Hard Road to Redemption

by Alex Ander

  “Copy that.”

  “Try to get a bead on him with your thermal night vision.” Activating his NVGs, Jacob slipped into the woods, as the world around him turned green. Navigating between trees and stepping over fallen limbs, he whispered, “Anything?”

  Five seconds later, in his ear, a female whisper: “Got him. Fifty feet in front of you. Eleven o’clock. I’m going ahead. I’ll try to flank him.”

  “What’s your position?”

  “On your two o’clock.”

  “Copy. I’ll push him your way.” Jacob weaved his way through the trees, his NVGs showing him glimpses of Driver between the thick trunks ahead. He skirted around an oak and watched Driver sprint away from him. What the...

  *******

  Coming to the beginning of a clearing, Stockwell dropped to her knees.

  Jacob: “Something’s wrong. He’s run—”

  “He’s in a clearing.” She went prone and rested the nine-millimeter rifle on a downed log. “I’m taking the shot.”

  “We need him alive.”

  Drawing in a breath and letting out half, she peered through the EOTECH HHS holographic sight on her MP5 and found the fleeing man. Reaching up with her left hand, she rotated the EOTECH G33 Magnifier into place behind the sight.

  The running Driver grew bigger.

  Her shoulders rotating clockwise, Stockwell kept the red dot on her target.

  Driver glanced backward, stumbled, caught his balance, faced forward, and continued running.

  She touched the H&K’s trigger.

  “Talk to me, Stockwell.”

  Still pivoting right, her brow wrinkled, her lips puckering, “Shh,” she continued shushing him while easing back her right index finger.

  The suppressed MP5 murmured once.

  Driver’s gait never wavered.

  “You’re killing me, Stockwell. What’s going—”

  “Jake,” she snapped. “Please.”

  Her fifty-yard shot was now sixty.

  She went through a hurried version of her pre-shot prep.

  Sixty-five yards.

  At the seventy-yard mark, her target ten yards away from disappearing into the forest again, she let loose with another single shot.

  Yelling, Driver lifted his left leg and reached back for his ankle. One hop later, he lost his footing and landed hard on his right shoulder before tumbling and rolling a few feet.

  “Tango down.” She looked along the tree line on her port side.

  Jacob burst from the trees and went into an all-out sprint. “I got him. Cover me.”

  She placed the red dot on Driver’s writhing form. Please, Lord... She continued her silent prayer that she would not have to take the kill shot on the agents’ only chance at locating the abducted teen.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 25

  Heat Signatures

  5:55 A.M.

  RABUN COUNTY, GEORGIA

  NEAR GRASSY RIDGE

  ONE MILE SOUTH OF THE

  NORTH CAROLINA BORDER

  While Stockwell worked the handheld controls and landed the state-of-the-art quadcopter drone, equipped with next-gen, deep-penetrating thermal imaging technology, at the back of the Chevy Suburban, Jacob used his cell phone to review video footage recorded from the flying surveillance machine.

  “Although a couple are somewhat massed together, I’m counting at least seven,” he paused, “possibly eight heat signatures coming from inside the structures. Here.” He forfeited his mobile, “take a look,” then retrieved the drone, secured the machine inside a Pelican Storm Case, and placed the case inside the SUV.

  Back at the Forest Service road, having shot the escapee in the leg, Stockwell had then bandaged his wound before she and Jacob had marched him to the Dodge truck.

  Once there, feeling the effects of his injury, and receiving promises of medical care if he cooperated, the man quickly gave up the hideout to where the remaining members of the compound had fled.

  Jacob then bound Sheriff Winston and stuffed him into the trunk of the police cruiser before Jacob drove the Dodge—Stockwell the Chevy—to their current location, the start of a half-mile dirt driveway near a temporarily closed Forest Service road.

  After having administered pain meds to their wounded prisoner, before hog-tying him in the bed of the Dodge, under a fiberglass topper, the agents then launched the drone to get a better view of the property that lay two thousand feet further up the ridge.

