First to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  “Copy,” she said.

  Nathan estimated the light fog had reduced visibility to just under two hundred yards. It was thinner in some areas and thicker in others. He knew as the dew point and temperature closed in on each other, it would only get worse.

  Harv slid out of the passenger seat and stayed low amid the parked cars. Nathan peered out just above the passenger windowsill and watched his friend work his way to the north edge of the property and dash across the driveway, where he vanished in the shadows of a head-high concrete block wall screened by mature oleander bushes.

  “Harv, report,” Nathan said.

  “I can smell her cigarette, wait one.”

  Nathan waited through a long fifteen seconds of silence.

  “She’s leaning against the rear wall of the restaurant with her arms crossed, smoking. She keeps looking left and right.”

  “Okay Harv, stay with her. Grangeland?”

  “I’m back inside with Ferris. Her daughter hasn’t moved.”

  “Copy,” Nathan said.

  “She’s on her way back,” Harvey reported. “Grangeland, I’ll lose sight of her as she rounds the corner. Let me know if you don’t see her within the next five seconds.”

  “Copy,” Grangeland confirmed. “I’ve got her. She’s reentering the restaurant through the convenience store.”

  Using field glasses, Nathan watched Grangeland approach the convenience-store checkout counter. She was purchasing something to cover her absence from the table, a DVD or paperback book, he couldn’t tell which.

  Nathan conducted a 360-degree sweep of his surroundings with the handheld thermal imager. The HHTI could pick up the heat signature from a vehicle at over 2,200 yards or a man-sized target at 800 yards. The HHTI used in tandem with night vision became an extremely effective combination. Although a person could hide from the night-vision scope, they couldn’t hide their thermal signature. The HHTI nailed them every time. Sure enough, it had no problem seeing through the light fog obscuring the area. The truck parking area shone extremely bright from all the heat signatures of the engines. In the open field behind Nathan it picked up eight to ten cattle lying several hundred yards distant. As he turned the device off, he keyed the radio.

  “Harv, you on your way back?”

  “Affirm.”

  “Grangeland, what’s Sheldon doing? It looks like she’s just standing at the door.”

  “She keeps looking at her watch, she seems irritated. Wait. She’s going back outside. You see her?”

  “Affirm. Where the hell’s she going? Oh shit, she’s heading for the trash can at the island. Grangeland, Ferris, stop her. Don’t let her approach that island.”

  * * *

  Amber Sheldon was thoroughly pissed off, more at herself than anyone else. She felt like an idiot. Ernie Bridgestone would never give her any cash, let alone a 100,000 dollars as payment for setting up Nathan McBride. She must’ve been out of her mind to believe anything that jackass said. The lure of money had clearly blinded her. The one thing she did believe was Ernie’s desire to kill Nathan McBride. He’d made that quite clear. An image of the devastation in Sacramento flashed in her mind. She shivered. Coming anywhere near this damned place tonight was stupid. Stupid and crazy.

  It was time to leave.

  Ignoring the trash can, she marched across the gas-pump island on the way to her car, but suddenly remembered Janey was with her. She started back toward the restaurant, back across the island.

  * * *

  Grangeland stepped through the restaurant’s door at the same time Amber reached the island.

  Nathan’s voice buzzed from her radio. “Grangeland. Get down! Now!”

  She dropped to the concrete.

  Amber Mills Sheldon disappeared in a bright flash.

  For an instant, the air shimmered. Grangeland’s mind registered the explosion and something else. Something hideous. Charred and smoking, Sheldon’s upper torso smashed into the brick wall right next to her.

  * * *

  Every window along the storefront shattered inward, showering the occupants in a horizontal hail of glass. Car alarms sounded from every corner of the property. The SUV fueling at the northern part of the island was lifted into the air and flipped onto its roof. Its gas tank exploded two seconds later. A huge mushroom of burning gasoline roiled into the air.

  * * *

  “Son of a bitch,” Henning hissed as the Expedition’s windows shattered inward.

  Then Nathan heard something chilling.

  Children screaming.

  The burning SUV had children in it.

