Sold Out (Nick Woods Book 1) (18 page)

Chapter
46

Nick
Woods lay behind the M40A1 rifle the next morning, watching Col. Russ
Jernigan's home as the sun burned off the early morning fog.

The
rifle felt familiar, and it should. It was the precise weapon he'd used to hunt
down the Russkie Spetsnaz in Afghanistan. He had worried when he stole the
rifle in the dark from the two training Marines that he might end up with an
M40A3, something the Marine Corps began fielding around 2003.

The
M40A3 was heavier and used an improved scope, which wouldn't have bothered
Nick. What would have bothered him was learning the new rifle with the level of
familiarity he had with the older M40A1. In short, he wouldn't have been able
to in just a matter of weeks. Nor, in even a year or two.

He'd
spent hundreds of days and nights with an M40A1 -- some cold, some wet, some
hot. Many of those nights in training, and quite a few in war.

And
lying behind the M40A1 sniper rifle all these years later, he felt the comfort
and familiarity one might find with an ex-girlfriend they had dated for years.
With this rifle, he knew her tendencies, and he knew how to make her sing.

Col.
Russ Jernigan's door opened, and there he stood in his camouflage uniform
looking down at his keys and an attaché case. Just another day at work, or so
he thought.

Nick
Woods cursed under his breath, feeling real anger that such a despicable man
had reached the high rank of Colonel. The man couldn't control his mouth and
protect Top Secret information, something Lance Corporals and Corporals did on
a regular basis -- for about one-tenth the pay.

Seeing
his face through the scope, Nick swallowed down his emotions and tried not to
think about the fact that this man was the one truly responsible for Anne's
death.

Nick
buried his raw anger and worked to forget the sight of Anne in their yard. The
sight of the scope tracking Jernigan across the yard reminded Nick of dozens of
shots from his past.

How
many had he killed? He'd once known, but after a while, they ran together. The
real professionals stop keeping track.

Colonel
Jernigan walked toward his truck, looking calm and unhurried this morning.
Jernigan always paused in front of the door to his truck, and since it was an
older model 4x4, he had to unlock it manually with a key. Nick planned to take
the shot at this moment when Jernigan wasn't moving.

Jernigan
took his final steps to the truck, and Nick felt time slow down and his senses
sharpen. Some kind of bug climbed his leg just above his boot, and he shifted
his mind from the sensation to focus on the crosshairs and Jernigan's body. The
wind remained constant, blowing just slightly from left to right.

Nick
began easing back the trigger, as delicate as you might test the blade of a
razor-sharp knife with your finger.

Chapter
47

"Cruel
Angel, this is Team 4 Leader. Do you read, over?"

"Roger,
Team 4 Leader," Whitaker said. "This is Cruel Angel. Read you loud
and clear."

"Be
advised, Cruel Angel. We have November Whiskey in our sights."

November
Whiskey stood for Nick Woods, and Whitaker could not contain the joy those
words brought to him. He smiled at Tank, as they sat in a hotel room in
Jacksonville, just a few miles from Camp Lejeune and Colonel Jernigan.

"Team
4 Leader, are you absolutely certain you have November Whiskey in your sights?"

"Roger,
Cruel Angel. We can see his position and the outline of his body."

Whitaker
grinned. His plan would work.

"Roger
that, Team 4 Leader. Follow the original plan and do not intercept until after
the shot is taken."

Tank
laughed, and Whitaker looked up from the radio.

"What?"
he asked.

"You're
an evil son of a bitch," Tank said.

"Might
as well close the final loose end. Plus, it ties off nicely with the story that
will emerge."

"Still,
pretty cold blooded to allow Col. Jernigan to take a bullet."

"It
is," Whitaker shrugged, "but we deal in big schemes, and in the big
scheme of things, it's a minor footnote."

Whitaker
glanced down at his radio. He wished he was out there with his troops. The one
bad thing about command was how quickly you got pulled from the front lines.

Eventually,
you found yourself looking at maps and listening to radios. You found yourself
perfecting plans and studying strategy.

At
least in this instance, Whitaker knew he had a great strategy in place. He'd
overseen countless operations, and this was one of his best yet. And like all great
plans, it started with first-rate intel.

Whitaker
knew Nick Woods would go after Col. Jernigan. He also knew he had a
civilian-made .308 hunting rifle, which was not nearly as effective as a
military sniper rifle.

Thus,
Whitaker estimated 300 yards as a max range for Nick. Really, that was barely
outside assault rifle range, so Nick's greatest strengths as a sniper were
severely diminished.

