Sniper

by Vaughn C. Hardacker

  “What about the kid?” one of O’Leary’s men asked.

  Jimmy O looked at the frightened boy, still shackled to the door of the Ford.

  “Him too.”

  Houston tried to intervene on the kid’s behalf. “Hell, Jimmy, I doubt this kid is much more than seventeen years old. Why don’t you give him a break?”

  O’Leary looked at the youngster. That the kid was scared out of his wits was evident to everyone. “Can’t do that, Mike.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a couple of reasons.” O’Leary shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. “One, I can’t let him run all over town tellin’ people I was a rat an’ sold ’em out to you. Two, there’s an old sayin’ he should know by now: If you can’t do the time, then don’t do the crime.” He nodded to his henchmen and they dragged the kid toward the other dealers, where they dropped him in a heap.

  When they tied his hands behind his back with heavy plastic tie-wraps, the kid began to shout in pain. “What the fuck is his problem?” O’Leary asked.

  “Could be the fact that I shot him,” Houston answered.

  “That’d do it.” O’Leary turned to the kid.

  Like Maurice, the kid begged and pleaded for his life. “I won’t tell a soul, Mr. O’Leary, honest I won’t.”

  As O’Leary smoked his cigarette, he appeared to be considering the boy’s plea. He flicked the cigarette butt out the overhead door. “Kid, let’s face the facts here, okay? I let you walk and in a week, two at the most, you’ll be back on the street, dealin’ smack again and I’ll just have to kill you then. We might as well do it now and save everyone the expense of havin’ to find you again.”

  O’Leary motioned for his men to usher them into the Econoline. He pulled one aside, a big blonde-haired man of over six feet in height and at least 250 pounds. “Once you’re a few blocks from here, let the kid out. But Gordon, make sure he understands that if I ever hear of him sellin’ drugs again, his next trip will be to the quarry where he’ll be fitted for a pair of concrete flippers and taken for a midnight swim.”

  Gordon Winter nodded, walked to the car and got into the driver’s seat. O’Leary’s other men jumped in, holding guns to the captives’ heads. Within seconds, the car was gone and it was as if it had never been there.

  Jimmy O turned to Houston and grinned. “Had you goin’ for a minute there, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you’re a truckload of giggles. Now I got to get an ambulance here.”

  “Go call your ambulance,” O’Leary said.

  They walked out of the warehouse. Houston crossed the street and got into his car where he made an officer down call. He hung up the radio, looked out the window at Jimmy O. “I should stop this. I can’t just let you assassinate them.”

  “C’mon, Mike. What I’m doing is a public service. If you arrested those clowns it would be months before they got to court, then some assistant D.A. and a public defender will strike a plea bargain. In less than six months, Maurice and Jules will be back on the street sellin’ slow death to kids. My way saves the state a lot of money . . . and it’s a final solution. B’sides, it ain’t like you got any say about it.”

  They heard sirens and O’Leary walked to his car. “You be careful, Mike. The neighborhood is a lot more dangerous than it was when we were kids.” He pointed to the van sitting in the warehouse. “You guys are gonna be heroes for this bust—that’s a lot of smack in there. With your partner shot up, you’ll be okay. Once they see the dead dealer, they’ll figure the others got away and will call it a righteous shooting.”

  As O’Leary opened his car door, Houston called to him, “Jimmy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks. I thought I was a goner in there.”

  “Hey, no big deal. This is what friends are for. Maybe there will be a time down the road when you’ll be able to return the favor. See you around.”

  “What happened to the dope?” Anne asked.

  “I turned it in as evidence . . . wouldn’t surprise me to learn it was on the streets in two days.”

  “Did you return the favor?”

  “No. At least, not yet.”

  “How have you avoided arresting him all this time?”

  “Lucky, I guess. The captain may have had a lot to do with it. I’m certain he’d shit if he knew Jimmy was involved in this.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

  Once more Houston took his eyes off the road and looked at her. “Really?”

