Hired to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

There were times in life when you had to double down.

  Like right now.

  If you win, you win big. If you lose, it costs you your life.

  Nathan came up from his crouch.

  Speaking perfect Arabic with a Syrian accent, he put command tone in his voice. “What the hell are you doing on your phone? Are you some kind of idiot? I was able to climb the rock face and easily sneak up on you! The trip wire was sloppy and easy to spot.”

  The man froze. He had to be thinking this was some sort of a joke or prank. “W-who are you?”

  Nathan began marching forward. “If I don’t hear the right words out of your mouth, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  “I’m sorry! I’ve been up here for a long time. I was supposed to be relieved three hours ago. I just spoke to Mahdi. He’s sending Tariq.”

  “Tariq had better do a better job than you. I should report your inexcusable carelessness.”

  “I’m sorry. I was supposed to be relieved.”

  “Relieved from what? Staring at your phone?”

  “I—I was checking for a signal.”

  “Don’t make excuses.” Nathan continued his march forward, remembering how dark it was up here. At best, the man could make out only the dark silhouette of someone approaching. He’d also been looking at a bright cell phone screen. It would take his eyes a little longer to fully adjust. Nathan wanted to yell louder to disguise his voice, but he didn’t want to risk being heard in the compound.

  He maintained a quick pace. In ten or fifteen more steps, this charade would be over.

  Sooner, it seemed.

  He watched the lookout take a hand off the AK, reach into the cargo pocket of his pants, and pull an object out.

  Shit! A night-vision scope. And it was turned on.

  “You fool. I can see your night-vision scope lighting you up like a spotlight.”

  The man stiffened and took a defensive stance, but he hadn’t brought his weapon to bear quite yet. Nathan continued the bluff. “You should’ve turned it off to preserve its batteries.”

  Five steps. Four.

  “I’m very tired.”

  Two.

  The sentry brought the scope up to his eye. “Who are you?”

  “Retribution.”

  “What?”

  In one fluid movement, Nathan took a Weaver stance, brought his suppressed pistol up, and activated its laser. Starting low, he swung the bright dot onto the man’s chest. He didn’t have the two extra seconds needed to walk the beam onto the man’s face and send a precisely aimed bullet. He’d have to make two center-mass shots and hope for the best.

  At the instant he double pulled the trigger, the area in front of him flashed like camera shots.

  In less than a tenth of a second, the copper-jacketed slugs flew into their target.

  The man went stiff, as if zapped by a Taser.

  Hoping to sever all motor function, Nathan sent a third bullet through the man’s throat.

  It didn’t work.

  Sounding like a thunderclap, the man’s AK erupted with a short burst, exploding the earth next to the ice chest.

  Shit!

  He sprinted forward and found the man writhing on the ground. Realizing he could be seen from the compound, he crouched and sent a fourth bullet through the man’s forehead. That did the trick.

  A few feet away, the sentry’s radio squawked to life in Arabic. “What the hell’s going on up there?”

  Nathan knew this Motorola model well, and unfortunately, it had pretty good sound quality. Its user’s voice would definitely be recognizable.

  The question spat from the radio again.

  He turned the volume to a medium setting, then pressed and released the transmit button repeatedly when he spoke so the man on the other end would hear a broken and intermittent transmission. “I shot at some kind of dog. Everything is okay. Repeat your transmission.”

  Nathan squinted at the harsh tone of the reply. Apparently they were having a bad night. He continued to press and release the button as he talked. “I dropped the radio. Your transmission is broken. I can’t hear you clearly. It was just a dog. I chased it away.”

  Nathan heard the response clearly. “It was a coyote, you dumb shit. Don’t waste ammo on them. They’re harmless. Stay there. I’m sending up a new radio. You just earned two more hours up there. Don’t fire again unless you want to be there all night.”

  Nathan thought it would be best not to respond because no question had been asked. And based on the harsh tone coming from the compound, anything he said would be wrong anyway.

  “Hotel three, did you copy all of that?” Nathan hoped Vince had heard everything.

