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CHAPTER 1

John had done a lot of reading since leaving the Army. Most were thrillers; the ones Roni’s dad liked about the ex-Army guy who wandered around with only a toothbrush and did good deeds was a favorite. (After watching the series on Amazon, he agreed with Roni. Cruise was too short for the part.)

In the books, the guy was a bit of an oddball. Probably diagnosable. All that aside, he could fight. Size up three, four, five guys, calculate the odds, figure out his moves—and win. A little like Robert Downey, Jr. playing Sherlock Holmes: choreographing his moves and the likeliest outcomes.

The Army guy in the books also cheated. For example, he’d agree to start fighting on three but give his opponent a headbutt after one . Element of surprise. Made for awfully good TV, too.

John’s problem...he wasn’t that particular brand of Army guy. Not huge, not a street fighter. Not an ex- military cop or ex-CIA agent. Which you’d think would be a disadvantage.

But not if you knew how to use what was at hand. Not if you had an uncle who’d been a Ranger in Vietnam. And not if your aim was excellent.

Even John’s college baseball pitching coach agreed: You got two terrific weapons there, son. A good right arm and a good left.

What counted as a weapon was all a matter of interpretation. Same as some politician once upon a time had said.

A country—or a man—goes to war with the weapons he has.