  “I think Dysart would make a pact with the Unabomber if it would bring this guy down.”

  29

  “On frosty mornings and damp days, there is a great danger of smoke from the rifle giving the position away. On such occasions, the sniper must keep as far back in the hide as possible.”

  —US Marine Corps Scout/Sniper Training Manual

  It was after midnight when they passed through Harris Mills, Maine, and left Route 16. A couple of miles north of the town Houston turned onto an unpaved logging road and darkness and the woods closed in like a shroud.

  Anne looked out at the night sky. Without the ambient light of street lamps, millions of stars were visible, creating an amazing spectacle. “Now I know how it would feel to fly through space.”

  “Yeah, it’s remote.” Houston glanced in the rearview mirror and checked that Jimmy and Gordon were still following. He was unable to see their vehicle, but could see the glow of their headlights through the cloud of dust his tires created.

  The road suddenly turned north, angling west, back to New Hampshire. According to Rosa’s instructions, they were to stay on this road until they passed a gravel pit and came to a small picnic area and campground.

  Houston was drowsy and shook his head to keep from nodding off. Fatigue bore down on him and he knew that he couldn’t go any further, when a deep gravel pit suddenly appeared in the beams from his headlights. In the darkness, it looked like a lunar crater. Houston’s exhaustion disappeared and he became alert. He studied the road, searching for the turn-off to the campground. Rosa had told him that the entrance was about a half-mile past the pit.

  The entrance to the campground appeared out of the primordial darkness and they pulled in. Houston hoped that it was unoccupied and sighed in relief when his headlights swept around the camp site and revealed that it was empty. Hunting season was still a couple of months away and he didn’t want nosy campers asking why they had all the weapons. He parked near a picnic table and shut off the motor.

  Houston and Anne got out of the rental SUV and stretched. The engine ticked as it cooled and the whirring of flying insects and the chirping croaks of frogs seemed loud in the darkness. Anne walked around the car and stood beside him. Still fascinated by the stellar light show, she looked up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars in the sky.”

  When Winter turned into the gravel-covered parking area, Anne and Houston held their hands up to shield their eyes from the brilliant glare of the Lincoln’s halogen headlamps. The SUV stopped, its lights went out and the engine shut down. O’Leary stepped from the Navigator and he too looked at the sky.

  “Amazing, ain’t it?” he commented.

  Winter placed his hands against his lower back and stretched while he too looked to the heavens. “There’s gonna to be a full moon the next few nights—that ain’t favorable.”

  “Not a goddamned hotel within miles,” O’Leary said. “I was never into this Boy Scout shit.” He wrapped his arms around his torso. “Fu—” He cast a nervous look at Anne and amended his words. “Friggin’ cold, too.”

  Houston said, “We’ll just roll out some canvas and sleep on the ground.”

  Houston felt it wasn’t necessary to be cautious and did not attempt to be quiet. There was no need to worry about Rosa—at least not until he got to the killing ground. Rosa wouldn’t violate the rules of the game—after all, he had made them.

  Houston grabbed his and Anne’s sleeping bags and a lantern from the back o
f the SUV. He switched on the battery-powered lantern, found a level place, checked the ground and removed several rocks that would make sleeping impossible. Once he was satisfied that the turf was as smooth and free of obstacles as possible, he spread the impromptu sleeping mat. He held the lantern and watched while Anne prepared her sleeping bag. It was the first time he had seen Anne in a plaid flannel shirt and blue jeans, and he thought she was born to wear them.

  Houston glanced at his watch; it was four in the morning. To the east, he saw a slash of bright sky split the darkness above the horizon. Houston was surprised to see O’Leary standing beside him.

  “I always wondered where the expression ‘the crack of dawn’ came from,” Jimmy O said.

  “Now you know. We’d better get some sleep—even a couple of hours can make a big difference.”