  “Affirm. Smart thinking.”

  “Be advised the sentry up here was using NV, but I don’t see a TI.”

  “Copy that. Status in the compound?”

  “Stand by.” Nathan took a few seconds to use his thermal imager and detected no warm signatures. The compound looked exactly like the scaled-down cardboard mock-up, allowing him to easily identify the barracks building. His TI registered a slight variation in the color of its windows compared to the background. About the size of a basketball court, the barracks were surrounded by smaller structures in a semicircular pattern. He could see some picnic tables and portable awnings, the kind that folded and unfolded. Just like the aerials showed, the practice range lay to the east. All kinds of derelict cars were intermixed with framed targets. Some sort of primitive obstacle course bordered the shooting range to the north. The geographic center of the compound appeared to be about six hundred to seven hundred yards away, and several hundred feet lower in elevation. The barracks were about one hundred yards closer. Heading to the west, toward the ranch’s main house, a dirt road weaved its way up a shallow canyon and disappeared over the top of a ridgeline. He couldn’t see the ranch house from here; it sat on the other side of the ridge. Several cars and trucks were parked near the barracks, and several others sat in a small group on the west end of the compound. Nathan spotted an overhead power line, its terminus pole clearly fitted with a transformer for reducing voltage.

  He gave Vince a quick summary.

  “Affirm, Hotel one. Sierra one, double-time up to the ridge and get eyes on the compound. ETA?”

  “Three minutes.”

  Vince continued. “Sierra two, form up with Sierra one. Everyone be advised I just sent tango fire team to the west. Tango one’s going to divert over to the road coming down the canyon to sever power and phone lines while the rest of the tango team hustles up to the west ridgeline to get eyes on the ranch house.”

  “Sierra two copies; I’m on my way to the compound’s north ridge. I have eyes on Sierra one.”

  “Copy,” Vince answered.

  Nathan saw a warm body emerge out of the barracks building and begin walking toward the trailhead, likely a courier with the replacement radio.

  “Hotel three, I’ve got company coming. One man on foot, heading for the trail leading up here.”

  “Prosecute, then stand by.”

  He offered a squelch click in reply, then grabbed the sentry’s radio. He turned its volume down to zero and secured it in his waist pack. Thankfully, the vertical cliff face on this side was only ten feet high, and the trail coming up from the compound worked its way up a collapsed section, sparing him a vertical descent. At the cliff’s base, he began searching the footpath for a good location to set up his ambush. Figuring the man coming up here would use the trail they’d seen on the aerial photos, he headed for a five-foot-high piece of the bluff’s limestone that had tumbled down the slope.

  The courier didn’t appear to be using night vision. Confirmation came when the guy turned on a small flashlight. It wasn’t bright to the naked eye, but his NV made it look like a phosphorous signal flare.

  Nathan made it to the rock and ducked behind its square form. Several feet away, the trail made a gradual arc around a large gathering of agave and a nasty looking patch of cactus.


  The man moved at a good clip, but Nathan didn’t want to wait the two minutes it would take for him to arrive. He stole a look around the boulder and saw another hiding place fifty yards farther down the trail: a four-foot-high patch of thick brush. He focused his NV on the ground and crept toward it in a crouch.

  He preferred using his Sig to take out the courier, but he was a good two hundred yards closer to the barracks building now and didn’t want to risk the clap-like sound of a suppressed shot being heard.

  He made it to the bushes with about a minute to spare. Bleed light from the approaching flashlight created jumpy shadows all around him. He reached down and pulled the Predator knife from its sheath strapped to the side of his calf.

  He heard the man’s footsteps as the jittery light reached a peak.

  Walking at a fast pace, the man moved past the clump of bushes.

  Using a technique he’d learned long ago, Nathan jumped the courier from behind and used his left hand to cover the man’s mouth while his right hand drove the knife upward under the man’s rib cage, perforating his right lung and heart.

  Within ten seconds, it was over.