  Situated on a sloping parcel of land, high elevations on three sides, the heavily wooded plot had a centrally located large house and three smaller buildings to the south, on the downhill side of the primary structure.

  “I’m seeing eight, possibly nine, signatures, Jake.”

  “That one there,” Jacob pointed at an ‘A’ frame structure on the screen, “I’m guessing that’s our Innocent. The other forms are all moving about.” He jabbed his finger at the cell again, “That’s the only one that hasn’t budged in the time we’ve had eyes in the sky,” before maneuvering into his tactical vest.

  Stockwell set his phone down, “That could just be a sleeping tango,” then donned her tactical vest and Ops-Core FAST SF Super High Cut Helmet with attached EOTech Ground Panoramic Night Vision Goggles, a four-tube device with a 97-degree field-of-view.

  After adjusting his vest, he put on an identical Ops-Core/EOTech combo and secured the headgear’s chin strap. “It’s possible. Either way, we now have confirmation that,” he dipped his head toward the Dodge, “our man over there isn’t feeding us a line on this place.” After checking the status of his 357 Coonan and holstering it, he loaded a Mossberg 590 Shockwave SPX—a 12-gauge, 26-inch shotgun with a 14-inch, heavy-walled breaching barrel—then slung the short shotgun from his shoulder harness, below the spare 1911 magazines under his right armpit.

  “How are we going to do this?” Stockwell readied her suppressed MP5 and let it hang in front of her body.

  His face already painted black, “Oh, I thought we’d,” Jacob slipped a communication device into one ear, “talk to them, get to know them, ask about any deep-seated childhood experiences that may have contributed to their criminal inclinations.”

  Scrunching her eyebrows together, she dropped the Glock 19M’s magazine into her left palm and tossed him a look.

  “You know. Do some counseling on the fly.” He turned on the transmitter/receiver attached to his vest. “You copy?”

  She nodded. “I copy. Or,” picking up on his humor, she jammed the mag into the magwell, “we shoot any murdering, kidnapping, teen-raping thug carrying a gun before they can shoot us?” She slid the Glock into its horizontal holster on her vest and tucked her blonde hair under a black stocking cap.

  Grabbing a CMMG Banshee 300 MK4 9mm short-barreled rifle and a CMMG DEFCAN 9 sound suppressor from the SUV’s cargo area, Jacob offered her a mischievous grin. “I think I just felt a tingle below my belt.”

  She smiled back.

  “Marry me, Stockwell.”

  Spreading paint over one cheek, the female agent peeped at him then moved on to the other side of her face. “You don’t mean that. That’s just your,” she swung an elbow toward his lower half, “little Jake talking.”

  He sulked while joining a 10.25-inch black cylinder to the SBR’s 5-inch barrel. “Not going to lie, Deanna. I’m not too crazy about the nickname. It’s...”

  She put the lid on the paint can.

  “...not very,” he paused and looked skyward while tightening the DEFCAN 9, “flattering if you will.”

  Stockwell sniggered.

  He inserted an AR-15 style 30-round magazine into the gun and yanked on the charging handle to chamber a round.

  “Well,” wiping her hands on a rag, “when you ask me that question for real,” she flipped a sultry half smile his way, “I’ll come up with a more...appropriate nickname. How’s that?”

  Jacob clipped his single-point sling to the Banshee’s sling mount, made s
ure the red dot scope was on, shut the Chevy’s tailgate, and faced her. “It’s a deal.”

  One half of her mouth ticked higher at his choice of words.

  He noticed. “Certainly not that nickname. It’s already way overused. You need to come up with something original.”

  Stockwell let out a short laugh.

  Jacob took a big breath, held it, then exhaled while spying the driveway winding its way among the trees. “Time to go to work.” He came back to her. “You ready?”

  She assumed a two-hand hold on her MP5 and lowered the night vision goggles into place. “Ready.”

