First to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  She’s alive.

  And of course Ernie was gone. Anger began to flare, but he forced it aside and slowly pivoted his rifle through an arc covering a one-hundred-yard radius centered on the helicopter. Nothing. No movement at all. Approaching the helicopter was suicide, an obvious trap. He couldn’t make a mad dash to Grangeland and tend to her. Not against a trained shooter like Leonard.

  Gritting his teeth at the fire in his arm and leg, and at Grangeland’s situation, he backed away from his current position and tucked himself behind a fallen log offering solid cover from the south rim of the canyon. He couldn’t leave Grangeland. Nor could he save her. He could almost feel Leonard’s rifle scope sweeping back and forth past his location.

  Two can play this game….

  Moving with a caterpillar speed, Nathan maneuvered himself into a cross-legged position and bench rested his cloth-wrapped weapon atop the log. He began slow, sweeping scan of the canyon’s opposite rim beyond the helicopter, zigzagging back and forth from the ridge down, concentrating on rocky spots with deep recessed shadow.

  There. A flash of white.

  Possibly Ernie’s T-shirt. He swung his rifle back and focused on a spot where two huge slabs of fallen limestone formed a narrow triangular area of shadow.

  There it was again.

  “Got you,” Nathan whispered.

  Through his Nikon scope, Nathan watched as Ernie slowly ducked up and down with a pair of field glasses in his good hand and a handheld radio in the wounded hand. The white flash Nathan had seen was the gauze wrapping on Ernie’s hand. Good ol’ Ernie had wisely removed his white T-shirt, but overlooked the gauze.

  He turned the elevation knob of the scope, counting ten clicks for a four-hundred-yard, slightly elevated shot. He gauged the wind as calm, maybe two to three miles an hour from the northwest. He’d be shooting into the wind so he didn’t make a correction.

  “You’re blowing it,” he whispered to Ernie. “You’re being too regular with your movements.” Every fifteen seconds Ernie would come up from his hiding place, focus on the helicopter for five seconds, and then duck back down.

  Nathan placed the crosshairs where Ernie’s head would appear in the next ten seconds and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Ernie didn’t come back up.

  Well after the fifteen-second interval had passed, there was still no Ernie. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t leave the crag of rock without Nathan seeing him. Thirty seconds went by. Have I been made? Shit. No way. No way Leonard’s seen me. Not in this soldier’s world.

  Forty seconds.

  Fifty.

  A full minute.

  Patience, he told himself. Breathe in deeply. Let it out slowly. In deep.… Out slowly.…Stay focused. Ernie’s still there, he’ll be back up. Patience.…

  After ninety seconds, Nathan had his answer. It was almost as if Ernie had sensed Nathan’s presence, for when he reappeared, the bright white gauze on his hand was gone. But it was too late.

  “That’s a bingo,” Nathan whispered.

  The Remington 700 bucked against his right shoulder and sent a white-hot jolt of agony through his stitched wound. For a few seconds, his vision blurred and dimmed. When it cleared, he didn’t see Ernie, but he saw what was left of him on the limestone wall behind his hiding place—the unmistakable pattern of a head shot.

  “Promise kept,” he whispered. “Marine to Marine.”

  Feeling the sudden flood of moisture on his arm, he knew the wound was open. How long did he have before blood loss became a concern? He couldn’t worry about that right now because the struggle had just begun. Removing Ernie was moderately helpful in the battle against Leonard Bridgestone, as much psychologically as logistically, but there was no safe transit past an entrenched sniper. Leonard was playing a waiting game, counting on Nathan’s compassion for Grangeland. Leonard would know his sole means of transport and communication was the helicopter, so his opponent would also be counting on that to draw him into the kill zone. Sorry to disappoint you, Leonard, but that’s not happening.

  Nathan saw another way. To reach Grangeland, he’d need to create a diversion, and that meant getting back to Harv. Two against one, they might just pull it off.

  Like oozing molasses, Nathan slid himself away from the log, hunkered down behind its cover, and slung his rifle over his shoulder for the return crawl to the east. Hang in there Grangeland, we aren’t going to abandon you.