  After his prey went limp, he let go, then turned off the man’s flashlight. He picked up the spare radio and made sure it was off before securing it and the other radio in his backpack. Having two of the enemy’s radios might come in handy.

  Time to move on.

  He wiped the Predator clean on the man’s shirt, returned it to its sheath, and took a few seconds to make sure all his equipment remained secure. The man’s initial thrashing had been severe.

  “Hotel three, the courier’s down. Request permission to approach the compound for a closer look. I can safely get within a hundred yards.”

  Vince’s response wasn’t immediate. He knew his friend was considering all the options, but given the lack of activity in the compound, a closer reconnaissance wasn’t a bad idea.

  “Proceed, Hotel one, but maintain cover. Do not enter open ground.”

  “Copy.”

  “Sierra one, we have you in sight,” Vince said. “We’re double-timing up to your position.”

  Nathan started a countdown of sorts, figuring they had a little less than five minutes to maintain the element of surprise. After that, things could get dicey. The terrorists would definitely become suspicious when two of their comrades failed to answer their radios.

  All the more reason to get as close as possible.

  Just ahead, he saw a way to get closer to the buildings without being seen from the barracks, but he wouldn’t make the attempt without clearing it with Vince first. There were two parked pickups and a small sedan about fifty yards southwest of the barracks. If he went a little farther, he’d be able to keep the trucks between himself and the barracks, allowing him to advance with a better chance of not being seen.

  Sierra one’s transmission broke the silence. “Hotel one, confirm you’re moving due east about one hundred yards southwest of the compound.”

  “Affirm, Sierra one, that’s me. I don’t have eyes on you.”

  “I’m with Sierra two at your ten o’clock, atop the ridge.”

  “Give me a fisted flashlight.”

  “Stand by . . .”

  Nathan’s NV saw it easily. “I’ve got you, thanks.”

  Sierra one’s radio clicked in reply.

  The barracks building was nothing more than a big rectangular box with an extended gable roof supported by wood posts. The overhanging roof allowed people to sit in the shade. A few chairs were present, but no one occupied them. The other buildings surrounding the barracks looked like storage sheds and small barns.

  Nathan didn’t see any motion with his night vision, but he did detect—

  Cigarette smoke.

  He halted, not knowing where the smoker was, then slowly lowered himself to one knee.

  Since the air was so still, the smoker could be anywhere, even inside one of the buildings.

  “Hotel three, someone’s smoking out here. Attempting to locate the source.”

  “Copy.”

  Something didn’t add up. If the smoker had been outside when the radio courier started up the trail, why hadn’t the sudden disappearance of the courier’s flashlight beam caused any alarm? The most reasonable explanation? The smoker hadn’t been tracking the courier, which meant they still had the element of surprise.

  He flipped his NV up and took a look with the TI. No warm bodies registered. He brought the NV back down and turned its gain to maximum. He slowly scanned the compound from one end to the other.

  There! A super dim glow, emanating from between the trucks. He didn’t see anyone, but a cigarette’s glow definitely registered with the NV. The area between the trucks brightened for a few seconds, then went faint again. He’d seen this before: the smoker takes a drag, and the ultrasensitive device detects the increase in illumination.

  Sierra one’s line-of-sight vector wasn’t much better than his, but he had a much higher elevation. “Sierra one, do you have eyes between the pickup trucks with your TI?”

  “Stand by . . . Affirm. I’ve got a warm signature. I can see his head. He appears to be sitting in a truck with the door open. I can’t see any weapons from here.”

  “Is he in the truck with the oversized tires and off-road light bar on the cab?”

  “Affirm.”

  “Sierra one, can the smoker see the sloped area below you?”

  “Affirm. If he’s got NV or a TI, he might see us when we come down. For now, he’s just sitting there. He doesn’t seem to be on sentry duty.”

  “Hotel three, I think I can take him out if I approach from my current position. I can keep the smaller of the parked pickups between myself and the smoker.” Nathan wanted to say he’d spare the guy from a slow death by lung cancer but figured it wouldn’t sound professional.