From
there, Whitaker had drawn a 300-yard circle around Col. Jernigan's home, as
well as his office, though both Whitaker and his team snipers felt Nick would
shoot Jernigan around the home. The office was too jammed up with people and
buildings to be effective.

Whitaker
had set up surveillance at both locations, just to play it safe. But his men
had quickly seen Nick snooping around the Colonel’s home. It had been so
tempting to take him out early on, but Whitaker's plans relied on Nick taking
Col. Jernigan out.

The
advantages to this were numerous. First, it closed a final loose end. Second,
the shot would be a flat-out murder, further undermining Nick's outlandish
story involving conspiracy and threatened news media. Third, after the shot,
Whitaker's men could kill him in a way that would allow Marine Major Hawkins of
the MP unit on base to take credit for just happening to be in the right place
at the right time.

Hawkins
was the Marine who'd helped Whitaker get on the base to begin with, and he even
allowed him to borrow a couple Hummer's on his first trip to Camp Lejeune. This
would be a huge repayment of that favor.

Major
Hawkins was about to become a real-life hero, and his career would be set.

Whitaker
had ordered all members of Team 4 to arm themselves with H&K MP5 submachine
guns, since these fired 9 mm rounds. This was the same caliber as the rounds fired
in MP service pistols. Best of all, the H&K MP5 came with a suppressed
model that all of Whitaker's teams used regularly, so they were familiar with
them.

Once
the men had killed Nick Woods, Major Hawkins would come roaring up in his
Hummer and fire the appropriate number of times into the air that Nick had been
hit. The Team 4 leader had assured Whitaker they could take Nick down with two
good center mass shots, and maybe one in the head.

That
would be three shots for Major Hawkins to fire in the air while Team 4 policed
up their brass and got the hell out of Dodge. Investigators wouldn't even take
the time to run ballistics on the rounds.

It'd
be a routine shooting, and no one would question the integrity of Major
Hawkins.

"Shot
fired! Shot fired!" screamed Team 4 Leader over the radio.

"Here
we go," Whitaker said to Tank.

"I
hope they nail the bastard," Tank said, and Whitaker looked up and thought
he heard something in Tank's voice.

Typically,
Tank wanted to get his hands on their targets. Had Nick Woods gotten in Tank's
head?

Chapter
48

Nick
focused his scope on Colonel Jernigan, making a couple of last-second
adjustments. He eased the trigger back and loosed the round that would right
many wrongs.

Immediately,
Nick worked the bolt to reload the rifle. He moved the rifle back on target and
prepared for a follow-up shot, but saw Jernigan go down. Blood sprayed across
the truck door.

Nick
knew the shot had felt good and figured he'd hit Jernigan within a few inches
of the heart -- certainly through one of his lungs. The man stood no chance
unless an ambulance pulled up in the next thirty seconds, and even that would
be a stretch.

Nick
began to push himself up from his position. He had a four-mile hard evasion
route in front of him, and he mentally prepared himself for it.

Out
of nowhere, he caught movement and ducked back down. A van came roaring down
the street toward a fake hide he'd placed right at three hundred yards from
Jernigan's home.

Nick
had placed the fake hide there in case there were any counter-snipers watching
for him. He'd set it up a bit obvious, even placing a cheap scope he'd bought
at Wal-Mart among the bushes so that there'd be some reflection there from the
morning sun.

Nick
pulled the rifle back up as the van slid to a stop just yards from the hide,
which sat just inside the tree line. As the men jumped from the truck and fired
silenced H&K MP5 submachine guns toward the hide, Nick realized these were
not MP's or Marines. They wore Marine uniforms, but Marine MP's didn't carry
silenced weapons or deploy like an assault team.

Nick
quickly realized that these were men of whatever shadowy unit it was that was
hunting him and Allen Green. He also recognized this as a golden opportunity.
One they had forced him into. After all, his plan didn't include trying to
outrun eight men who had vehicle support. He'd expected some pursuit, but by
men who were also trying to avoid getting seen by MP's or other base personnel.

The
sheer audacity of these men brought up some fear Nick hadn't expected. Then he
remembered the fake FBI agent, whose name turned out to be Nancy Dickerson. Just
as he finished twisting the range down on his scope and placing the reticule on
the first man, he thought of how this group had rounded up Allen and destroyed his
life.

Whoever
was behind this group was cold blooded, and not afraid to break any law on the
books. By the time Nick pulled the trigger, he'd decided he'd kill every one of
the men in the van if he could.

They
had chosen to work for a murderous organization. And they had taken part in an
illegal operation in which they had impersonated legitimate Marine MP’s and
fired silenced weapons into a hide in an act of calculated murder.