  How much time had passed since she’d been shot? Twenty minutes? Thirty? He wasn’t sure. He thought back to the image of her prone form and didn’t recall seeing any blood. She’d been wearing her dark-blue FBI Windbreaker to conceal her piece and her ballistic vest. Her vest was probably the only reason she was still alive. How long did she have?

  * * *

  Harvey turned his head toward the sound of the shot. “Nathan,” he whispered. Did Leonard just kill Nathan, or did Nathan kill one of them? He considered moving back up the canyon toward the source of the report. Nathan could be down, wounded. Slowly bleeding out. If he stayed put, would he be condemning his lifelong friend to death? He wanted to use the radio, needed to use the radio, but Nathan had called for silence. He weighed the repercussions. Okay, Leonard had Grangeland’s radio, so what? He couldn’t use it to triangulate. The receiving transmission would be silent, coming out of Nathan’s tiny ear speaker.

  Decision made, he pressed the transmit button. “Five-by-five?”

  A few seconds later, he heard, “Five-by-five. Stay put. I’m coming to you.”

  Relief washed over Harvey like warm wind. Although he doubted Leonard possessed Nathan’s shooting skills—only a handful of people in the world did—Leonard could’ve seen Nathan first and in a long-range sniper duel, the shooter who spots his opponent first, wins.

  Stay put.

  Nothing so simple had ever been more difficult.

  * * *

  Nathan didn’t blame Harv for breaking radio silence. From a tactical perspective, Harv needed to know he was okay and still in the fight. Had he been killed, Harv would have an agonizing decision to make: Stay and fight and possibly die, or bug out and possibly die. Nathan doubted Leonard would let either of them just fly out of here. Harv was a family man and had more to consider than his own life. But family or not, Harv would never abandon the fight if he knew his partner was still alive, Nathan was certain of that.

  Nathan’s plan was simple. Since Leonard couldn’t be in two places at once, he and Harv would separate. He’d head toward the money cache while Harv doubled back to the helicopter. Through a series of purposeful ploys, he planned to lure Leonard to his end of the canyon, leaving Harv free to fly Grangeland to safety. He hoped Harv was ready for his first solo flight.

  Setting that thought aside for now, Nathan crawled down the length of the fallen log, shouldered his rifle, and scoped the canyon’s southern wall. Although he had a pair of field glasses, he always used his rifle. If he saw his mark, he was instantly ready to send a bullet. If his opponent was on the move, he didn’t see any evidence of it. The few sandy areas he could see were virgin, lacking discernable footprints. He steeled himself for what lay ahead, that damned thirty-foot expanse of sand and brush. If he were going to get nailed, he knew it would happen out there. It looked as vast as the Sahara Desert, but there was no avoiding it and no way around it. He had to traverse it. Simple as that.

  Here goes.…

  Moving no faster than a foot every five seconds, he started his crawl across the sand.

  He ran the math through his head to distract himself from the pain and wet sensation in his arm. Thirty feet times five seconds per foot. One hundred and fifty seconds. Two-and-a-half minutes. That’s not so long really, after all, it’s—

  Halfway across the sand, he froze.

  Had he heard something behind him?

  A crunch of leaves?

  If Leonard was back there, he was a sitting duck out here in the open. He knew his ghillie suit transformed h
im into a shrub, but what about the tracks he left crawling out here? Moving his head slowly, he snuck a look over his right shoulder and was surprised when he didn’t see any deep tracks. He hadn’t remembered brushing them flat with his legs at he moved, but he must have. He’d done it on autopilot, on pure instinct from his old training. I’ll be damned, he thought.

  There it was again.

  A crunch of dried leaves.

  He was certain this time.

  Staring through the thinly spaced stalks of underbrush, he watched for any sign of movement. Expecting to see a pair of combat boots, a chill raked his spine when he saw the source of the noise.

  Chapter 27

  A mountain lion.

  And a damned big one. Two hundred pounds of solid muscle, sharp claws, and yellow ivory was a mere twenty feet away.