  Jimmy O walked toward the SUV. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice soft king-size mattress . . . ”

  Houston chuckled and flopped down on his sleeping bag. Once again, he realized that old habits return fast. In the Marines, Houston had learned to eat and sleep whenever and wherever he had the opportunity, because in combat you never knew when, or if, you would get another chance. Once he reached the island, he would be in a battle situation and sleep deprivation and cold meals would be the norm until the mission was completed.

  The sun shining on her face woke Susie up. She lay still and surveyed the cabin. It was bare bones, with everyday conveniences nonexistent. The decrepit shack didn’t even have running water. They had brought her here yesterday, thrown her on the old bunk and tied her up. The bed was horrible, a musty, mildew-covered mattress and pillow that smelled of rodent droppings and years of accumulated sweat.

  The woman sat at the rough-hewn table in the center of the room. She wore camouflage clothes, her face painted in green and black stripes; she looked like one of the amazon warriors Susie had seen in action movies.

  “Good morning,” the woman said.

  Susie glared at her.

  “Have it your way,” the woman stood up and walked to her. “You need to use the head?”

  Susie did not understand what she meant.

  “The bathroom, do you need to use it?”

  Susie nodded.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes.”

  The woman removed the bonds that held Susie to the cot and helped her up. “I hope you aren’t too delicate to pee in the bushes.”

  “I’ll make do,” Susie said.

  “Good. You just keep that attitude and you’ll be fine. This will be over tomorrow and you can go back to being a student.”

  “I thought he wanted my father alone.”

  “He does, but snipers always work in teams of two. Also, in the event that fails he has a backup plan. If your father is anywhere as good a sniper as I’ve heard, he won’t be alone either—he’ll have at least one spotter with him.”

  The scarred man walked into the shack. “Where you going?”

  “Head call.”

  “Keep a close eye on her.”

  “I will. When do you think he’ll arrive?”

  “I doubt he’ll get here before tomorrow morning.”

  “I’d feel better if we’d brought along a couple of my men to act as sentries . . . ”

  “The last thing I need is a bunch of trigger-happy reservists running around and stirring things up. Besides, that would take all of the challenge out of the game—wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m not real comfortable with your referring to this as a game,” she said.

  “It’s the ultimate game—one where coming in second gets you a body bag. Now take the kid and do what you gotta do.”

  The woman took Susie’s arm and led her outside.

  Houston woke at six. His eyes felt like burning coals and his back was stiff and damp from the heavy dew that covered everything. He knew there was no time to waste so he began gathering his gear for the trek through the woods.

  The sound of him preparing his equipment woke Anne. She stretched in her sleeping bag.

  “Good morning.”

  “Mornin’, beautiful, time to rise and shine.”

  “I’ll rise, but I’m not so sure about the shine part.”

  Houston rocked back on his heels and swept the area with his eyes. “There’s something that I love about the early-morning light. Everything seems so clean and brilliant—not faded as it does in late morning and during the afternoon hours.”

  Anne sat up and reached for her boots.

  O’Leary sat up, grunted and lit his first cigarette of the day. “How in hell is a guy supposed to sleep with all that chit chat going on?”

  Anne stared at him, ready to go on the attack.

  “Hey, lighten up,” he said. “I’m just jealous, that’s all. It’s been a long time since someone greeted me in the morning.”

  Anne realized his comment had been meant as a good-natured barb and relaxed.

  “Sorry, Jimmy.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid. It took my mother thirty years to get to like me—even then, I think she was faking it. I’m like a fungus—give me time and I’ll grow on you.”

  Winter got up and walked to the boat. He reached inside and brought out a gas camp stove. “The least we can do is make breakfast. It’s even better in the great outdoors. Anyone want to get some water? There’s a hand pump over there. There’s nothin’ better than that first cup of coffee in the mornin’.”

  While Anne fetched the water, Houston and Winter lifted a large cooler from the inside of the boat. Winter lifted the cover and Houston saw enough food to feed them for the better part of a week.