  Nathan dashed across the pavement, tearing off his shirt as he ran. He wrapped it around his hand and used it on the door handle of the overturned SUV. After two hard yanks, the passenger door opened. Hanging upside-down, two small girls were strapped into car seats, screaming bloody murder as flames licked at their skin. Nathan reached into the SUV and singed his arms unclipping the seat belt holding the first girl’s car seat. It fell into his grasp and he yanked it out of the flames.

  Harvey and Henning sprinted over.

  “Get the other side,” Nathan yelled, and hauled the car seat away from the burning wreck. He set the child down and rushed back to the SUV. Ferris was running from the convenience store with a fire extinguisher. He pulled its pin and flooded the interior of the SUV with carbon dioxide gas. Harvey reached into the cloudy discharge and freed the second car seat. When Harvey pulled back from the interior of the SUV, his shirt was smoldering. Ferris nailed him with a discharge of CO2. Grangeland ran around the island and grabbed the first car seat. She sprinted for the restaurant and disappeared inside. A few seconds later, she returned for the second little girl and ran her into the restaurant. Nathan looked for the SUV’s owners but didn’t see them. He suddenly realized he hadn’t checked the front seats.

  Nathan yelled over the crackling of flames, “Ferris, nail the front seats.”

  Ferris stepped forward, stuck the nozzle through the broken driver’s-side window, and pulled the trigger. White cloudy gas filled the cab, starving the flames of oxygen. The reddish-orange glow from the interior winked out. Nathan grabbed his shirt and used it on the door handle. It wouldn’t move. With a roar of anger, he pulled with all his strength and the door screeched open. A woman was crumpled into a ball on the SUV’s ceiling, which was now the floor. Her clothes and hair were burned and smoking. Fortunately, her skin wasn’t too bad. As Nathan and Harvey dragged her away from the SUV, she cried out for her daughters.

  “We got them out,” Nathan said. “They’re okay.”

  Running from window to window, Ferris continued to spray the SUV’s interior.

  “Get the tires.”

  Ferris aimed high and dowsed the flaming wheels. He hurried to the opposite side and sprayed those tires as well.

  Nathan looked up and saw the blacktop moving all around him. No, not the blacktop. SWAT teams. What the hell were they doing here? Lansing….

  MP5s at their hips, at least ten SWAT agents were advancing toward their position, some of them fanning out to cover the property’s exterior boundaries.

  At the exact moment Nathan turned back toward the SUV, he heard the supersonic arrival of a bullet combined with the boom of the discharge.

  His right arm jerked. Shit! “Sniper!” he yelled.

  Harvey scooped the woman up from the pavement and dashed for the restaurant.

  Grangeland, Ferris, and Henning crouched down, but they were out in the open.

  Nathan dived for the cover behind the smoldering SUV as another shot cracked through the air. The bullet missed. It careened off the asphalt three inches from his head. Just above his elbow, warm liquid ran down the bare skin of his arm.

  The entire SWAT team had hit the deck. “Dowdy, Collins,” he yelled, “did you see a muzzle flash?”

  “Behind you, five o’clock, plus thirty.”

  “Give me some cover fire.”

  Bursts of MP5 fire hammered the air a
s Nathan scrambled up and dashed for the safety of the restaurant. A giant bullwhip cracked again as the third bullet whizzed by him. He sensed it miss his torso by less than an inch as he entered the building. The floor was littered with broken glass. Janey was screaming. The other server cringed behind the counter, shaking glass out of her hair. Harvey knelt near the rear wall tending to the injured mother and her little girls. Nathan looked back and saw Henning, Grangeland, and Ferris running in a full sprint for the door.

  A fourth rifle report echoed across the pavement.

  Twenty feet from safety, Henning tumbled.

  Nathan ran back toward the door. “Henning’s down.” He slipped past Grangeland and Ferris as they rushed inside.

  “Nathan, wait!” Harvey yelled. “I’ll get him.”

  “No time.” Steeling himself for the bullet that would end his life, he raced across the asphalt, bent down, and hoisted Henning’s two hundred-pound body over his shoulder.

  More bursts of MP5 fire echoed off the surrounding trucks and buildings.

  A fifth shot tore the air.

  This one found its mark. Shit! Nathan’s right calf jerked with the impact, but he kept his balance and made it back inside. Harv took Henning from Nathan’s shoulder and laid him against the rear wall with the other wounded. Grangeland had grabbed a first-aid kit from the convenience store and was about to apply a large bandage to the flesh wound on Nathan’s arm.

