Free Forced to Kill by Andrew Peterson

helicopter. “We’ve got a duffel bag with some essentials. A couple of suppressed Sigs, Predator knives, field glasses, night vision goggles, and a handheld thermal imager.”
    “You guys expecting a war to break out?”
    “You know what they say. It’s better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it.”
    “You okay leaving your essentials in the helicopter?”
    “We’d rather not,” Harv said.
    “We can secure your bag in the trunk.”
    Harv walked back to the helicopter.
    “Thanks for not staring,” Nathan told the FBI man.
    “I must admit to a certain amount of curiosity,” said Jeremy. “Those scars definitely give you a rugged look, a don’t-mess-with-me expression. I know a little about you guys. One of our Monticello agents went through the academy with Bruce Henning. They’ve kept in touch over the years.”
    “Henning’s a good man. We didn’t exactly hit it off very well when we first met, but he came around, and so did I. It was my fault we got off to a rocky start. I appreciate you meeting us.”
    “I’m glad to do it. This isn’t exactly the center of the universe. The lack of action is more than made up for by the scenery. But still.…”
    He pointed to his face. “Be careful what you wish for.”
    “What happened? Can you talk about it?”
    He shook his head.
    Jeremy remained silent for a moment. “I guess I’m fine with mostly paperwork.”
    “A wise choice.”
    The diner offered unhealthy food and typical marina decor—lots of brass and rope. Vacationing families, sunburned boaters, and weathered fishermen occupied most of the tables. The dim lighting offered adequate privacy from prying eyes, but a few patrons did double takes at Nathan’s face.
    Harv ate an entire pizza, not one of those little designer jobs, but a full-blown, sixteen-inch combo with the works. At one point Nathan and Jeremy stared in awe. The man had a hollow leg.
    An hour later, they were checking into a modern condo overlooking the marina. Jeremy told them the entire area’s lodging had been sold-out since early spring. The condo project’s owner had graciously tendered his own three-bedroom unit to accommodate them. Of course, pocketing three times the normal rent might have swayed his decision a tad. The FBI had its share of faults, but a lack of resourcefulness wasn’t one of them.
     
    ***
     
    The following morning broke bright and clear. Another scorcher in the works. Nathan and Harv took a twenty-minute jog around the marina. Three S ’s later and they were ready to meet old Mr. Houseboat.
    Jeremy parked in a dirt lot to the east of the uncovered slips. “I’m not expecting our man to be real cooperative. The park ranger told me he was a first-class jerk.”
    “He won’t be a problem,” Nathan said.
    “If you say so.”
    They walked across a connecting bridge onto the dock. “I might need you to play along with us. I want him to think you’re on his side, so do a little acting if we need it.”
    Jeremy smiled. “Good cop, bad cop?”
    “Something like that.”
    At 0715 hours, most people weren’t up and around yet. They passed some buildings on the dock’s main structure that offered all kinds of recreational needs, from tackle to suntan lotion to groceries. Most of the slips hosted houseboats. A few fishermen were prepping their crafts for a day on the water. Twenty yards farther down the dock, one fellow already had his line in the water. Sitting on a metal folding chair and dressed in tan overalls, he glanced at the three of them before looking back at his bobber.
    Someone was cooking bacon nearby.
    The creaking planks under Nathan’s feet mixed with a newborn’s muffled cry. He didn’t know why, but the sound made him think of Holly. He kept his voice low. “This is a nice marina, not what I expected at all.”
    “It’s a major hub for recreational activity.”
    “I can see that.”
    “I was afraid of this,” Jeremy said. “He’s not here.”
    They