Was he being led into a trap?

After a few minutes at the bar, Nate had confirmed that Geronimo was, in fact, a master falconer. He spoke knowledgeably of the avocation and he knew as much about hunting with gyrfalcons in particular as anyone Nate had ever met. But was his allegiance to falconry, BLM, or antifa? Or some combination of all three?

Nate told himself he had no choice but to trust the man until he had reason not to. So he followed.

“You know why I want Axel Soledad,” Nate said to Geronimo. “You read my post and responded. What beef do you have with him?”

“Yeah,” Geronimo said. “Poaching on a man’s territory, stealing his birds, and threatening his family is about as bad as you can get. I can see why you’re after him.”

“So answer my question,” Nate said.

Geronimo said, “You’ve got your reasons. I’ve got mine. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“As long as we find him,” Nate said.

“We’re on the same page here,” Geronimo said. “You would be invited to the cookout.”

Nate had no idea what that meant other than it sounded like he’d be included in whatever Geronimo was up to.



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    The buildings got taller as they got closer to the capitol. Nate assumed by their uninspired architecture they were government buildings.

Through an opening onto the street, a small knot of protesters moved under a streetlight. Nate and Geronimo kept themselves in shadow and watched the group pass. Nate saw they were all in black clothing and they wore motorcycle helmets with the shields down. Two of the group held their glowing phones out in front of them.

Nate whispered to Geronimo, “Why do they dress like that?”

“There are closed-circuit cameras everywhere, not to mention that everyone on the street has a phone camera and all the cops have body cams. If they mask up and dress alike, it’s impossible for the cops to identify individuals who do bad shit and get caught on video.”