Prologue

There was no turning back now. The kill may not be legal in the eyes of the law, but it will most certainly be justified. Edward Brandt had spent weeks waiting for this opportunity. He replayed the events of the last couple of months in his head. The friends he’d lost, the career he once admired, the wife he may never see again. It all funneled to this little vacation home deep in the forest of the San Bernardino mountains, where his final target was due home at any moment.

He could immediately see why someone would want to vacation in such a place. The air was crisp and clean, the pine and oak trees gave off a wonderful aroma and the colors contrasted beautifully with the city below. The view from the edge of the mountain offered a unique glimpse of how small we really are on this planet. He could have seen him and his wife vacationing or even living there in any other circumstance. Retirement wouldn’t have been too far away, even if it was a job he still had faith in.

Spending the last couple weeks laying low in every derelict excuse for a residence imaginable had given him plenty of time to think. He accepted that after this last necessity, he’ll likely be a fugitive for the rest of his life. The courts would probably only see the victim as a quirky intellectual. Brandt would see him as a terrorist that once brought a nearly inescapable horror into the world. Only time will tell if that remains true.

Brandt parked the white pickup truck a quarter of a mile away from the cabin. The truck was not his, but the person whom he confiscated it from was likely not the owner as well. He wasn’t going to miss it. Brandt didn’t think there were too many roads for joyriding in hell, where the man was likely still burning. Alright, let’s get on with it.

Brandt ran another check over the forty-five caliber Springfield Garrison 1911 pistol, ensuring a full magazine and a round in the chamber. The handgun should have been in an evidence room at the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but the remaining friends that he did have, had ensured that the weapon remained in good hands.

He wasn’t in the mood for surprises or chance. There was already too much invested in this personal mission. Reaching into the duffle bag, he pulled out a sheathed hunting knife, clipping the weapon to the belt holding up his jeans. He slammed the door shut and began walking towards the cabin.

It was easy to avoid being seen. The nearest neighbor was well over two hundred feet away, separated by dense vegetation and thick pine trees. He knew his target was not at home, having observed the late eighties-style BMW leave around ten minutes ago. Wherever he was going, Brandt knew that he would be returning soon.

The plan was to ambush him in his own home. When the man opened the door, Brandt would pounce. He finally reached the cabin. The thinner air at this altitude had made him a little more winded than he had imagined. He kept low and slowly walked around the perimeter. Checking the windows and doors for any sign of life inside. Clear. Brandt did not have a lock pick with him and kicking in the door to make entry would give too much away for the homeward bound. His next best option was to break in through a back window. The glass shattered from the rock that had just gone through it. It didn’t matter to him how obvious it was during an investigation; he only needed to surprise the monster that owned the place.

Peeking through the blinds of the front window, Brandt must have waited for well over an hour. Luckily, patience was built into him and solidified over the last couple of months of his life.

Brandt perked up when he saw the dust trail rising behind the BMW. It’s time. He heard the ratcheting sound of the car’s emergency brake as he parked outside, followed by the squeaky opening and closing of the relic’s door. Brandt was already wedged behind the front door of the cabin, waiting for his unsuspecting prey to enter.

He heard the door unlock and slowly creak open. The sound of shuffling bags and the rattling of keys confirmed what Brandt had originally suspected. He went shopping. When the door closed, Brandt threw himself at the man, slamming his back against the door, forcing him to drop the bags and keys he carried.

“Please! Take whatever you want. Don’t hurt me! Please.”

Brandt said nothing. Keeping positive control over him, he quickly frisked the man for any type of weapons. Nothing. I’m not surprised. Brandt grabbed onto the man’s neck, pushed him and pointed towards the sofa. He sat down, still whimpering like a child had just lost their puppy. Brandt moved towards an armchair across the room and sat down, the forty-five-caliber handgun fixed upon his enemy the entire time. The darkness of the room gave little to reveal Brandt’s identity. He didn’t care either way. He wanted the man to know exactly who’s doing this.

“What do you want? Are you going to kill me?”

“Yes.” Brandt turned on the lamp next to the chair, illuminating both of their faces.

“Brandt?”