James Patterson - Private

Copyright 2010 by James Patterson

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue

New York, NY 10017

Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

www.twitter.com/littlebrown.

First eBook Edition: June 2010

Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-10203-2

A complete list of books by James Patterson is on .

To Suzie and John, Brendan and Jack

TO THE BEST OF my understandably shaky recollection, the first time I died it went something like this.

Mortar rounds were thumping all around me, releasing what sounded like a shower of razor blades. I was carrying Marine Corporal Danny Young over my shoulder, and I loved this guy. He was the toughest soldier Id ever fought beside, funny as hell, and best of all, he was hopefulhis wife back in West Texas was pregnant with their fourth kid.

Now his blood bubbled down my flight suit, splashing on my boots like water from a drainpipe.

I ran across rocky ground in the dark, and I choked out to Danny, Ive got you; Ive got you. Just stay with me, you hear me?

I lowered him to the ground a few yards away from the helicopter, and suddenly there was a concussive explosion, as though the ground had blown up around me. I felt a stunning hammer strike to my chest, and that was the end.

I died. I passed to the other side. I dont even know how long I was gone.

Del Rio told me later that my heart had stopped.

I just remember swimming up to the light, and the pain, and the awful reek of aviation fuel.

My eyes flashed open and there was Del Rio in my face, his hands pressing down on my chest. He laughed when my eyes openedand at the same time tears ran down his cheeks. He said, Jack, you son of a bitch, youre back.

A dense curtain of oily black smoke rolled over us. Danny Young lay right there beside me, his legs splayed at weird angles, and behind Del Rio was the helicopter, burning bright white, getting ready to blow.

My buddies were still in there. My friends. Guys who had risked their lives for me.

I choked out a few words. Weve got to get them out of there.

Del Rio tried his best to hold me down, but I used an elbow to swing at his jaw, and connected. He fell back and I got away from him, started running toward the fallen bird just as its magnesium skin caught fire.

There were Marines in there, and I had to get them out.

The fearsome chunk-a chunk-a chunk of fifty-caliber machine gun ammo hammered. Ordnance exploded inside the aircraft. Del Rio shouted, Get down, asshole. Jack, get the hell down!

I felt all of his hundred and ninety pounds as he tackled me to the ground, and the helicopter disappeared in white-hot flames. I wasnt dead, but a lot of my friends were. I swear to God, I would have traded myself for them.

I guess that says a lot about me, and Im not so sure that all of it is good. Youll see, and you can be the judge.

Sit back; its a long story but a good one.

IT WAS TWO YEARS after I got back from Afghanistan and the war. I hadnt seen my father in over a year, had no reason or desire to see him again. But when he called, he said he had something important to tell me. He said it was urgent and that it was going to change my life.

My father was a manipulative, lying bastard, but hed hooked me, so there I was, walking through the forbidding visitors gate of California State Prison at Corcoran.

Ten minutes later, I took a seat at the Plexiglas partition as he came into the cubicle on the other side and grinned at me, showing his gappy teeth. He had been handsome once; now he looked like Harrison Ford on meth.

He grabbed the phone, and I did the same on my side of the partition.

Youre looking good, Jack. Life must be agreeing with you.

I said, Youve lost weight.

The food here is for rats, son.

My father picked up where he had left off the last time Id seen him. Telling me how there were no gentleman crooks anymore, just punks. They kill a clerk at a Stop-N-Go. Turn a robbery into a life sentencefor what? A hundred bucks?

Listening to him made my head hurt and my back and neck stiffen. He ragged on blacks and Hispanics for being stupid, and here he was, serving life for extortion and murder. Same time, same place as the punks. I felt ashamed for all of the years Id spent looking up to him, turning myself inside out to get an Atta boy, Jack instead of the back of his hand.

Tell you what, Tom, I said. Ill have a chat with the warden. See if I can get you transferred to the Bel-Air or the Beverly Wilshire.

He laughed. Ill make it worth your while.

I finally smiled. You never change.

He shrugged and grinned back at me. Why should I, Jack?

I noticed new tats on my fathers knuckles. My name was on his left hand, my brothers name on the right. He used to knock us around with those fists, what he called the old one-two. I drummed my fingers on the ledge.

Am I boring you? he asked.

Hell, no. I parked my car in front of a hydrant.

My father laughed again, said, I look at you, I see myself. When I was an idealist.

Narcissistic SOB. He still thought he was my idol, which couldnt have been further from the truth.

Jack, let me ask you a serious question. You like working for that useless, pathetic hack Pinkus PI?

Prentiss. Ive learned a lot from him. Im happy. Its a job Im good at.

Youre wasting your time, Jack. And Ive got a better offer. He made sure he had my attention, then said, I want you to take over Private.

I guess hed gotten to the part that was supposed to change my life.

Dad. Remember? All thats left of Private are a lot of file cabinets in a storage unit.

Youre going to get a package tomorrow, my father continued, as if I hadnt spoken. Its a list of all my clientsand the dirt I had on them. Theres also a document putting your name on my bank account in the Caymans, he said. Fifteen million dollars, Jack. All yours. Do with it what you will.

I raised my eyebrows. Private had once done first-class investigation for movie stars, politicians, multimillionaires, even the White House. My dad had charged the maximum for his services. But fifteen million? How had he earned that much, and did I really want to know?

Whats the catch, right? he said. Simple. Dont tell your twin about the money. Anything I ever gave him he snorted or gambled. This is your birthright, Jack. Im trying to do the right thing for once in my life.

Did you hear me say that Im happy at Prentiss? I said.

I wish you could see your face, Jack. Listen to me. Stop being the good twin for half a frickin second and think this through. Theres no such thing as good money and bad money. Its all the same. Just a medium of exchange. And this is an opportunity, a big one. Fifteen million dollars worth of opportunity.

I want Private to be remembered as the best. Youre a smart, good-looking kid, and on top of that, youre a frickin war hero. Bring Private back to life. Do it for me, and more important, do it for yourself. Dont talk yourself out of a really good thing. Make Private the best in the world. You have the money, the talentand the compassionso do it.