The Gorge

Hmm.

Mmm.

Hey.

Colonel, give us the room, please.

Four years retired yet two salutes?

- Shows respect. - Have a seat.

Do you know who I am?

No.

Well, if you were to guess.

Judging by your age, appearance,

and how a Marine colonel just followed your order without a yip,

I'd guess you're some kind of high-level spook.

Your father and grandfather served?

Yes.

As an elite sniper, you have 113 confirmed kills

and an additional 81 probable kills.

Are those numbers accurate?

No.

- Are the actual numbers fewer or greater? - Greater.

As a veteran, how many private contractors have you worked for?

Eleven.

But you also still work for the Marine Corps on occasion?

Anytime they call.

And are you presently under any private or military contract?

No.

You're an extremely rare talent, Levi.

Why not?

In June, some corporate shrink told me that I was unfit for a mission,

but I'm sure you already know that.

So why are you asking me?

Do you think you're fit for service?

Doesn't matter what I think.

So, do you presently have a girlfriend?

Anyone special?

Someone who couldn't live without you?

- No. - Why not?

Just not how it goes for me.

How about meds, illegal drugs, alcohol?

No drugs.

But if I time it right,

three and a half ounces of booze right before I go to bed helps with the dreams.

Have you tried Nitrazepam or Prazosin?

Have you ever killed someone at long range?

Pills affect my accuracy.

Levi, you could have contested the psych test and seen another doctor.

Why didn't you?

I had no reason to.

You had no reason?

There's not a lot of reasons for me right now.

What if I gave you a reason?

[accordion playing Bach's "Cello Suite No.1 in G Major"]

Hey, Daddy.

To music.

To music.

My Little Lion...

How are you?

You know.

Better now I see you.

There is a rumor you were photographed in Belarus.

A drone.

Is that possible?

Moscow cannot risk having a direct link to the oligarch's death.

He had four children.

Give it to me.

Give me your shame.

The Belarusian made himself rich trading in white phosphorus bombs and land mines.

How many children's legs were lost?

How many little faces were forever burnt by those transactions?

You give the shame to me...

And you move forward.

It's not so easy anymore.

I don't sleep.

Sometimes for days.

Stay with me for a week or two.

And we'll make a stew. It would be good for both of us.

I can't.

Rabinovich has ordered me to a briefing first thing tomorrow morning in Moscow.

To hell with Rabinovich, and to hell with Moscow.

You're not Russian, you're Lithuanian.

He says I'll be going dark for at least a year.

Perhaps more.

Hey.

Did you go to the doctor I arranged for you?

The specialist?

- Yes, I did. - And?

There's nothing to be done.

Look at me, I'm a wretch.

Cancer eats me from the inside out.

Liver, pancreas.

Death will be a welcome change.

And what if I'm not back?

Hmm?

You'll be alone, and I won't even know when it happens.

An easy solution.

I've already decided.

February 14th, Valentine's Day.

What are you talking about?

I'm going to do it myself.

Assuming I'm not already dead, of course.

Dad.

- Dad, you're not... - It's my life to take.

I will be ready to finally rest here next to your mother.

So, wherever you are, you light a candle for me,

you look at the Hunter in the night sky, then you'll know.

Come on now, Little Lion.

Let's have our beer,

play a song,

and say a proper goodbye.

Place your left hand on the pad.

Put your watch, your smart phone, and your ID in the case.

It just tells time.

In three minutes, we reach the edge of the no-fly zone.

That's as far as we can take you.

From the drop, you'll have another 38 klicks north on foot.

You're expected by 1600 hours tomorrow.

Open it on the ground.

Where are we?

I'm not authorized to answer that.

- - At long last, my sweet prince has come.

Punctual even. Spot on time. What a guy.

Jasper D. Drake, Royal Marines Commandos. Just call me JD.

Levi Kane, former US Marine, scout sniper.

Mercenary?

- Private contractor. - Hmm.

So, what did they tell you about this mission?

Not a damn thing.

They gave me an unmarked topo map.

I don't even know what country I'm in.

I've been here an entire year and I have no idea where I am.

It's messed up, right?

But that is just the tippity-top of the iceberg.

Man, am I glad to see you.

Not a lot of contact, huh?

You're the first person I've spoken to face-to-face in a year.

- You're all alone out here? - Mm-hmm.

And my tour rotation officially ends at midnight.

- So I'm the relief? - Affirmative.

Look, we'll get a drink and I'll explain everything.

There she is.

West Tower Observation Post.

Your home away from home for the next 365 days.

Completely self-sufficient, solar with a generator backup, rain system,

wild game is plentiful, and there's a garden right there.

Everything you need.

What's that on the other side?

That is East Tower.

Contact with the other side is strictly forbidden,

which is irrelevant given the land mines and lethal tactical barriers

to the north and south of the Gorge.

Can't get to the other side anyway.

In practical terms, East Tower is not an issue.

They do their thing. You do yours.

I did see movement over that side earlier this morning.

Think they just completed their annual rotation too.

- - Theoretically, the job's simple.

You're not the principal line of defense.

You're more like a highly skilled maintenance man.

Every day, you walk the western rim.

There are automatic Phalanx gun turrets every 600 meters or so.

You restock the ammo in the auto gun,

check the containment fence, cloakers and suspended mines.

There's an armory in the bunker outside. Weapons, tools, replacement ammo, mines.

Whatever you need.

Radio check every 30 days.

What's a cloaker?

Cloaker is a type of satellite transmitter.

There's one every kilometer or so along the rim,

each with its own power and backup power source.

- What do they do? - They cloak.

They send a false signal to all the satellites

that pass overhead on a given day.

They're designed to render the Gorge invisible to spy satellites,

but they also work with shit like Google Earth.

Ah. Um, there is no outside communication here.

No cell, no sat, no nothing.

In case of an emergency, there's a panic button

on the dedicated shortwave radio you use for monthly radio checks.

Button triggers a signal, which lets them know that...

Let's who know?

The powers that be, mate.

Whoever.

Did you spy the old air-raid sirens atop the tower?

If, somehow, all the cloakers fail at once or if the Gorge is ever overrun,