These
men hadn’t even given the “sniper in the fake hide” an opportunity to
surrender. It had been an ordered hit. The kind which few men willingly go
along with.

Yeah,
Nick would kill every one of them if he could. He pulled the sniper rifle’s
trigger and his first shot blew a man off his feet.

"Where'd
that come from?!" yelled the Team 4 Leader. "Spread out! Eyes
outboard! Communicate, damn it. What do you see?"

His
men ignored the fake hide they had just shot up and spread out into a quick
360, each taking a knee and looking for the source of the shot.

Nick
racked the bolt and aimed at the leader standing and shouting. He fired
quickly. After all, it was just four hundred yards away this time, instead of
seven hundred.

The
man went down hard, and Nick dropped a third man before they scrambled into the
prone.

"Where
are those shots coming from?" screamed one of the men, real urgency and
fear in his voice.

"He's
to the west, I think," another said.

"Spread
into a linear formation," one man yelled, pointing with his finger toward
the woods. "He's this direction."

The
men not facing toward Nick jumped up and ran to get into a skirmish line,
except now everyone was in the prone.

"Cruel
Angel, this is Team 4," yelled the next in charge into the mic in his vest
that connected to the radio in his pack. "Team 4 leader is down, as are
two other team members. We're taking very effective fire from several hundred
yards away. Request support, over."

Tank
saw Whitaker look down at his radio with a sick look.

They
had no support in the immediate area for his besieged troops.

"Team
4, support is on the way, but it'll be a few minutes getting there,"
Whitaker said.

He
saw Tank furrow his brow at the obvious lie, but continued, "You must try
to fire and move toward him. He can't hold you all off, and that's your best
chance."

The
Team 4 member who was next in command didn't answer Whitaker. He looked up and
said, "All right, guys, we're going to fire and move and take this fucker
out."

"Come
on, Lewis," someone said. "We've got piss-ant pee shooters that
barely shoot a hundred yards. We're dead men if we try to run him down when
he’s three or four hundred yards away."

A
shot echoed, and the telltale whack sounded. A moist slap caused all the men to
squirm lower to the ground.

"Who
was that? Who got hit? You all right?"

"We
need to go," another Team 4 member said. "If we make a break for it,
some of us can make it out of here."

Lewis
wanted to argue with him, but facts were facts.

"Sounds
good," he said. "Get ready for some covering fire."

Nick
had a hard time seeing them while they were in the prone, and he knew they'd
probably make a break for the van soon.

He
prepared for their next move by pulling his nearly empty magazine from the
rifle and inserting a fresh one in. That gave him five rounds and only four remaining
targets.

Piece
of cake.

In
the distance, he could hear sirens approaching, but that was as much a threat
to the men lying in the grass before him as it was to him.

Suddenly,
two men jumped up, and rounds started zipping by him, some low -- striking the
dirt -- and others high -- cutting branching and leaves. He couldn’t hear them
firing because of their silenced weapons, but that was okay. At 400 yards, it
would take some serious bad luck on his part for him to get hit by a
pistil-sized, 9 mm round.

Nick
ignored his fears and braved the bullets thudding all around him. He aimed at a
man jumping into the driver's seat of the van. Nick fired, but his shot
shattered the glass and missed due to the deflection the window caused. He
worked the bolt and sent a second shot toward his target.

This
one struck the side of the man's face and instantly killed him.

Nick
aimed at a second man who had jumped into the back of the van. He lost him in
his scope when the man ducked behind a seat.

The
other two men, who had been providing cover fire, leapt to their feet and ran
for the truck. He shot the one darting toward the vehicle’s rear doors and blew
him into the van, before the man’s body slid out.

The
second of the last two to scramble made it to the driver's door. As he yanked it
open and pulled the dead man from the driver's seat, Nick put a bullet right
into the front of his face. Both men fell.

Nick
worked the bolt again and aimed toward the rear of the van.

On
second thought, he lowered his rifle. He'd let the final man live – along with
any others who were tough enough to survive taking a well-placed 7.62 mm
bullet. Their stories would intensify the fear among the rest of the
opposition's troops.

And
with that thought, Nick slid back from his position and exited the area. The ghost
of Nick Woods had shown these men what a true sniper could do with a fully
capable military rifle.

Eight
men lay bleeding or cowering in fear, and not a single one of them had managed
to see him. Hell, they hadn’t even located his true position.

Nick
knew as he exfiltrated the area that these men had felt terrifying fear today.
They, nor their friends in the other squads, would be looking forward to
tangling with Nick again.

Not
today. Not ever.