It was after midnight in Savannah, but the heat and humidity were unrelenting. The container ship, Ariadne, now relieved of cargo, sat empty and silent. Hercules Reynolds picked nervously at the yellow paint chipping from the metal railing skirting a platform near the dock. As a Marine sniper, he routinely had to sit still as a puddle for hours, sometimes days, but civilian life had sapped his discipline. His best friend, Billy Grimes, was talking on the phone, actually fighting on the phone, with his on-again girlfriend, Melinda. Herc shushed him. Again. Nothing about this felt right.
In the Marines, Herc was a by-the-book guy. He’d served his country with honor. As dangerous and uncertain and bureaucratic as the military was, there was a certain comfort for Herc in knowing he was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, when and where he was supposed to be doing it. That had all changed when he became a civilian.
“Dammit, Mel, I’m not with a woman. I’m with Herc, and we picked up an extra job. Track my phone, for gosh sake!”
Hercules quieted his friend again. Billy had landed the job on the docks after his Less Than Honorable Discharge and quickly learned that there were ways to supplement his income. Billy knew the guy in town who took delivery of the counterfeit purses and watches that came hidden in containers loaded with furniture. So, helping get the stuff offloaded was a fairly easy and lucrative process. This time, though,... this was something else.
Forty-five thousand dollars each was enough to have them both damning the consequences. Herc could pay off his bills and help his beloved Mhamó, the granny who raised him. Billy could afford the ring Melinda wanted and help with the wedding. Now that the thrill of the payday had settled, Herc had some serious reservations. Everything about this smelled.
It’s a one-shot deal, Herc. We find the metal suitcase in the shipping container with this serial number and stow it. Then we meet this guy, hand off the case, and he pays us the rest. Could not be easier. Hell, I’m not a dope. I’m bringing my Sig.
Herc had his Sig too, but he also had something else, a rather unusual piece of equipment he was demoing for the owner of the shooting range where he had landed a job teaching part-time. Billy ended his call. Herc stopped picking the paint and stilled. Apparently, not all his military instinct had fled. He hadn’t heard the sedan approach. In the dense fog with its headlights off, it was nearly invisible. The distinct sound of footsteps, however, was clear. The man emerged from the shadows dressed in a tailor-made suit and Italian leather loafers, looking not the least bit shady. Billy relaxed a bit, but Herc kept frosty.
“You have the case?” the man inquired.
“Yep.” Billy dangled it from the handle.
“Open it. The combination is 72117.” When Billy started to fiddle with the dial, Herc stilled his arm.
“Come around here. There’s a table.” Herc led them to the side of a warehouse where a wide plank was set on two sawhorses. He moved Billy to the side nearest the warehouse wall, seemingly giving the suited man a better vantage point to watch his surroundings. Billy popped the case revealing the contents.
“Very good.”
“It’s yours as soon as you pay up.” Billy was sounding like a regular mobster. Billy wasn’t a mobster, though. Billy was just a not-so-bright guy, so distracted by the thought of giving his pregnant girlfriend everything she wanted and deserved that he didn’t even notice the gun as he reached for the envelope of cash. Just as the man fired the suppressed round into Billy’s chest with a quiet thwat, a much louder sound rent the air. Herc had pressed the button on the fob in his hand, and the Paradigm SRP Talon remote-controlled sniper rifle sent the round. Herc had positioned his target in the right spot—quite the reverse of a normal sniper assignment—and the suited man’s head exploded like a cantaloupe.
Herc stood there for a moment marveling at the luck of his aim—good or bad, he wasn’t sure. He certainly hadn’t intended this result; he simply thought a shot into the gravel from the remote-controlled weapon would make the suited man think they had backup. Herc scratched his stubbled jaw. Quite the snafu. In the military, at this point, his job was done. Someone else handled the logistics. Nevertheless, this was hardly the time to say not my job. Whatever was inside that case was very bad news. He didn’t touch anything, though he desperately wanted to close Billy’s lifeless eyes. He knew where he needed to go, and he knew what he needed to do. He pried the cash out of Billy’s clenched fist, put the envelope in the case, clicked it shut, and walked with a forced calm to retrieve the weapon from its hiding place. Rifle secured, case in hand, Hercules Reynolds hurried off into the sultry night and disappeared, leaving Billy and Rigo Mendaz lying dead on the ground.