  “Gotta eat if we want to keep up our strength.”

  They cooked eggs, sausage and canned potatoes on the stove and sat quiet while they ate.

  Finally, O’Leary broke the early morning silence. “What’s our plan of attack?”

  “The shooter gave me very detailed instructions. I’m to follow the trail that leads due east from here for about three hours, until I come to the lake where he’s hidden a boat in some brush. I’m supposed to go north on the lake to the largest island. Once I reach the island, the game will begin.”

  Houston spread out a map. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to portage Gordon’s boat three hours through the woods.” He indicated a point on the Magallaway River. “It looks as if there’s a boat launch here, you guys drive there and we’ll meet on the south end of the third island this evening.”

  Jimmy stared at the map for a second. “Send Gordon and Anne back there—I’ll stay with you.”

  “Jimmy, this ain’t a stroll on the common. You got a three-pack-a-day habit and hiking through rough terrain is tough enough without that. I’ll make the hike alone. I’m not so naïve that I think he’s alone. He could have someone watching to make sure I didn’t bring anyone with me.”

  “Why don’t you come with us? We can use the motor boat to get there.” Anne motioned to Gordon’s boat.

  “I’m going to follow his instructions to the letter.”

  Winter stood and peered into the trees around them. “Shit, they may be watching us now . . . ”

  “For some reason, I don’t think so. But once I get to the lake it wouldn’t surprise me if they were watching. That’s why I want you guys to arrive at the island after dark—no lights on the boat.”

  Gordon Winter snorted. “All we got to do is navigate a lake I’ve never been on, to find an island that I’ve never been to, in the dark—should be a piece of cake.” He poured the last of his coffee on the ground.

  “That’s where the full moon will help us,” Houston said. “Besides, I’ll have a small campfire going. You should be able to see it a long ways off.”

  “Won’t the fire give away your location?” Anne asked.

  “Possibly, that’s why I’ll camp on the south shore, away from the fourth island. Even if he does see the fire, he’ll be expecting me to make a fire when I camp. The important thi
ng is that he doesn’t learn that I’ve brought you guys along as backup.”

  Winter rinsed the pans and coffeepot. “Well, looks as if we got a full day ahead of us—time to break camp.”

  Houston got his rifle from behind the backseat of his vehicle. He took great care when he placed the rifle on a blanket, unpacked the ten-power Unertl scope and securely mounted it to the rifle.

  “That’s a beautiful weapon,” O’Leary commented. “I hope you appreciate what I had to go through to get it on short notice. They only made a thousand of them, and you’d be damned lucky to get one on the open market. In fact, I’d say it was almost impossible.”

  “It’s accurate,” Houston said. “Even though it’s been years since I’ve been a sniper, I’m still more than capable of keeping a group in a two-or three-inch diameter inside two hundred meters.”

  Houston seemed to slip into another world as his hands caressed the rifle stock. He took out a bore-sighter and, with help from Winter, spent several minutes ensuring that the scope was properly aligned. He seemed more at ease than she had ever seen him . . . it was as if he had gone back in time to a place where no one would ever reach him.

  Houston looked at O’Leary. “Thanks, Jimmy. What it set you back?”

  “More than you can afford on a cop’s salary—leave it at that. All I ask is that if possible you bring it back. I can probably resell it.”

  Houston raised a hand in the universal signal to stop. “I don’t want to hear anymore, Jimmy. Remember, even though we’re allies and brothers-in-law, I’m still a cop.”

  Houston took a box of ammunition from the truck and loaded the rifle. He opened the bolt and fed the integral magazine by pushing four cartridges into the breach one at a time. Once the last round was inserted, he closed the bolt and double-checked that the rifle was on safe.

  When he gently placed the loaded weapon on his sleeping bag, Houston noticed that no one spoke and the camp was abnormally quiet. He looked at his companions. “I need to sight it in. I haven’t fired any live rounds through this and I need to get a feel for the rifle and check the scope’s alignment.”