Point of Crisis (20 page)

Kidnappings had replaced IEDs as the most feared insurgent tactic. With the help of sympathetic or threatened locals, Taliban “skassas,” or specters, coordinated the sudden and often inexplicable disappearances of coalition personnel from patrols. The abductions defied explanation, but all had the same thing in common—a short, often unexpected window of vulnerability, like tonight.

Brown tried to contact “Relay One” to delay his pickup until tomorrow evening, but Eli had withdrawn the radio relay vehicle a few days ago, switching to a seemingly random pattern of radio communication to collect Brown’s situation reports. He suspected the times coincided with whenever Eli could spare a vehicle to drive close enough to make radio contact. He couldn’t blame Eli for making the change. Traffic patterns in and out of the compound yielded little in the way of an exploitable pattern.

One of the tactical vehicles left in the morning, typically before eight, and returned by noon the same day, rarely later. Another vehicle remained permanently absent, presumably based at another government-sponsored compound. This left two heavily armored vehicles and an undetermined number of soldiers at the compound for most of the day.

The situation had grown slightly more interesting today; marking the first time any of the compound personnel had departed in a civilian vehicle, without an escort. Due to Brown’s lack of real-time communications with Eli, they had missed an easy chance to eliminate a key player in the government conspiracy without confronting heavily armed ground forces. They couldn’t afford to miss future opportunities like this, especially this early in the game. Eli had said it himself. They needed to strike as many critical blows to the regime’s fledgling structure as possible to collapse it, but it had to be done right.

At this point, he sincerely hoped Eli wasn’t planning to attack the compound. Even trying to drive an explosives-laden vehicle onto the grounds would certainly meet with failure given the amount of firepower provided by the tactical vehicles. Six days after the first attack, he couldn’t imagine any scenario in which the government agents hadn’t prepared for the possibility of a car bomb, especially after McCulver tipped their hand by harmlessly detonating a firecracker next to a Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) classified vehicle.

When he returned to the farm, he hoped to hear that Eli had moved on from this dangerous obsession. If not, he’d consider slipping away and heading north, away from whatever was about to explode in York County. The Maine Liberty Militia had been a good place to land, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure about Eli.

“Overwatch, this is Liberty One-Zero,” he heard over faint static.

“This is Overwatch. What is your ETA for pickup?” Brown requested.

“We just turned onto 160. ETA four minutes.”

“Copy, four minutes. I’m headed east on Old Middle Road. Pickup approximately fifty yards past the entrance to Gelder Pond Lane. Right side of the road.”

“Roger. We’ll be running without lights on the stretch in front of the entrance.”

“Copy. Out,” he said and lifted himself off the ground.

He walked briskly through the underbrush, keeping parallel with Old Middle Road. A minute later, he turned left and fought his way through to the edge of the road for a quick look toward Gelder Pond Lane. The sheer darkness yielded little beyond a thick, monochromatic curtain. He dug a handheld night-vision spotting scope from one of his cargo pockets and scanned the entrance to Gelder Pond, checking for movement. Satisfied that it was safe to step out of the bushes, he took a few steps onto the dirt road and aimed the unmagnified scope down Old Middle Road. It was empty
.

Brown cradled his rifle and shuffled west. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the Gelder Pond entrance as possible
before
the extraction vehicle arrived. More than fifty yards if possible—enough to determine if they had attracted any attention. Driving this close to the compound represented a moment of vulnerability, and he wasn’t taking any chances. He picked up the pace, jogging until he heard the faint hum of a car motor. Through his scope, a dark shape appeared in the middle of the road, well beyond the turnoff.

He watched Gelder Pond Lane carefully as the vehicle skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, directly in front of him. The SUV’s engine roared, advertising their presence on the hushed, country road. He watched the entrance to the pond for a few moments until he felt sure that nothing was in pursuit.

“What the fuck? Get in!” yelled the front seat passenger.

The acrid, metallic smell of fresh blood hit Brown’s nose when he yanked the door open.

Smells like a slaughterhouse
.

