Страница 1 из 111
The Naked Edge
David Morrell
*
Contents
PART ONE: TELLTALES
PART TWO: THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO FAIRBAIRN
PART THREE: "DO YOU LIKE TO PLAY VIDEO GAMES, RAOUL?"
PART FOUR: THE RULE OF FIVE MISSIONS
PART FIVE: THE IRON MISTRESS
PART SIX: THE KNIVES OF OLD SAN FRANCISCO
PART SEVEN: THE MOST EXPENSIVE KNIFE IN THE WORLD
PART EIGHT: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE BLADE
*
There's a line between living and dying, between being a survivor and being a victim. Like a sharp blade separating predators and prey, that line is called the naked edge.
*
PART ONE:
TELLTALES
Chapter 1.
The sniper had a partner. That was a given. To do the job properly, which meant not only making the hit but also escaping, the shooter needed eyes in the back of his head. All the time he sighted through the scope on his Remington .308 rifle, which he loved more than anything else in the world, he needed the freedom to concentrate only on the job at hand, an area of a few inches 700 yards away, and that meant he needed a spotter to concentrate on the objects around him: whether a threat was approaching from the side, whether a cloud was about to cast a shadow, whether something or someone was about to obscure the target. He needed a partner he could depend on, who shared his instincts, who knew what he was thinking. A lot of marriages weren't as close.
They hiked in from the neighboring valley, taking the most remote route through the roughest terrain so they wouldn't be noticed. Aerial photographs aligned with topographical maps showed the slopes that had the best cover while still providing a line of fire toward the target. Moving cautiously along the tree-capped ridges, they rejected two vantage points, chose the third, sank behind boulders, opened their backpacks, and assembled their equipment.
Chapter 2.
Telltales. In Cavanaugh's former line of work, noticing them had kept him alive. Ru
Similarly, ru
But attention to detail was itself a telltale. Most people stumbled through life in a state of profound inattention that noted handgun expert Jeff Cooper called Condition White. In contrast, Cavanaugh maintained a state of persistent alertness known as Condition Yellow. It was second nature to him. Whenever he left or entered a new space (a vehicle or a building, for instance), he always paused and sca
In the present case, the two men spotted Cavanaugh about the same time he spotted them. This was at an isolated gas station/convenience store twenty miles from Cavanaugh's ranch. The place had a log-cabin style that was popular in Wyoming's Jackson Hole valley. As he'd driven north from doing errands in Jackson (the names of the town and the valley were often confused), he'd noticed that the fuel gauge on his Taurus was below halfway. In the remote area where he lived, he never allowed it to get any lower, so he steered from Route 89 and headed along the sagebrush-flanked road toward the pumps. It took him only a moment to notice the two men watching him.
They stood across from him, in front of the convenience store. They were in their late twenties, not tall, not short, not thin, not heavy. Both wore baseball caps. They had hiking boots, camping pants, sturdy belts, safari vests, fa
Strong-looking without being conspicuously muscled, the two men gave Cavanaugh a thorough once-over: his cowboy boots, his jeans, thick belt, and unbuttoned shirt hanging loose over a blue T-shirt. They checked to see if he had the contour of a knife in a pants pocket (he didn't, but he did have a sheathed fixed-blade under his shirt on his left side, next to a spare ammunition magazine). On his right side, also concealed by his shirt, was his SIG Sauer 229 pistol, chosen because that nine millimeter's compact design made it an effective concealed-carry weapon.
Cavanaugh avoided eye contact when he walked past the men and entered the convenience store. He paid for the gas and returned to the pump. Every motion became a study in casualness. He put the nozzle into his car's fuel tank. He squeezed the lever and pretended to enjoy the autumn sun's warmth. He glanced behind him toward the breathtakingly close Tetons, the towering peaks of which would soon be covered with snow. In the old days, the tallest of the cone-shaped mountains made winter-bound, female-starved trappers think of a woman's breasts, hence the range's name, which derived from the French word for teets. After an appropriate time admiring the mountains, Cavanaugh glanced over toward the convenience store.
Now the two men stood next to a dark van. The side door was open. One of them leaned in, rearranging camping equipment. The other man looked over at Cavanaugh and then away.
Could be off-duty cops on vacation, Cavanaugh thought.
Then he saw another set of Condition Yellow eyes, this time from a young man (late 20s, camping shoes, loose pants, thick belt, safari vest, knife clip, fa
Without being obvious, Cavanaugh noticed six other attentive men walking from cabins opposite the convenience store.