  “Later,” he said.

  “You’re bleeding bad.”

  “There’s no time, we have to get Bridgestone.”

  “You’ve got two gunshot wounds, you may not have time.”

  “Ferris, can you handle Henning?”

  “The bullet went through his vest, but it missed his lungs. He’s still in a bad way.”

  The convenience store’s supervisor said, “I called nine-one-one. An ambulance is on the way.”

  “Harv, Grangeland,” Nathan said. “Bridgestone’s on the roof of the building north of the property. We’ll use the rear exit and stay against the perimeter wall for cover. When we get to the driveway, Harv will retrieve the SUV. Ferris, let your SWAT teams know what we’re doing. Tell them to hold their fire until we’re in the SUV. We’ve got to hurry, let’s move.”

  The three of them passed through a stockroom and burst through the rear door facing the freeway. They hugged the wall as they traversed to the northwest corner of the property. All of them heard it. An engine started, followed by the squeal of tires as a vehicle accelerated toward the east. Nathan was limping but kept up with Harv and Grangeland as they ran toward the SUV. Blood had already soaked his sock and shoe.

  “Harv, you drive. Grangeland, follow us in the Crown Vic. Let’s move.”

  Just as Nathan closed the passenger door, another deafening explosion rocked the night.

  The island under the diesel pumps vanished in a white flash. The freight truck parked at the island was blown ten feet sideways from the force of the blast. Lying on its side, one hundred gallons of diesel fuel in its cab tanks ignited, sending a fiery mushroom up to the bottom of the metal canopy covering the islands. Eerie flame spread along the underside of its surface and shot skyward at the edges. Some of the truckers parked in the transient area began driving their rigs out of the danger zone. Men and machines were going every direction. People were screaming and running for cover. Like black ants against a red background, the SWAT team sprinted for the protection of the convenience store, two of them dragging a wounded comrade.

  Harv turned right out of the parking lot. With the windows of the SUV gone, they could hear the roaring headers of Ernie’s retreating vehicle. It was running east with its lights out.

  “That’s him. Punch it, Harv.” He flipped on the thermal imager and immediately saw the heat signature of the fleeing vehicle’s exhaust. “Straight ahead, four or five hundred yards.”

  The Expedition’s engine answered the call. Within ten seconds, they were doing eighty miles an hour. Harv stomped the accelerator and brought their speed up to 110. “Stay with him, Harv. Wait one. He’s slowing, turning south. I’ve still got him. We’re coming up on the turn in five hundred yards.”

  “Nate, put the NV visor on my head, we should go dark.”

  Nathan reached into the duffel bag on the seat between them, grabbed the night-vision visor, and saw blood covering the lower half of his arm. He turned the device on, removed the lens cap, and placed it on Harv’s head before pivoting the scope down to his partner’s eye.

  Harvey made a slight adjustment and said, “Good to go.”

  Nathan keyed the radio. “Grangeland, we’re switching to night vision. Hang back a little. We’re going dark.”

  “Copy.”

  Harv killed the headlights and the road disappeared into blackness. Behind them, Grangeland also went dark.

  “Turn here, to the right,” Nathan said. Confirming what he already knew, fresh skid marks marred the pavement where Bridgestone had made a four-wheel slide around the corner. They were now paralleling a sandy dry wash on the eastern side of the road, thick with oak trees and underbrush.

  “How you doing, Nate?”

  “I’m okay. Stay with him.”

  Nathan glanced over his shoulder and saw Grangeland make the turn. Through the thin fog, he saw several other vehicles leaving the driveway from Pete’s Truck Palace to join the pursuit. Bring it on. The more the merrier. The cold wind rushing in the windows against his bare skin became an issue. Compounded by the blood acting like water, Nathan was losing body heat quickly. He fought back a shiver and leaned forward as much as he could to avoid the worst of the wind.

  “You okay?” Harvey asked.

  “Never better. Keep closing, Harv. We’ll intercept him in thirty seconds.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Chapter 22

  Ernie Bridgestone whooped in triumph when he lost sight of the headlights pursuing him. He’d lost them.

  “Fuckin’ pussies,” he said aloud. “Now who’s doing the squealing?”