He shoved his rucksack through the headrests, dropping it into the rear cargo compartment, barely squeezing into the crowded back seat before the SUV lurched forward at an unadvisable speed.

“You might want to slow down. There’s a sharp left turn coming up,” he said, pulling the door shut against his leg.

“We’ll slow down when we’re the fuck out of here,” uttered a gruff voice from the front passenger seat.

“At least hit the lights. Trust me.”

“Lights? Why don’t we honk the horn to scare away the deer? Ever hear of going tactical?”

With the door shut, the coppery stench intensified, forcing him to turn his head and fumble for the button to lower the window. Moments later, the SUV skidded to an abrupt halt, jamming Brown’s face into the headrest directly in front of him.

“Take it the fuck easy!” said the guy in the passenger seat.

“You got me driving around in the middle of nowhere with the lights out! What the fuck do you expect!” the driver snapped.

“I think it’s safe to use the lights at this point,” said Brown, reaching over his shoulder for the seatbelt.

“That’s not your decision to make, Ranger Rick. This is my mission,” said the man in front of him.

“Does getting back alive fit your mission parameters?”

“This is a courtesy pickup. You can walk back, for all I care.”

“I think Eli might feel differently,” he said as the car eased forward.

“I don’t really give a shit
what
Eli thinks.”

“All right. It’s your show,” said Brown.

“Hit the lights, slick. I’d like to get back alive to enjoy our new toys.”

The SUV’s interior brightened momentarily as light reflected off the bushes flanking the dangerously narrow road. Glancing to his left, Brown caught a glimpse of the man pressed against the far door. Half of his face was smeared scarlet red. The guy jammed between them had blood all over his neck.

Hunting?

That didn’t make any sense. They could hunt in the woods around Eli’s farm. Something didn’t add up here. He felt a hard thump against the back of his seat, causing him to sit up.

“Did you feel that?” he asked, eliciting no response from either man in the back seat.

The next hit jarred him forward. “What the fuck?”

“We might need to crack one of them over the head again,” grunted the man next to Brown.

“If we have to stop this car, I’ll do more than knock her over the head,” hissed the leader.

“I’ll make sure the little one chokes on my dick,” grumbled the other back seat passenger. “That should settle her down.”

The pounding against the back of the seat intensified.

“Who do you have back there?” asked Brown, quietly unsnapping the holster pressed against the door.

“Some new toys.”

“Part of the mission?”

“Eli told us to string up everyone we find at the house, but it seemed like a waste of good pussy. Not like he’s gonna complain. We did a real number on the mayor.”

“The mayor?” Brown echoed, slipping the Beretta 92FS out of the nylon holster.

“The mayor of Sanford.”

Brown paused for a moment, considering his options. It didn’t take long for him to reach a decision.

“There’s another sharp turn coming up on your right,” he blurted, easing the Beretta across his chest as the car rapidly decelerated.

He jabbed the barrel into the middle guy’s neck as the SUV’s high beams exposed a long, tree-covered stretch of road.

“Looks straight to—”

The pistol’s sharp report cut off the driver’s protest, catapulting the tight space into pandemonium. He shifted the pistol an inch to the right and fired two 9mm bullets into the next man’s face, spider-webbing the blood-splattered window just behind his head.

“Son of a mother—”

The leader turned his body, struggling to push his compact rifle between the front seats. Brown jammed the rifle’s hand guard against the roof and aimed the pistol into the back of the man’s seat, rapidly pressing the trigger until the man stopped thrashing.

Given an extra fraction of a second to analyze the situation, the driver smartly abandoned the SUV. Brown lurched between the front seats and steadied himself on his side, emptying the rest of his magazine at the fleeing figure. The vehicle started to roll forward, and he let the SUV drift several feet before sliding the transmission into neutral and slipping out of the rear passenger door with his rifle. Brown walked behind the vehicle until it drifted to a stop in the middle of the road.