  Vince didn’t delay in responding. “Stand by, Hotel one. Sierras one and two, advance to the edge of the compound. Keep checking that smoker. Make sure he doesn’t see you.”

  “Copy. We’ll be most visible near the top where it’s steeper, but once the slope levels out a little, we can use vegetation as cover until we reach the level ground of the compound.”

  “Proceed to the closest cover you can find to support Hotel one while he approaches the smoker. We’ll make contact once we reach the ridgeline.”

  “Copy.”

  “Hotel one, you’re cleared to take the smoker down. Verbal copy please.”

  “Copy.”

  “Good hunting.”

  He clicked the radio in response. Staying low, Nathan moved downhill through the thinning shrubs, careful to avoid kicking any rocks or stepping on dry brush.

  He paused at the bottom and took a moment to study the open span between the vehicles and him. It was mostly dirt and sand with smaller rocks here and there. Some curved tire tracks marred the surface, but he didn’t see any footprints.

  “Sierra one, do you still have eyes on the smoker? I’m about to traverse open ground over to the smaller truck.”

  “Affirm. No changes. He appears to be staring toward the barracks.”

  In a crouch, he moved across a dry creek bed at the bottom of the slope and began easing toward the vehicles. This is going to be a long hundred yards, he thought. How long before the man who was sent out with the replacement radio became MIA to the others? Another two or three minutes at most?

  Nathan wondered why the smoker chose to sit in a truck as opposed to sitting on the patio surrounding the barracks. Perhaps he wanted some solitude. Being a good fifty yards away from the barracks, the pickups offered the man some privacy. Nathan knew about barracks life: he had, after all, spent years in the Marines.

  Halfway across the open ground, he began to slow his pace, being extra careful with his steps. The dry earth didn’t crunch, but it wasn’t completely silent.

  At the three-quarters mark, he slowed to a step every few seconds. The last twenty-five yards were going to take about a minu
te. Perhaps a minute too late, he thought.

  Suddenly, the area between the trucks flared to life with a bright glow.

  “You’re good to go, Hotel one. The guy just lit another.”

  Nathan clicked his radio in response.

  The smell of smoke permeating the air made Nathan’s tension spike when he reached the tailgate of the smaller truck.

  Looking like a small rug, more than a thousand cigarette butts littered the area between the trucks. His jab about lung cancer hadn’t been far off the mark.

  Sig up, he eased along the tailgate like a cat stalking an unaware bird.

  No matter how many times he did this, he always thought his prey would turn at the last second.

  Stay focused . . .

  Slowly, he reached down with his left hand and unsheathed his Predator knife. He tucked the Sig into his waist pack and switched the knife to his right hand.

  After adjusting his night-vision scope’s focus to three feet, he ducked below the rearview mirror’s reflection and slid down the left side of the pickup.

  For the third time tonight, Nathan severed all doubt about killing. Now wasn’t the time to second-guess the decision makers. He was an instrument of his country, saving lives by taking lives. It wasn’t more complicated than that.

  Here goes.

  In a lightning-quick movement, he pivoted to face the open door and thrust the knife like a piston, sinking into the left side of the man’s neck. He pulled the blade out, grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt, and yanked him from the driver’s seat. Although his victim couldn’t utter a sound, he could honk the horn if he had the presence of mind to do it. Better to remove the variable.

  Sierra one’s voice sounded off in his earpiece, “Hot shit, Hotel one! That was friggin’ textbook!”

  Nathan clicked his radio in response.

  “Let’s keep chatter to a minimum,” Vince said.

  With a grunt, the man hit the ground hard but still managed to cover the gushing wound.

  Nathan put a boot on the man’s chest and applied most of his weight. In a different circumstance where noise didn’t matter, he would’ve sent a bullet through the man’s forehead, even knowing this jihadist wouldn’t have shown him the same mercy—just the opposite. These barbarians burned captives alive in steel cages, beheaded live prisoners, and buried defenseless people up to their waists before hurling stones at them until their heads became red mush. And those were the nice things they did.