  Taking slow, deliberate steps, the animal slinked forward with its head low, its eyes searching for the source of blood it smelled. Had the rifle shots awakened it? Nathan knew mountain lions were mostly twilight predators. The rifle shots should’ve spooked it, made it haul ass out of here, but a fresh blood scent triggered a powerful instinct, especially if it was hungry.

  When it reached the edge of the fallen log Nathan had traversed a minute earlier, it sniffed the ground and froze. Then it looked him straight at him.

  Go away, damn you. Go away!

  Like something out of a developing nightmare, it took a step into the sun-bleached sand.

  Moving as slowly as humanly possible, he eased his hand down to his gun belt and pulled his Sig Sauer. There was no way to unsling his rifle without significant body movement, which would certainly make the animal charge. It would be upon him in one bound. He searched his database of survival training on encounters with mountain lions. Never run was at the forefront of his memory.

  Now less than two body lengths away, the animal kept coming. Being concealed in his ghillie suit didn’t matter. The cat’s eyes weren’t guiding it.

  Something else shot through his mind. Movement. The cat was a damning source of movement, and movement is what catches the eye.

  * * *

  From deep shadow on the south rim of the canyon, Leonard followed the lion through his rifle scope and smiled. It seemed to be following an invisible scent. Quite possibly his opponent. He watched the animal pace the length of a fallen log and approach the edge of a dry streambed that fed the larger stream in the middle of the canyon. It froze for a few seconds before stepping out into the sand.

  * * *

  If Nathan were going to shoot this lion, he’d better do it within the next two seconds while he still had the angle to manage the shot from the hip. If he wasn’t precise with his aim, he could easily blow a hole in his own foot. Damn it, he didn’t want to kill such a magnificent predator. In many ways, they were just alike, but his own survival and that of Harv’s took priority. He also knew as soon as he pulled the trigger his cover was blown because if his first shot wasn’t fatal or severely crippling, he’d have to shoot the animal a second time, and possibly a third. The first report would alert Leonard to his general location, but the second and third reports would pinpoint him. He might was well stand up and wave a flag.

  Both his options were equally unpleasant.

  He could lie here and be mauled to death, literally eaten alive or he could shoot the cat, and in turn be shot himself. All things being equal, he preferred the second option, but it had already expired. The animal was directly beside him now, he no longer had the angle to shoot it.

  He heard the sound of its paws on the sand.

  He buried his face into his shoulder and stopped breathing. If he played dead, maybe it would lose interest and move on. Deep down, he knew it was wishful thinking. A mountain lion will just as soon scavenge for food than hunt it.

  The cat brought its face to within inches of Nathan’s head.

  Its hot breath penetrated the strips of his ghillie suit and brushed the skin on his neck.

  It issued a low, growling murmur deep in its throat as it realized it had found the source of the fresh blood. An easy meal.

  The cat issued a second, more forceful growl and jabbed Nathan’s neck with a paw. It was funny what the human mind was capable of thinking at times like these. With bizarre detachment, Nathan thanked God it had missed his wounded arm, but that thought died when he felt cool air on his skin. The cat’s jab had opened a hole in his ghillie suit.

  The animal pushed again. Harder.

  His lungs screaming for air, Nathan continued to play dead. If things kept going like this, he wouldn’t have to play dead.

  Go away!

  When he felt the cat’s sandpaper tongue lick the back of his exposed neck, he’d had enough.

  With as much strength as he could muster, he simultaneously issued a war cry, the loudest, most fierce sound he could make. He snapped his body to the left and cracked the cat in the nose with the butt of his gun.

  * * *

  Leonard watched the animal traverse the sand and stop at some sort of low shrub. It lowered its head and sniffed. Had it lost the scent? If it had been following someone, where were the tracks? Looking for human footprints, he swung his scope back to the edge of the underbrush where the cat had emerged, cranked it to maximum zoom, but saw only the cat’s footprints.

  At the left edge of Leonard’s magnified image, he caught sudden movement. He swung the rifle back. “What the fuck?” he said aloud. The mountain lion jumped six feet into the air. When it landed, it bolted away from the shrub at a full gallop.