Bullets peppered the SUV, shattering two of the cargo compartment windows. Pistol caliber, he guessed, judging by the sound of the gunfire and the fact that nothing had passed through the thin metal sides. Brown opened the front passenger door and pulled the leader’s limp body onto the dirt road. He reached across the seats and fumbled for the headlight controls. A bullet struck the dashboard above the steering wheel, missing his arm by inches and cracking the LED speedometer display. A second bullet hit the rearview mirror above his head. He caught movement beyond the driver’s side door and pulled back into the passenger side.

Fuck this shit.

Brown scurried to the front of the vehicle and quickly fired his rifle point-blank into the headlights, returning the road to darkness. He retreated behind the engine block as bullets snapped over the hood, crackling through the forest beyond the SUV.

Time for a little flanking maneuver.

After backing into the trees, Brown crouched and walked back the way they had come, stopping when he had a clear view around the SUV. He scanned the trees to the left of the vehicle with his night-vision scope, hoping to catch some movement.

Nothing.

The SUV’s red taillights washed out the green image.

He’d have to do this the hard way—and quickly. He had no idea how the soldiers at the compound might react to nearby gunfire. Instinct and experience told him they would stay safely tucked away behind their fortifications, but he’d hate to be wrong. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Jeff Brown felt like he’d done the right thing. That he’d chosen the right path on his own. It’d be a real shame to get greased on the side of the road by some twenty-year-old PFC blasting away with a night-vision-equipped “240 Golf.”

Staying low, he crossed the road and crouched behind a thick stand of bushes, staying perfectly still. The deep hum of the SUV’s idling engine contended with the chirping crickets, eliminating any chance of hearing the soft rustle of fabric against bushes or the faint scraping of boots across dried pine needles.

“The hard way,” he mumbled.

Keeping his rifle trained parallel to the road, Brown moved forward, stepping heel-to-toe. He’d covered half of the distance to the SUV when a bullet punched through the side of his abdomen, knocking him to one knee. The gunman had retreated deeper into the forest than he had anticipated. Bullets cracked and hissed around Brown as he scrambled behind a thick tree. He waited a few seconds before leaning around the tree to search for a target.

Muzzle flashes and splintering bark forced him back, but instead of waiting for the fusillade to end, he shifted to the left side of the tree and centered his rifle’s canted sights on the flashes. A bullet creased the top of his shoulder as he squeezed the match-grade trigger. The AR-10 repeatedly pounded his shoulder until one of the incoming muzzle flashes pointed erratically skyward, suggesting a sudden, involuntary shift in the gunman’s aim.

The forest fell silent against the ringing in his ears, leaving him satisfied that at least one of his .308 bullets had found its mark. Using the rifle as a support, he struggled through searing stomach pain to reach his feet, and stumbled to the back of the SUV. Brown didn’t have much time left. He was starting to feel sluggish. Activating the tailgate latch, he swung the door upward, collapsing to his knees in pain. Two figures writhed in the cargo compartment, hog-tied and gagged. He had to free them before all of his strength drained. There was no way to be sure that the man in the forest was dead. He tried to raise himself by the bumper but didn’t make it onto his feet. This wasn’t going to work.

“Can you hear me?” he yelled.

Muffled screams and more writhing.

“I need one of you to wiggle toward the back of the car! I can cut you free.”

The larger of the two figures edged her way to the back of the compartment, contorting far enough for Brown to reach the zip ties interlocking her ankles and wrists.

“Hold still, please,” he exhaled, aware that he was fading.

He unsheathed the fixed-blade serrated knife attached to his belt and carefully placed the stainless steel blade against the plastic tie linking the others together. Pressing down firmly, the plastic snapped apart.

“That’s just the first part. Your wrists and ankles are still bound. Scoot toward me a little more,” he said.

He gripped her ankles and pulled them apart, exposing a quarter-inch of the white zip tie. The razor-sharp blade cut through the heavy-duty zip ties with minimal effort, freeing her legs.

“Hands next.”

She worked her way to the edge of the cargo area, extending her hands as far away from her back as possible.

“Pull your wrists as far apart as possible,” he said, knowing it might only gain him an extra millimeter of distance to work with.