  He did the same. “I say we start with the outbuilding with the heat signature that hasn’t moved. If that turns out to be Miranda, then we can get her out of here without having to fire a shot. Let’s go.” He trotted up the driveway, his teammate on his heels.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 26

  Outhouse

  6:11 A.M.

  Jacob and Stockwell crept along the tree line on the right. On their eight o’clock, two outbuildings. On their eleven o’clock, a smaller ‘A’ frame structure; seventy-five feet beyond that, the main house.

  Having already established their covering protocols—Stockwell left and rear, Jacob right and ahead—the black-clad operators dashed across an expanse of weeds and dirt, the muzzles of their rifles aimed at their areas of responsibility.

  He squatted at the right-front corner of the ‘A’ frame building, a one-foot overhang overhead.

  She dropped to her haunches.

  Back-to-back, they scanned the area.

  “Clear,” he said.

  “Clear.”

  “On me.” Jacob made a right turn, hurried to the front door, and found it unlocked.

  Stockwell bypassed him and positioned herself on the left side of the entry point, opposite her partner.

  “Three...two...one...” he opened the barrier, ran inside, and sidestepped right.

  She slid left.

  Visible through their night vision goggles, the IR lasers from their rifles crisscrossed the small, green-hued space.

  Jacob made a pass around the interior’s right half.

  Stockwell curved around the left half.

  They met at a small sink.

  He took in the shelter’s amenities—simple table and chairs two feet away, a wooden lattice-like object laying on the floor to his right; further away, toward the front door, a small sofa, rocking chair, side tables, and a stack of firewood next to a fireplace. “Maybe,” he faced her, “I was wrong on the Innocent being here. Maybe it was a tango...and now he’s gone.”

  “Which means he might be coming back.”

  “True. Let’s clear the smaller structures before taking on the main one.”

  They fast walked across the room.

  “Watch your aim, Stockwell. We don’t know where they’re keeping the Innocent.”

  *******

  6:13 A.M.

  The second building turned out to be an outhouse made of weathered planks. It was empty.

  The next structure was a larger cabin-like building made of mismatched, misshapen logs. The front door opened.

  Jacob and Stockwell darted left and flattened their backs against the cabin.

  “I need to take a dump, man. I’ll be back. And don’t look at my cards.” Bare-chested, wearing an open-front shirt and blue jeans, Braves, the man who had confronted Jacob and Stockwell at the diner, took a long drag on a cigarette, dropped it, and stomped on the glowing bud before shuffling toward the outhouse and stepping inside.

  Jacob got his teammate’s attention and told her, via hand signals, to hold this position and watch the cabin.

  She flashed an upturned thumb and raised her MP5 toward the front corner of the building.

  He gave the area a look before scurrying around the back of the outhouse.

  She rotated her head a few degrees and picked him up in her EOTech’s right-most tube.

  He made a left and disappeared behind the outdoor toilet’s far side.

  *******

  6:21 A.M.

  After eight minutes of listening to unholy sounds and breathing in even worse smells, Jacob slipped out from his hiding spot when the outhouse door opened toward him.

  His head down, his hands feeding a belt through a loop on his blue jeans, Braves entered the moonlight.

  Keeping an eye out for onlookers, Jacob clamped his left hand around the back of Braves’ neck, whirled right, and spun the man in a bent-over half circle.

  Braves threw out his arms to maintain his balance as he was propelled clockwise.

  Jacob dragged the man to the ground and drove his face into the hardpan earth.

  “Ow! God da—”

  “You should’ve heeded my warning and...” he delivered a blow to the man’s right kidney before landing an elbow to the man’s temple, knocking him out cold, “stayed out of my way.”

  Jacob bound the man’s hands and ankles with plastic ties, hauled him behind the outhouse, and shoved a balled-up handkerchief into Braves’ mouth. “Sorry, but I,” Jacob patted the unconscious man on the back twice, “think I may have used that once already,” before heading toward Stockwell’s position.

  “Tim, is that you making...”

  Jacob stood tall and pressed his back to the outhouse.