  The shrub went vertical and began sprinting across the sand. Not a shrub, a ghillie suit and a damned fine one at that. “Oh, you’re good,” Leonard said. He placed the crosshairs slightly ahead of the green mass.

  And pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  Nathan’s timing had to be perfect. He needed to vary his speed as he ran. Now! Five feet from the safety of cover, he hit the brakes and nearly skidded to a stop. A split-second later, he heard the telltale crack of a supersonic arrival. Out in front to his right, the sand exploded from the impact. If he’d kept running at the same speed… Using his left hand, he pointed the Sig at the ground slightly left and ahead of his path and fired five shots. The sand burst into the air. It wasn’t much cover, but it would have to do. He dived into the underbrush on the opposite side of the wash and scrambled behind the thick trunk of an oak. He pressed his back against its form as a second bullet tore past his position on the left.

  * * *

  Leonard missed. Before he could reacquire, the sand in front of his target erupted, obscuring his view. He heard five quick pops, like firecrackers going off, and knew his mark had fired a handgun into the sand to provide a smoke-like screen. Clever move. In combination with his motion and the irregularly shaped ghillie suit, it worked. Estimating where he thought his target would be, Leonard sent another bullet before pulling back to relocate.

  * * *

  Harvey heard the report of the rifle roll down the canyon in a crackling reverberation that lasted for nearly five seconds. Then he heard five quick handgun shots. A few seconds later, he heard a second rifle shot. What the hell was going on?

  The tiny speaker in his ear went off. “Five-by-five, Harv. Stay down, he’s on the south rim. I’m coming to you.”

  “Copy.”

  * * *

  As Nathan made his way upstream along the tree-covered bank toward Harv’s position, the small speaker in his ear came to life. “That was some trick with the mountain lion. How’d you manage it?”

  Nathan instantly knew who it was. “The money’s not worth it. Walk away.”

  “Fat chance.” A short pause, then, “You leaving her there to die?”

  Nathan saw no point in responding to that.

  “The shot isn’t immediately fatal,” said Leonard. “But the longer she lies there…. Well, you get the picture. I guess you have a decision to make, don’t you?”

  Nathan clenched his teeth and felt rage beg
in to boil again. Leonard Bridgestone had purposely gut-shot Grangeland. He couldn’t let Leonard know how much saving her

  life meant. He had to play it cool. If he showed even the slightest concern, it would both embolden and empower his enemy. Choosing his words carefully and grateful Grangeland no longer had her radio, he called Leonard’s bluff.

  “She’s nothing to me. I’ll sacrifice her before I let you walk.”

  “Bullshit. She’s a looker. I can’t imagine you didn’t notice that.”

  Nathan could feel the tension building. He had to turn it back on Leonard. “Speaking of sacrifices, why’d you serve Ernie up?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know damned well what I’m talking about. You placed him where you knew I’d nail him.”

  Leonard didn’t respond right away. “Was it that obvious?”

  “He was your brother. How could you do it?”

  “He gave me up, I could never trust him again.”

  “He gave you up under torture. But that’s not the real reason, is it?”

  “Do tell.”

  “Is your love of money so perverse that you’d feed your own brother to the wolves to keep it all yourself?”

  “The way I figure it, you did him a favor. Did the world a favor.”

  “What’s the matter, Lenny, you don’t have the balls to clean up your own mess?”

  “I used him rather than waste him. I might have found you from the shot you took. You got lucky, McBride.”

  “You’ll never leave here with your money. I’ll make sure it gets donated to charity. How about the Purple Heart Fund? You’ve got two of them, don’t you?”

  “Cute, McBride.”

  “Give my regards to Ernie when you see him in hell.” Nathan turned off his radio.

  * * *

  Fifty yards from Harv’s position, Nathan issued his signature warbling whistle. Harv returned it and he worked his way up to his partner’s hiding place.

  “Damn, it’s good to see your sorry ass,” Harv said as Nathan crouched down beside him.