  He was sure he’d scored at least one hit, maybe two on McBride, the big man with scars on his face. With a little luck they’d be fatal shots. Bleed out slowly, you piece of shit.

  Leonard had been wrong about him getting caught after all. Sometimes he wondered if his older brother truly had the balls for this type of thing, trained Ranger or not. He’d been conveniently missing when the time came to head down here and take care of business. Ernie shook his head. He’d actually enjoyed blowing Amber to smithereens. The lousy bitch. She’d betrayed him for the last time. He’d easily spotted the two FBI agents tailing her. Besides, she had it coming for lying to him all these years. Hell, Janey was an adult, she could take of herself. He wasn’t worried about her at all. In fact, she was better off without that sleazy—

  He looked in side-view mirror. “What the fu—?”

  * * *

  Nathan pulled his Sig and hung out the window. When Harv closed to within twenty-five yards, Nathan took aim with both hands and emptied a magazine at the fleeing pickup truck. Each shot he fired illuminated the hood of the SUV in stroboscopic flashes. He aimed low and right, hoping for a skipping shot off the asphalt into the rear tire. He didn’t want to shoot the cab because they needed Ernie alive. He couldn’t risk a lucky head shot. He had an appointment with Ernie’s fingers—an appointment he intended to keep.

  Nathan passed the empty gun to Harv and received a fully loaded weapon in return. The chill on his exposed skin felt like a million ice picks. He ignored the hideous sensation and took careful aim. Ernie had begun to swerve back and forth, which actually improved Nathan’s odds of blowing out a tire. Harv kept the Expedition on the centerline of the road. Nathan let loose with another full magazine. Got it. Rubber began to peel away from the punctured tire. A baseball-sized piece whizzed past his head and he pulled himself back into the interior. Shredded chunks of rubber thumped off the Expedition’s shattered windshield.

  “Good shooting,” Harv said. />
  Ernie’s truck swerved right, then back to the left before he regained control. It skidded to a stop on the left shoulder. Ernie jumped out and took off into the dry wash. Harv braked hard and pulled in behind the truck.

  “He’s wearing a sidearm, Harv. Looked like a nineteen-eleven.”

  “I saw it.”

  Nathan was in no shape for a foot chase. Although not life-threatening, his right-calf wound was bleeding at a damned ugly clip. “Get him, Harv, we could lose him in there. Take the thermal imager. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Harv didn’t have time to strap on his holster, so he jammed four magazines into his front pockets. “His ass is mine.”

  Nathan watched him disappear into the blackness. Be careful, old friend.

  Grangeland pulled in behind the SUV and killed the engine. She rushed to the passenger door and saw Nathan donning a night-vision visor.

  “No way,” she said. “Give that to me. You’re in no shape to go out there. Your color’s nearly gone and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

  She was right. He wasn’t in good shape—in fact, he was in terrible shape. The blood loss combined with the shock and adrenaline wearing off had hammered him. He handed her the visor. “Harv’s got a ten-second head start. He’s got a thermal imager and night vision with him. We need Bridgestone alive, understood?”

  “Yes,” she said. Three seconds later she vanished into the moonless void.

  Nathan gathered as much strength as he could and shouted, “Grangeland’s coming, Harv, not me.” He didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one.

  He limped to the Crown Vic and found Ferris’s coat in the backseat. The flesh wound on his arm just above the elbow was burning and throbbing. He was pretty sure the bullet had passed clean through without hitting any bones or major blood vessels, but he wasn’t positive. His lower calf wound was a different story. He was tempted to take a look with a flashlight, but decided against it. It was better if he didn’t know. He returned to the SUV and looked for something to slow the bleeding on his leg. Settling for Harv’s Windbreaker on the front seat, he wound it up like a towel about to be used for a prank whipping in a locker room. He decided to leave his ankle sheath in place—it might offer some stability. He wrapped his lower leg and tied a knot. Tight. He also needed something for his arm. Nathan scanned the backseat of the SUV and saw his shirt he’d removed at the truck stop. Although he had no memory of it, Harv must’ve picked it up on their way back to the SUV after the explosions. Using his teeth on one end, he tied it around the wound on his arm. Next, he strapped on his gun belt and reloaded his Sig. He holstered the weapon and checked to make sure his spare magazines were secure in their slots. Finally, he turned off his cell and slipped it into his pocket.