  “...all that noise?” The six-six man from the diner, the one wearing the AR-15 hat, exited the cabin, lumbered to his right, and stopped between the two structures. Hands on his hips, still sporting the cap, AR-15 stared at the outhouse.

  *******

  Her boots flat on the ground, her butt resting on the backs of her ankles, her left shoulder touching the cabin, Stockwell stared through her MP5’s holographic sight at the dot centered on AR-15’s right ear. Just go back inside. Just go back inside.

  While her rifle was suppressed, the report from the weapon would still be loud, especially on a quiet night in the country.

  Following another several seconds of gawking, AR-15 huffed, lowered his head, and turned in Stockwell’s direction.

  She tightened her grip on the H&K.

  He paused for a split second then finished his one-eighty and headed toward the cabin door.

  Her shoulders drooped when he vanished from sight, and she let out the air she had been holding. Thank You, God. Thank—

  Three muffled gunshots.

  *******

  AR-15 drew a pistol from his waistband at the small of his back, reversed course, and raised the black gun toward the crouched black figure he had spotted.

  Jacob rotated right, away from the outhouse, brought his CMMG on target, and got off three quick shots in less than a half second.

  The first two bullets found AR-15’s chest. The third burrowed into the big man’s left cheek.

  AR-15 fell backward and landed with a thud. The crash seemed louder than Jacob’s sound-suppressed 147-grain subsonic rounds.

  “Take cover, Stockwell.” Jacob ducked behind the outhouse.

  Stockwell backpedaled.

  He leaned left and exposed his Banshee’s rifle muzzle and as little of his upper body as necessary to see the main house through his long gun’s scope. “We don’t know the Innocent’s location, so...”

  She took a similar position behind the cabin, her MP5 shouldered and aimed at the large building’s front door.

  “...keep your rounds inside your target.”

  Guns in hand, two men rushed out of the house and stood silhouetted against the light pouring out of the doorway behind them.

  Stockwell: “I got left.”

  Jacob: “Copy that.”

  “FBI! Drop your weapons!”

  The men did the opposite.

  Stockwell: “Engaging.”

  He fired three times at the form on the right.

  She fired two single shots.

  Both armed men clutched their chests and crumpled onto the porch.

  “Target down.”<
br />
  “Target neutralized.”

  The lights inside the house went out, and gunfire followed the sound of breaking glass.

  “Flanking right.” Jacob darted along the backside of the outhouse.

  “Copy.”

  “Advancing.”

  “Covering fire.” Stockwell returned fire but shot wide to the right to avoid hitting the kidnapped girl in case she was somewhere inside the house.

  Running away from the tiny structure, he made a counterclockwise arc.

  Her weapon ran dry.

  She pulled back the bolt, “Reloading,” and yanked out the spent magazine before inserting a full one into the gun and slapping the charging handle into battery. “Flanking left.”

  *******

  Jacob went prone. “Copy that.”

  Stockwell: “Advancing.”

  “Covering fire.” He let out a sustained volley of shots, aiming a foot to the left of the left-front corner of the structure.

  His bullets were not hitting anything, but the sound of return fire would keep heads down.

  Stockwell’s hunched over frame entered the left-most portion of his NVGs, as she came out from beyond the far side of the cabin and ran along the distant tree line.

  More gunfire from inside the house shredded the near side of the cabin where she had just been stationed.

  His SBR stopped. “Reloading.” He topped off the CMMG, jumped up, and ran to his right. “Advancing on target.”

  More gunfire.

  Clumps of dirt and debris flew up from the ground where he had been lying a second ago.

  In his ear, Stockwell: “Advancing on target.”

  Reaching the house, he jerked an M84 from his vest and pulled a pin. “Flashbang out.”

  “Copy.”

  “Away.” He leaned left, heaved the device through the nearest broken window, turned his back on the action, closed his eyes, and covered his ears.

  The house filled with intense light and noise.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Jacob met his partner at the front door, charged into the dwelling first, and zipped right.

  She rushed left and collided with a heavy mass.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .