Harpers Ferry was tiny, actually. You could walk from one end of town to the other in less than fifteen minutes. There was a point of tourist interest nearby called Jefferson Rock, where you could see Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia. Kind of neat.

Starkey drove for the entire trip, no need for any relief. He liked to be at the wheel and in control anyway. He was also in charge of entertainment, which consisted of his Best of Springsteen tape, a Janis Joplin, a Doors, a Jimi Hendrix anthology, and a Dale Brown audio book

Warren Griffin spent almost the entire trip checking the team's supplies and readying the rucksacks in back. When he was finished, the packs weighed around forty pounds, a little more than half of what they used to carry on their re-con missions in Vietnam and Cambodia.

He had prepared the packs for a 'hunt and kill', the kind of ambush Colonel Starkey had planned for the Appalachian Trail. Griffin had packed standard-issue canteens; LRPs meals which were pronounced 'lurps'; hot sauce to kill the taste of the LRPs; a tin can for coffee. Each of them would have a K-Bar, the standard military combat knife; cammo sticks, with two colors of greasepaint; boo ny hats; poncho liners that could do double duty as ground cover; night-vision goggles; Clocks as well as an M-16 rifle fitted with a sniper scope. When he was finished with the work, Griffin uttered one of his favorite lines, “If you want to get a good belly laugh out of God, just tell Him about your plans.”

Starkey was the TL, or Team Leader. He was in control of every aspect of the job.

Harris was the Point Man.

Griffin was Rear Security, still the junior guy after all these years.

They didn't have to do the 'hunt and kill' exactly like this. They could have made it a whole lot easier on themselves. But this was the way Starkey liked it, the way they had always committed their murders. It was 'the Army way7.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Forty-Three

They made camp about two clicks from the AT. It was dangerous for them to be seen by anybody so Starkey established an NDP, a Night Defense Position, for the camp. Then they each kept watch in two-hour shifts. Nostalgia rules.

When Starkey took his shift, he passed the time thinking not so much about the job looming ahead of them, but the job in general. He, Harris and Griffin were professional killers and had been for over twenty years. They'd been assassins in Vietnam, Panama, the Gulf War, and now they were assassins for hire. They were careful, discreet and expensive. The current job was their most lucrative and involved several murders over a period of two years. The curious thing about it was they didn't know the identity of their employer. They were given new targets only after the previous job was completed.

As he stared into the dark, restless woods, Starkey wanted a cigarette, but he settled for an Altoids. Those little fuckers kept you awake. He found himself thinking about the blonde bitch they had offed near Fayetteville, pretty Vanessa. The memory got him hard and that helped the time pass. While they were still in Vietnam, Starkey had discovered that he liked to kill. The murders gave him a powerful feeling of control and elation. It was like electricity was passing through his body. He never felt guilt, not anymore. He killed for hire; but he also killed in between jobs, because he wanted to, and liked it.